Part 7 (1/2)

”You have hit it,” said the Vicar, ”and I do not think you could have said anything which could please me more. He is independent; it is my own temperament over again! You will forgive a touch of vanity, Howard, but that is me all over. And that simplifies our plan of action very considerably, you know!”

”Yes,” said Howard, ”it undoubtedly does. I have no doubt from what Jack told me that he intends to make money. It isn't, in him, just the vague desire to have the command of money, which most young men have. I have to talk over their careers with a good many young men, and it generally ends in their saying they would like a secretarys.h.i.+p, which would give them interesting work and long holidays and the command of much of their time, and lead on to something better, with a prospect of early retirement on a pension.”

The Vicar laughed loudly at this. ”Excellent!” he said, ”a very human view; that's a real bit of human nature.”

”But Jack,” said Howard, ”isn't like that. He enjoys his life and gets what fun out of it he can; but he thinks Cambridge a waste of time. I don't know any young man who is so perfectly clear that he wants real work. He is not idle as many young men are idle, prolonging the easy days as long as they can. He is an extraordinary mixture; he enjoys himself like a schoolboy, and yet he wants to get to work.”

”Well, I think that a very encouraging picture!” said the Vicar; ”there is something very sensible about that. I confess I have mostly seen the schoolboy side of Jack, and it delights one to know that there is a serious side! Let us hear what Maud thinks; this kind of talk is really very enjoyable.”

”Yes,” said Maud, looking up. ”I am sure that Mr. Kennedy is quite right. I believe that Jack would like to go into an office to-morrow.”

”There,” said the Vicar, ”you see she agrees with you. It is really a pleasure to find oneself mistaken. I confess I had not discerned this quality in Jack; he had seemed to me much set on amus.e.m.e.nt.”

”Oh yes,” said Howard, ”he likes his fun, and he is active enough; but it is all pa.s.sing the time.”

”Well, this is really most satisfactory,” said the Vicar. ”So you really think he is cut out for business; something commercial? Well, I confess I had rather hankered after something more definitely academic and scholastic--something more intellectual! But I bow to your superior knowledge, Howard, and we must think of possible openings. Well, I shall enjoy that. My own money, what there is of it, was made by my grandfather in trade--the manufacture of cloth, I believe. Would cloth now, the manufacture of cloth, appear to provide the requisite opening?

I have some cousins still in the firm.”

”I think it would do as well as anything else,” said Howard, ”and if you have any interest in a particular business, it would be worth while to make inquiries.”

”Before I go to bed to-night,” said the Vicar, ”I will send a statement of the case to my cousin; that will set the ball rolling.”

”Won't you have a talk with Jack first?” said Howard. ”You may depend upon it he will have some views.”

”The very thing,” said the Vicar. ”I will put aside all my other work, and talk to Jack after tea; if any difficulty should arise, I may look to you for further counsel. This is really most satisfactory. This matter has been in my mind in a nebulous way for a long time; and you enter the scene with your intellectual grip, and your psychological penetration--if that is not too intricate a word--and the situation is clear at once. Well, I am most grateful to you.”

The talk then became general, or rather pa.s.sed into the Vicar's hands.

”I have ventured,” he said, ”to indicate to Maud what Cousin Anne was good enough to tell me last night--she laid no embargo on the news--and a few particulars about your inheritance will not be lacking in interest--and on our walk this afternoon, to which I am greatly looking forward, we will explore your domains.”

This simple compliment produced a curious effect on Howard. He realised as he had not done before the singular change in his position that his aunt's announcement had produced: a country squire, a proprietor--he could not think of himself in that light--it was like a curious dream.

After luncheon, Mr. Sandys excused himself for a few minutes; he had to step over and speak to the s.e.xton. Maud would take Howard round the garden, show him her room, ”just our simple background--we want you to realise that!”

As soon as they were alone together, Howard said to Maud, ”We seem to have settled Jack's affairs very summarily. I hope you do agree with me?”

”Yes,” said Maud, ”I do indeed. It is wonderful to me that you should know so much about him, with all your other pupils to know. He isn't a boy who talks much about himself, though he seems to; and I don't think my father understood what he was feeling. Jack doesn't like being interfered with, and he was getting to resent programmes being drawn up. Papa is so tremendously keen about anything he takes up that he carries one away; and then you come and smooth out all the difficulties. It isn't always easy--” she broke off suddenly, and added, ”That is what Jack wants, what he calls something REAL. He is bored with the life here, and yet he is always good about it.”

”Do you like the life here?” said Howard. ”I can't tell you what an effect it all produces on me; it all seems so simple and beautiful. But I know that one mustn't trust first impressions. People in picturesque surroundings don't always feel picturesque. It is very pleasant to make a drama out of one's life and to feel romantic--but one can't keep it up--at least I can't. That must come of itself.”

Howard felt that the girl was watching him with a look of almost startled interest. She said in a moment, ”Yes, that's quite true, and it IS a difficulty. I should like to be able to talk to you about those things--I hear so much about you, you know, from Jack, that you are not like a stranger at all. Now papa has got the gift of romance; every bit of his life is interesting and exciting to him--it's perfectly splendid--but Jack has not got that at all. I seem to understand them both, and yet I can't explain them to each other. I don't mean they don't get on, but neither can quite see what the other is aiming at.

And I have felt that I ought to be able to do something. I can't understand how you have cleared it up; but I am very glad and grateful about it: it has been a trouble to me. Cousin Anne is wonderful about it, but she seems able to let things alone in a way I can't dare to.”

”Oh, one learns that as one gets older,” said Howard. ”One can't argue things straight. One can only go on hoping and wis.h.i.+ng, and if possible understanding. I used to make a great mess of it with my pupils at one time, by thinking one could talk them round; but one can't persuade people of things, one can only just suggest, and let it be; and after all no one ever resents finding himself interesting to some one else; only it has got to be interest, and not a sense of duty.”

”That is what Cousin Anne says,” said Maud, ”and when I am with her, I think so too; and then something tiresome happens and I meddle, I meddle! Jack says I like ruling lines, but that it is no good, because people won't write on them.”

X

WITH MAUD ALONE