Two Worlds and Their Ways

by Ivy Compton-Burnett

  “What are they?” said Sir Roderick, as if this hardly mattered.

  “They are different colours,” said Bacon, as though he did not think it did.

  “You have a noble pair, my boy,” said Sir Roderick, as he saw this.

  “All the better to see with.”

  “And is the noble head the better to think with?”

  “Well most people do not think much.”

  “Would you put me among them?”

  “Well,” said Bacon, after looking into his face, “I don’t think it matters with everyone.”

  “Do you envy this great man?” said Sir Roderick, to the other boys.

  “No,” said Holland. “I only want to be a nice, ordinary person.”

  “I don’t especially want to be ordinary,” said Sturgeon. “I don’t see any good in it. I am rather sorry that I am.”

  “I should not call Sturgeon ordinary, Sir Roderick,” said Miss James, from across the table. “I do not think the word gives him.”

  “Well, you must know, Miss James. Your word carries weight.”

  “Well, I have many opportunities of observing the boys, and it leads to forming an unconscious estimate of them.”

  “Where would you put my boy?” said Sir Roderick, in a tone so easy that he hardly seemed to utter the words.

  “Well, there is no need to say he was not ordinary, Sir Roderick, as no one thought he was.”

  Maria’s face flushed, and she seemed to hold herself from moving forward.

  “Where would Miss Tuke put my girl?” she said, her tone seeming to echo the easiness of her husband’s.

  “My work is to look after them, Lady Shelley, and with such a number I find it enough. I do not see their work and play. All I can say of Clemence is that I miss her so much that I could cry when I go into her dormitory.”

  “Why did you snatch her from us, Lady Shelley?” said Gwendolen.

  “Perhaps for that very reason, that I cried when I went into her dormitory. I hope it was not too much because of that. I thought the life at home would suit her better, kind and clever as you all are.”

  “It may suit her health better,” said Miss Chancellor, looking at Clemence. “She was paler and thinner as the term went on, sorry as I am to admit it. My hopes of taking her back with us are fading. I confess I was not quite without them.”

  “I did not know we had a traitor in the camp,” said Lesbia. “Oh, you are the person I ought to have asked about her standing, Miss Chancellor.”

  “It is not my habit to talk of the girls to their faces, Lady Shelley. I remember how I disliked it when I was a child. But this hardly comes under the head of what can be termed personal remarks. I will say what Miss James said of your son, that there is no need to say she is not ordinary, as no one thought she was.”

  Maria drew a breath and turned her eyes on her husband, as though calling his attention to a vindication of herself.

  “What was my standing among the masters?” said Oliver. “I do not like it to be thought that no one wants to know. I am sensitive about my position in my family.”

  “We are dependent upon you, Miss James,” said his father.

  “Well, Sir Roderick, I can only refer to the humorous and original atmosphere that was diffused through the school in Mr. Shelley’s time with us. I cannot say anything more intimate, as I was not thrown with him.”

  “Cannot you say a word against the new man?” said Oliver.

  “I am not criticising him, Mr. Shelley. He does his work and takes his part in the common life, and that is as much as can be said for most of us. I do not imply any disparagement. There would be no occasion.”

  “I think we will have coffee in the drawing-room,” said Maria, rising.

  “You cannot give your mind to the talk about me,” said Oliver. “How I am alone amongst many!”

  Miss Chancellor followed Maria with an air of ease, and Miss James and Miss Tuke with observation and reproduction of it. The girls appeared accustomed to the ceremony, and the boys to be surprised by it.

  “Do you always have coffee with your parents, Shelley?” said Holland.

  “No, it is only because you are here.”

  “Do you, Clemence?” said Verity, in her idle tone.

  “Well, I do sometimes, but I am older than Sefton,” said Clemence, looking to see if her family was in earshot, and seeing only Oliver, who appeared not to hear.

  “Are we to see Adela?” said Verity, with her veiled smile. “We have seen Aldom.”

  “That suggestion should surely have come from Clemence,” said Maud.

  “You can come upstairs, if you like. She will be in the schoolroom. Mother, we are going upstairs to see Adela.”

  “Yes, do, my dear. She will be very pleased. But do not exaggerate the entertainment. Bring your friends down when they have had enough.”

  The girls linked arms and mounted the staircase, the guests noting its shallowness and breadth, the hostess relieved that no eyes were upon them. She had not reckoned with this transference of school customs to her home. Adela rose at their entrance, set chairs for them, and stood in silence.

  “Is this the schoolroom, Clemence?” said Esther, in a tone of lively interest.

  “Yes. It used to be the nursery. It still looks rather like that.”

  “Of course your brother is only eleven,” said Verity, in smiling quotation.

  “The room has grown of itself and never had anything done to it,” said Gwendolen. “It somehow makes me feel homesick.”

  “I used to want it sometimes, when I was at school,” said Clemence.

  “We have heard so much about you, Adela,” said Maud, her tone suggesting that it was time for such a speech.

  “Thank you, miss. No doubt your name is familiar.”

  “We grudge you your companion,” said Gwendolen. “I believe you used your influence to wean her from us.”

  “Well, miss, I do not take the view that her own home is not the place for her. I do not disguise the opinion.”

  “I think you ought to,” said Verity. “It savours of mean triumph.”

  “Well, triumph it may be in a sense, miss. But meanness does not come into it, it not being in my nature.”

  “You have looked after Miss Clemence all her life,” said Maud. “You have more claim to her than we have.”

  “Well, miss, claim is not the word, as I am aware. But a bond remains.”

  “Do you help her to choose her clothes?” said Esther.

  “Well, miss, she has not reached the stage of interest, as you have no doubt observed. But the time for that is to come.”

  “I was thinking of the dress she had at Christmas.”

  “It would not do to think of the other things,” said Clemence.

  “You go further than you know, Miss Clemence,” said Adela, on a severe note.

  “Why don’t you come back to school, Clemence, with a lot of nice things?” said Esther.

  “The prospect is not in my line. Neither one part of it nor the other.”

  “There are other things at school than wearing pretty clothes,” said Adela. “When Miss Clemence came home, my heart ached to see her.”

  “But she is clever at her books, Adela,” said Maud.

  “Clever at her books,” murmured Verity, in mockery of Maud’s adaptation of herself.

  “She can be that at home miss, as she always had been. It did not come from leaving it.”

  “What a lovely view!” said Esther, going to the window. “We should like to see the park, Clemence.”

  “Esther, that suggestion should have come from Clemence,” said Verity, in the tones of Maud.

  “I will have Miss Clemence ready in a moment, miss.”

  Clemence stood to be dressed, as though used to doing nothing for herself, regardful of Adela’s conception of a girl attended by her maid, but feeling that the clothes modified it to one of a child and a nurse. Then she accepted the arms of her companions and descended the stairs
. They walked with linked arms about the park, now and then catching a glimpse of the boys, but showing no wish to advance on it. Clemence held herself uneasily, fearful of eyes at the windows. The gulf between the words of school and home, the ignorance in each of the other, made her wonder she had ever thought she could live between them. Exhaustion was superseding excitement, and she found herself longing for the end of the day.

  “I suppose you know every inch of this park, Clemence?” said Verity.

  “Well, all the separate parts of it. It is different at different times of the year. It is best in spring and autumn.”

  “I think I like the country in the winter best,” said Maud.

  “I wonder how often that is true,” said Verity. “It sounds a thing worth saying for the sake of saying it.”

  “It is true in my case, Verity, or I should not have said it.”

  “What time is really the best, Clemence?” said Esther.

  “I think, myself, the spring. Then it changes every day. In the winter it is always the same.”

  “You are a happy creature, Clemence,” said Gwendolen, causing Clemence a sense of surprise. “The house and the park, and your father and brother, and your mother and Miss Petticott. It must be perfect, mustn’t it, Maud?”

  “Well, talking of perfection, Gwendolen, I should say that the last item, if I may use such a word, is the dubious one. The sameness in the education is perhaps the weak point.”

  “Of course you may not use the word. Miss Petticott is not an item.”

  “That was surely unworthy of you, Maud,” said Verity.

  “Never mind, Maud,” said Esther. “There are times when self-approval must be enough.”

  “I did not know that such a feeling came into the matter, Esther.”

  “I must stop you all and fasten my coat,” said Gwendolen. “Adela does not take as much care of me as she does of Clemence.”

  “Clemence must have found it odd, when she came to school, to do things for herself,” said Esther.

  “Well, she has soon forgotten again,” said Verity.

  “Oh, Adela does not always fuss over me like that. She was making an impression on guests. And it does not make much difference, with my kind of dressing.”

  “Why do you have a special kind?” said Esther.

  “Oh, I do not know. I did not know I had until I went to school. I think it is a sort of family custom.”

  “You knew you had those, when you came to school,” said Esther.

  “The shabbiness of a duchess!” said Verity. “I will not emulate it until I become one.”

  “Clemence made no such implication,” said Maud.

  “It is odd to see Miss Firebrace in the house,” said Esther. “I wonder how she likes not being deferred to by everyone.”

  “I should always just defer to her,” said Gwendolen.

  “That is what I did this time,” said Clemence. “It was easier not to change.”

  “And the difference in your age and position does give a certain basis to the relation,” said Maud. “Though an assumption of general deference might be the danger of a situation like hers.”

  “Was there any mention of what happened at school, Clemence?” said Esther, with more than her usual suddenness.

  “Oh, it was in the atmosphere at first. But it soon passed off. School is only school, after all. And I suppose that was what was felt.”

  “I should hardly have thought that implication was in place, Clemence,” said Maud. “About your father I cannot say, as we talked of other things, but your mother seemed interested in education, and anxious for your success.”

  “Oh, yes, she has a serious mind in her way. In a sense she is ambitious for us, though it is difficult to know what she wants. She does not seem to know, herself. She had Miss Firebrace thrust upon her as a ready-made relation, and that did not prejudice her in favour of what she represents. She has made every effort to get over the bias, and with a good deal of success; she does not show it, as you say. But one term of school for us was enough for her. It was easy to see that.”

  “It sounds as if an afternoon with Miss Chancellor might make it all too much,” said Verity.

  “Oh, I think she likes talking to Miss Chancellor. That easy, obvious intellectualism is just the thing. Not that it would be, if she had had different opportunities, because it would not.”

  “You never used to strike that disparaging note about Miss Chancellor at school, Clemence,” said Maud. “And as you have not seen her since you left, it can hardly have much foundation.”

  “It is seeing her suddenly with people outside the school. It seems to show her as she is.”

  “Do we all stand exposed in this merciless light?” said Verity.

  “Well, I had not seen you in it before. But then neither had you seen me with my family. We all know more about each other now. These things are the same on both sides.”

  “I am frightened,” said Gwendolen. “Clemence has a hidden self.”

  “Which would you put higher as an educationist, Clemence, Miss Petticott or Miss Chancellor?” said Maud, in an even tone.

  “Oh, the dear old Petticoat! I do not compare her with other people. She is just herself.”

  “We honour you for the sentiment,” said Verity.

  “Maud, are you honouring Clemence?” said Gwendolen.

  “I am a most appreciative guest, Gwendolen. But this is a matter by itself. You made a great advance when you came under Miss Chancellor, Clemence. Are you taking that into account?”

  “Yes, but not too much. It was more than I should have made, if I had not had the foundation. That rather points to something in Miss Petticott.”

  “When things are pointed to, ought we to see them?” said Verity.

  “No, of course not. Not in Miss Petticott’s case. None of you would see anything about her at first. No ordinary person would.”

  “I can’t help my own nature,” said Gwendolen, giggling. “I find I like Maud to be called ordinary. I wish I were a better girl.”

  “I have no objection to being included in that category, Gwendolen.”

  “Oh, nonsense, everyone has,” said Verity. “How Clemence does despise us all! No wonder she wanted to leave the school. I wonder she asked us here today. I suppose she imagined that her better nature would triumph.”

  “I do think you want a good deal of appreciation of yourselves and the school.”

  “I like a little for myself,” said Gwendolen. “And I somehow feel I am having it. I think Clemence is one of those good hostesses who attend to the wants of their guests without seeming to do so.”

  “Did your father mind what happened to you at school, Clemence?” said Esther.

  “Oh, he seemed to think it was a natural thing. He said it always happened when he was a boy. He seemed to see it as quite ordinary.”

  “I know who your grandfather is,” said Gwendolen. “I mean the man who is not your grandfather. I am not too stupid to understand. And I was beginning to think I was.”

  “I was beginning to think you all were,” said Clemence.

  “Does your mother mind his living here?” said Esther.

  “Well, I do not suppose she would choose it. She has been very good about it. I think my father is grateful to her.”

  “She must like having his gratitude,” said Gwendolen. “I think it would be an ample reward. He was an angel with us, and with the boys, and with the matrons, and a different sort of angel with each. How nice the other matron is! I like matrons much better than other people.”

  Miss Petticott’s figure was seen advancing across the grass.

  “Now it is sad to interrupt your walk and talk, but tea has to be early because of the trains.”

  The girls turned at once, attached Miss Petticott to their line with an ease than ranked her with the matrons, and proceeded towards the house; and she accompanied them with a springy step that was the result of the latter’s companionship.

  “It i
s pleasant to eat for so much of the day,” said Gwendolen, as they came to the table. “At school we have such long breaks from food.”

  “Well, really, Gwendolen, what impression will you give?” said Miss Chancellor, who herself gave one of unwittingly finding herself where she was.

  “I hope you did not catch cold in the park,” said Maria. “I saw you from the window and wished you would run about. Perhaps you kept each other warm.”

  “We always go about linked up like that, Lady Shelley,” said Gwendolen, “even at school, where the staircase is not wide enough to allow of it. I do not know how we manage.”

  “I have never quite solved the problem, Gwendolen,” said Miss Chancellor.

  “I wondered how it was done, when I first got to school,” said Clemence. “I was at the end of the line and wondered what would happen to me. But nothing did.”

  “Clemence despises the school ways,” said Verity, causing Maria to turn fond eyes on her daughter. “She has asked us here today with contempt in her heart.”

  “You should not speak true words in jest,” said Esther.

  “Verity is rather speaking untrue words in earnest,” said Maud. “And that she clearly should not do.”

  “I wish I had taught in a girls’ school instead of a boys’,” said Oliver. “It would have done much more for me.”

  “Why do you not try the experiment?” said Miss Chancellor. “You could come to us as a visiting master.”

  “If I could not be at prayers, and jostle people in the passage, and hear housemaids sing on the stairs, I should not count it.”

  “I am afraid you could not fulfil that programme at our school, Mr. Shelley.”

  “Well, naturally, I was not thinking of any other.”

  “Suppose all these were my grandchildren.” said Mr. Firebrace, looking round. “I might have had as many.”

  “Then I am sure Maria would let you have them all here,” said Oliver. “But do not speak to wound me, Grandpa. I have tried to be enough for you.”

  “Would you like to have me for a grandfather, my dear?” said Mr. Firebrace to Gwendolen.

  “Well, I don’t much like having people for grandfathers. I have two for them, and they say I am brought up in the modern way.”

  “They ought to be ashamed of themselves.”