“What shall I wear for the school entertainment?” said Gabriel.
“Anything tidy that you have,” said Josephine. “You must be properly dressed to show the people to their places.”
“What will Miss Munday wear?” said Gabriel. “I should like to be equal to Miss Munday.”
“Well, you can’t be,” said Josephine. “Miss Munday is the senior mistress, and you are a foolish boy. There is no question of equality. You can put on anything fit to wait upon her in.”
“Felix will wait on Miss Munday,” said Gabriel. “The junior mistresses have fallen to my portion.”
“Well, I hope you will attend to them properly. Felix is so very dependable in that way. I feel that his compeers have definitely been better looked after since he has been with us.”
“What about the question of all questions, my dealings with the parents?” said Simon.
“Why is it more of a question than the others?” said his wife.
“Ah, we know why,” said Simon. “Yes, I fear we know why.”
“But I feel that Josephine is right in repudiating the truth,” said Gabriel.
Josephine laid her hand on her nephew’s head, and hastened 98from the room. In the hall she came upon Ruth, and paused to speak to her.
“You have done the programmes, my dear? I am afraid you had not much time.”
“I had not, Mrs. Napier, and so there are not many programmes. More time would have resulted in a larger number.”
“Well, I hope you will enjoy the afternoon after all the preparations.”
“Oh, does one ever enjoy a thing when one has been involved in the preliminaries? And it is the people who have not been involved in them, whose enjoyment matters.”
“Dear, dear, I should have thought that that was the best foundation for enjoyment,” said Josephine, laughing and passing on. “I am quite prepared to find it so myself.”
The mistresses came into the concert hall, with their demeanour modified as much as their dress, indeed modified by it. Mrs. Chattaway cast furtive glances from the others to herself; Miss Munday’s expression suggested humorous awareness of her own festive aspect; Miss Luke, by moving rapidly amongst her companions, laying her hand on their shoulders and indulging in lively talk, proved that she was without any such awareness.
“I feel a little conscious of my appearance,” said Felix, coming up to the group. “Perhaps it is being one of the few people who can wear formal clothes.”
His speech was met by incredulous mirth, his hearers keeping their eyes on his face, in case of further entertainment.
“Well, I hope that no one will be conscious of mine,” said Josephine. “It is not my habit to be aware of it; but when I am oblivious, it may be hitting other people in the eye. I got into the garment in time, but I admit it does not add to the occasion.”99
“People always seem to think admission alters things,” said Helen, “when it really rather helps to establish them.”
“You are right; I have been remiss,” said Josephine, catching the words and giving her a smile as she went to her place; while her mistresses regarded her in silent appreciation of the difference that had raised her above themselves.
Josephine listened to the concert with a demeanour that proved her unprepared for its items as they came. When a girl performed especially well, she leant across her neighbour and inquired the name of both pupil and teacher, and gravely nodding her head, sat back in her place. Jonathan heard the performance with his face covered with his hand, and his body swaying to the music. At its conclusion he emerged into the open room, but perceiving his sister mounting the platform, resumed his seat and his expression.
“Now I feel that I am not doing well by my speech in choosing to make it directly after the concert. That had the excuse of honest preparation, one which as a school-mistress I feel should command indulgence. And this has no excuse at all; hardly even that of being felt a duty; for I should have taken leave to doubt the need of it, if I had been permitted.” Josephine smiled at her mistresses, and pausing in what might have passed for a recourse to her memory, if it had not been for her confession, continued with an air of confidence gathering, as she found that words came. “What I am conscious of, as I stand here, is that I am the last and the least of the people present; the least as the head mistress, as the simple means to an end; and that anything about me that is not in some way revealed by my pupils, can have no meaning. So I will ask you to take the simplest word, born of the moment, as fulfilling the moment’s need. I find that I would only, that I should only, that I can only say one thing; and that is that I am grateful; to my pupils, to their parents, to my staff; to all who give me of 100their best in return for mine.” Josephine paused, and perceiving that this limit to her words had caused a miscalculation, waited with her eyes down, as if under the influence of her feelings, until a little girl, carrying a bouquet, approached the platform.
“Now, here are two charming things!” she said, standing with the bouquet in one hand and the other on the child’s head. “I do not know which gives me more pleasure, but I do know which is the more important; and I think I cannot end better than by saying that there can be no one present, to whom it is more important than it is to me.”
There was applause, whether for Josephine’s self or her devotion of it to others, was not apparent, and Mrs. Chattaway turned to her friends.
“An extraordinary speech for the spur of the moment! Just the sort that one would think would need the most preparation. One can hardly believe it.”
“No,” said Miss Munday on a rather high note.
There was a tendency to titter, and Miss Luke set her teeth through her own participation in it.
“Come, come. What we could not do ourselves may be possible for others, for one other, anyhow.”
“And we have Mrs. Napier’s word,” said Mrs. Chattaway.
“I admire the speech more, if it was prepared,” said Felix. “Fancy planning to make that kind of speech and not an elaborate one! I had a glimpse into my own soul.”
“What is the jest?” said Josephine, as she passed.
There was a pause, and then Miss Luke stepped forward to do all concerned the justice of truth.
“It was suggested that you had prepared your speech, Mrs. Napier. The idea of your not being above human weakness struck us as ludicrous, you see.”101
“Oh!” said Josephine. “I had not that temptation. I speak much worse, when I do not speak extempore. I am afraid that your impression that I was doing myself more than justice, had a certain truth.”
Jonathan for the second time emerged from his seat.
“Well, that was a pretty sight, a satisfying feast for the ears. A very high standard, Josephine, my dear, both in you and your pupils; my congratulations. Well, Miss Munday, we are both interested in education: I have given much of my life to it. Miss Rosetti, I have promised myself a talk with an old friend. Yes, is there anything more to come?”
“The exhibition of drawings,” said Felix. “You need not be afraid of their quality: I entrust the mounting to no one but myself. I should be ashamed to let a pupil take home a drawing that had no merit. The old-world atmosphere is so important, and I pay it strict attention.”
Josephine glanced at Miss Munday and Miss Luke, and raised her brows in mock despair.
The father of a pupil came up to Felix.
“So you are the drawing-master of the school?”
“Yes,” said Felix in a cordial tone.
“And you are quite settled in the post?”
“Yes. I do not lose my positions.”
“Have you had many?”
“No; that would mean that I did lose them.”
“You find the work interesting?”
“Yes. I was saying what interesting work I did.”
“Why did you choose to teach girls rather than boys?”
“Everyone asks me that. I wonder how girls get educated. I knew people didn’t always believe in women’s higher education; but I find that they don’t believe in any education at all. I wonder 102why they send their daughters to school. I suppose you have your own reasons?”
The guest smiled and moved on to Josephine.
“He has his own touch, that drawing master of yours. He seems to take his work in a serious spirit.”
“I should hardly have thought that that was the phrase to describe his talk with you,” said Josephine, with a smile.
“I was speaking of his real attitude, apart from his talk.”
“I hope that goes without saying of anyone who teaches here. And in his case the attitude cannot arise from his background. It is his own.”
“Where does he come from? Was he not intended for the life?”
“He is the son of Sir Robert Bacon, whose place is about thirty miles to the west,” said Josephine, her easy voice easier as she ended: “The only son.”
“Oh yes, of course,” said the guest.
“Is there any ‘of course’ about it? Men whose roots are in the country, generally give their hearts to hunting and such like, don’t they, rather than to the furthering of art?”
“Oh yes. No doubt you are fortunate to have him.”
“Yes; I think it shows a genuine inclination,” said Josephine in an even tone.
“It seems an odd life for him, teaching drawing to girls.”
“If I thought teaching girls an odd life, I should not have chosen it. You cannot expect me to agree with you there.”
“No, no; but I meant for a man.”
“Well, you cannot expect me to agree with you there either, or I should not have men on my staff.”
“Well, I must say that I agree,” said Fane, pausing with the simple purpose of sharing the talk. “I thank heaven that there were other choices open to me.”103
“Then I think we all thank heaven for it,” said Josephine, smiling.
“Yes, yes, indeed,” said the guest. “Do you find that men teach better than women, Mrs. Napier?”
“No, but I find they teach as well; so that there is no reason for debarring them from the work.”
“No, no, of course not,” said the guest, inwardly confronting the question of human eagerness.
Jonathan left Miss Rosetti and came up to his sister; and the guest gave a glance at this further masculine element as he went his way.
“Well, Gabriel is still domesticated, my dear. Is enough getting to be as good as a feast?”
“I don’t think anything is as good as a feast, at tea time after an amateur concert. And Gabriel will certainly not cease being domesticated just now. He will bring refreshment to these kind ladies, who have borne the concert with such fortitude, knowing how unwillingly I inflicted it on them. So allow Miss Rosetti to drink her tea in peace.”
“Miss Rosetti and I are old friends. It was I who introduced you to her.”
“Well, having done one great thing for the school, come and do another, and talk to some parents. That seems to me a great thing at this moment, distorted though I admit my sense of values to be. We will leave the qualified ones to make merry at the expense of the concert. I’ll warrant that will be the better of the two entertainments to-day. Why, what a crash! Has somebody come to grief?”
It was seen that a pupil, who had been carrying tea to the guests, had stumbled with the tray to the ground.
“Dear, dear, what is this, what is this?” said an old gentleman. 104“All the best cups and saucers! Well, I hope nobody is hurt. The china is hurt quite enough.”
“Here is somebody in trouble!” said Fane, as Gabriel and Felix approached in haste. “Now there is no need for a fuss. Accidents are bound to happen.”
“Are you shaken, my dear?” said Josephine to the girl. “No, don’t trouble to pick up the pieces; my nephew is here. Yes, you must want a chair; thank you, Mr. Bacon. Now they will fetch you some tea for yourself. You have had quite a shock; the state of the china shows that.”
“Your pupils expect gallantry while they are at school, Mrs. Napier?” said Fane.
“Surely school should be a preparation for life.”
“I hope they will get what they have been taught to expect.”
“I hope so,” said Josephine, with a touch of gravity.
“You treat school-girls as if they were grown-up women?”
“Always, when it is possible. But perhaps there speaks the educationist.” Josephine smiled at Fane, and turned to the mother of a pupil.
“Who was the girl who played the violin, Mrs. Napier?”
“I am afraid I do not remember her name. I know her well by sight.”
“Of course you cannot give personal attention to all the girls.”
“I can see that they all have personal attention. That is what I do with my time.”
“Do you know who teaches her the violin?”
“Yes, I have just asked. I too, was struck by her playing. And I ought to know the good gentleman: I find I have a talk with him every term.”
“Would you recommend my girl to learn the violin?”
Josephine placed her hand on the speaker’s shoulder.105
“I should not, at the moment. I must find what her talents are, what her health is, in a word, who she is, before I offer an opinion. There are people who will tell me all these things.”
“The girls of to-day are fortunate,” said the mother, realising the distance between her child and the person in charge of her. “Will you ask someone to write to me?”
“I hope to write to you myself,” said Josephine, emphasising her second word, and leaving her companion in favour of the state it indicated, as compared with certainty.
“May I have tea with you?” said Felix, joining the mistresses, who were still a group by themselves. “I want to seem a person apart from the other masters.”
“Well, that is the way to do it,” said Miss Luke. “Their bearing seems to indicate that we are the subordinate half of mankind.”
“So many things indicate it, and yet is never really settled,” said Felix. “I hardly think you can be, or it would have been proved by now.”
“Do many things show that man is the ruling half?” said Miss Rosetti.
“Yes, a great many,” said Helen. “And yet that is never settled either. It may mean that we cannot judge by appearances.”
“I believe you are a feminist, Mr. Bacon,” said Miss Luke, her tone hardly bearing out her own opinions.
“He is indeed,” said Helen. “He said that it was not settled that women were subordinate to men, and he could not be more of a feminist than that.”
“Here is an impressive-looking person!” said Mrs. Chattaway. “Whose father is he?”
“Oh, he is mine,” said Felix. “And he said he could not come. He must think it his duty to take me by surprise. I hope I have not 106caused him inconvenience. I must behave to him very carefully. People’s manners to their family are such a test.”
An upright old man about seventy-eight, of the same height, but of heavier build than Felix, with the latter’s features in a more solid and regular form, was advancing across the room, impeded by his fellow guests, one of whom addressed him, as they were compelled to a pause.
“This is a pretty sight. All the young faces.”
“Ah, yes, indeed,” said Sir Robert, turning his glasses about him.
“You have a daughter, you have a grand-daughter; you have come to visit one of the girls?”
“I have come to visit my son.”
“Your son?” said the other.
“Yes,” said Sir Robert, with grave simplicity. “He is the drawing master here.”
“Oh yes; I have heard people speak of him. I hear that he puts his heart into his work.”
“I trust he does, as he has undertaken it.”
“My father is the first person to take the right view of my profession,” said Felix. “I am glad to see you looking so well, Father. Will you come and see the exhibition of drawings?”
“No, I will take them for granted, thank you,” said Sir Robert, shaking hands with his son, with his eyes on his face.
“Then will you come and be introduced to my colleagues?”
“No, I will also take them—ah, I shall be most pleased,” said Sir Robert, observing the sex of these persons, and accompanying Felix towards them.
“May I introduce my father?” said Felix, pronouncing the names of the women in turn, and causing each to give a conscious little bow, and Sir Robert a series of salutes that had not merely a numerical advantage.107
“Are your son’s surroundings what you expected, Sir Robert?” said Miss Luke.
“Ah, yes; a pretty sight,” said Sir Robert, giving a general glance about him after his words.
“Confess you would like him to give up his post to-morrow.”
“I should be sorry to see him change his mind so soon.”
“He says that in your view he might be a woman,” said Miss Munday in a plaintive tone.
“A father is disposed to take a hopeful view of his son,” said Sir Robert, bowing as he turned away.
“Do you not want to have a talk with your father?” said Mrs. Chattaway to Felix, with an improved opinion of this opportunity.
“No. I look rather undistinguished beside him. And he might try to make me look foolish; and it would not be fair to Mrs. Napier for me to look both. One cannot only consider one’s own family.”
Sir Robert was approaching Simon.
“You have great doings here to-day.”
“Yes, it is our great occasion.”
“A pretty sight, the young faces,” observed Sir Robert, after a silence.
“Yes, here to-day and gone to-morrow!” said Simon, in a rather drawn-out, dreamy tone. “A world of fleeting generations.”
Sir Robert agreed, and moved off to offer a formal handshake to Jonathan. Jonathan returned it in a cringing manner, stooping and looking shorter than he was, and vanished into the crowd.
“It is a pity that I have not inherited my father’s appearance,” said Felix. “I am really almost a trivial figure in comparison. Here is Mrs. Napier, bringing another father to see us! I see how much mine is above the average. I am not at all self-conscious about being the only man.”108
“Not as self-conscious as Mrs. Napier is about being the only woman with the father,” said Helen to Miss Rosetti.
“Now, here are the senior mistresses grouped for your introduction to them!” said Josephine, keeping her eyes averted from Felix, to give full weight to the convention of precedence to woman. “They will be interested to know that you hope to place your daughter with us next term.”
“Will you pay extra for drawing?” said Felix, as he was presented.
“Why, I don’t know. Is that the thing to do?”
“Yes, quite the thing,” said Felix.
“Mr. Bacon is the drawing-master, and anxious for the success of his subject,” said Josephine.
“Well, it shows that he takes his subject seriously.”
“I am shocked by people’s attitude to their daughters,” said Felix. “They all express open surprise that their education should be taken seriously. It is a good thing that they entrust it to other people: they are evidently not without parental instincts. But they don’t seem to give any real thought to their being the mothers of the race.”
“Well, but too much education may not result in their being the mothers of the race,” said the father, lifting his eyes lightly from the mistresses, as if they had not had this direction, and then hastening his words. “Well, we spend nearly as much on the girls’ education as on their brothers’ nowadays.”
“It is so savage of us to be proud of that. We aim at real equality; and every extra is a step towards it. So as drawing is an extra, I am sure that your daughter will take it.”
“But I am not sure she has any talent.”
“But I am sure she has. You see the difference between the parent and the teacher. Will you come and see the kind of talent she will have?”109
“I would rather see some average drawings, and know what is done by the ordinary girl.”
“You shall see any kind you like, though I cannot bear your daughter to be called ordinary. I will show you some drawings that are not yet mounted, and then you will know that she will do much better. You won’t come and see how much better she will do?”
“No, I will be content with the average. Though I shouldn’t be surprised if my girl is a thought above it.”
“I knew it,” said Felix. “You see how well I already understand her. You will wait for me while I fetch the drawings?”
“I will send for them,” said Josephine, turning to Elizabeth, who was standing near. “Mrs. Giffard, you will do me a kindness, and fetch a portfolio from the left-hand bookcase in my library? You will not mind an odd job to-day? We are all occupied with them.”
“An odd job?” said Elizabeth. “If I minded odd jobs, dear Josephine, I don’t know what would have happened in this house to-day, or failed to happen. But this odd job doesn’t sound as if it called for my peculiar talents.”
“It does not, and that is why it is an odd job,” said Josephine, coming to her side and lowering her voice. “I think, you know, that I would call me Mrs. Napier, if I were you, on these formal occasions. And I will make a point of calling you Mrs. Giffard. You must trust me to take on myself an equal share of a bargain.”
“Now that you break one that has lasted for forty years! But I am yours to command, as we are both aware.”
“I am always sorry to be compelled to any such awareness. But if I must recognise that I am, I will request you to do as I asked.”
“There are several maids about with nothing on their hands.”
“Well, if you are happy as the housekeeper,” said Josephine, using an audible tone, “in allowing the maids carte blanche on my 110shelves, I will follow my rule and leave your own work to your own judgement.”
“Simon, are you coming to help me to accomplish my duties?” said Elizabeth in ringing tones. “They are branching out in so many directions. Shall we follow the example of our boy and girl, and address ourselves together to usefulness?”
Josephine glanced at Ruth and Gabriel, who were dispensing refreshments together, and summoned an indulgent expression to her face.
“Simon is occupied with his guests,” she said, turning back to Elizabeth. “If there were any need for assistance, I should have provided you with it. There is only one portfolio.”
“Well, he and I have so often done one thing between us in the past, that we can safely essay another in the present. If practice makes perfect, you will soon have your prize.”
“I am sorry to have caused any trouble,” said the guest. “We could have seen the drawings another time.”
“That would be a pity,” said Felix. “It would postpone your recognition of the inferiority of other people’s children. The parents of daughters are not so unnatural in that matter as in others.”
“You seem to know a good deal about parents. I suppose you have been here a long while?”
“Anyone would suppose that,” said Felix.
“I daresay your staff has not much to complain of, Mrs. Napier.”
“Hear, hear!” said Miss Luke, stepping impulsively forward from her place.
“Hear, hear!” said her companions, moving forward a shorter distance, and dropping their eyes as they voiced their exclamation, Mrs. Chattaway with emphasis, Miss Rosetti with acquiescence, and Miss Munday in a falsetto tone, which provoked a twitch on her own face. Miss Luke joined in on a lower note, proper to 111support of her own initiative, and the guest made a movement to tap his stick, as if hardly accepting his own isolation.
“Well, what am I to say?” said Josephine. “I think I will say that I have been told to ‘hear’, and that I have heard, and that if it is enough for you, it is indeed enough for me.”
The guest fulfilled his impulse and desisted, finding himself without real faith in the method.
“Well, I will go and pursue those drawings,” said Josephine. “They seem to be shy about not being passed for exhibition.”
She went down the room and crossed the hall to the library, from the open door of which voices came to her, with their meaning blurred by her own emotional mood.
“Yes, I sat here alone, Simon, waiting for you to come in to me with Josephine. I sat and called up the past, until your family came and brought the present. Such a strange present it was for a moment, while it pressed back the memories and took possession! Yes, it has possession now.”
“You are a great help to us in it, and it is in the present that we live. Shall we let the dead past bury its dead, and deal with it in the better way?”
Simon steadied himself on the ladder where he stood and turned towards Elizabeth. A step was heard at the door, Josephine’s step; and Elizabeth sprang away from the ladder, unconscious that she held it, unconsciously tightening her hold. Its balance was shaken, and it fell to the hearth, carrying Simon with it, and casting his head against the marble curb.
Josephine entered and started forward to her husband, who lay as he had fallen. The two women bent over him together, stood up together, and faced each other, as the truth was flung upon them; and Elizabeth found herself hastening for help at Josephine’s word.112
Jonathan and Gabriel came to Josephine, and she turned to them almost with a smile.
“Gabriel, I have to call on you to do your first action as a man.”
Simon was lifted and carried to his room. The doctor gave the diagnosis of instantaneous death. The temple had been struck on the fatal spot. The routine of the house went on, and it was known that there was emptiness in Simon’s place, and how near to the heart of things that place had been. In spite of the violent incident of his death, he seemed to have died with the evenness with which he had lived. It seemed that nothing sudden had taken place. There was less a blank than a difference.
At first Josephine was calm, alert, alive to every need. Then she drew apart, gave some rapid, final directions in a failing tone, and hastened from her husband’s room. She went in search of Gabriel, and found him alone, and drew him into a solemn but sustaining embrace.
Jonathan stayed for the evening, and sat at dinner in Simon’s seat, in obedience to his sister’s quiet word. The hour was to be marked by no particular observance. Josephine was gravely cheerful, and refused to be relieved of the duties of her place. She talked to Gabriel with reassuring ease, and made no demand on him for grief, assuming simply that the loss was light to his youth.
She went herself with her brother to the door. “My dear sister, my heart is full for you. You are beyond praise. Just take each moment as it comes.”
“There is no fear that I shall do more than that; and no fear that anything will go amiss with anyone else, as long as I do it. That at the present must be enough for me. Yes, I must find it enough.”