SUKEY TOOK HER seat by the fire, but on second thoughts rose and stood with her arm on the chimney-piece, as if this showed her to advantage. Her niece and nephews came up the drive and entered the hall, that was used as a room by the family. Anna led the way with her quick, short steps, and with her eyes fixed on the remembered faces, as if to appraise any change in them. Jessica stood with a smile that welcomed and exalted the motherless.
“I must be forgiven for ushering in such a horde of brothers,” said her niece. “There did not seem to be any way of making their number less.”
“It is a good thing our numbers are not reversed,” said Esmond to Bernard, keeping his eyes from his relatives as completely as he assumed theirs were on him. “There might be no hope of forgiveness.”
“Well, what a dwarf I feel beside you all!” said Anna. “I ought to be related to you, Uncle Thomas, instead of to all these thoroughbreds. We shall keep each other in countenance; that is one thing.”
“None of you is changed except this little one,” said Jessica. “And I think the difference is that he is not so little. Your leg is stronger, my boy. I see that it is.”
“He is taller than I am,” said Anna. “It was a humiliating moment when I found myself overtopped for the third time.”
“Such moments must come to the only sister in a family.”
“Oh, I am much shorter for a woman than the elder boys are for men,” said Anna, who could seldom let a statement pass. “And Reuben seems to be following in their wake.”
“My daughter and I balance each other,” said Benjamin, who was watching his family with emotions that almost escaped him.
“Well, what do you think of all of us?” said Sukey, from her place. “We have passed our verdict on you, and have now to succeed you in the dock.”
“Oh, I see little signs of time scattered about,” said Anna, casting her eyes from face to face. “That is the only thing, I think.”
“I suppose Aunt Sukey cannot have improved,” said Bernard. “The advance must be in me.”
“She has always been the show piece, hasn’t she?” said his sister.
“I must remember that handsome is as handsome does,” said Sukey, with a smile.
“And Tullia has made an advance,” said Anna, in a casual manner. “She was in a distinctly more coltish stage, if I remember.”
“It is natural for the years to pass,” said her cousin.
“Can it be?” said Terence. “It seems so wasteful and wicked, when we only have a certain number of them.”
“Nature is known to be red in tooth and claw,” said Anna. “She snatches things from us all the time. I have found it even at my age.”
“I never think of it,” said Tullia. “I suppose I am too forgiving.”
“I forgive Nature nothing,” said Terence. “Least of all our death at last from natural causes.”
“You are too young to realise it,” said Anna to Tullia. “There must be seven years between us.”
“I am twenty-two,” said her cousin.
“Oh, eight then,” said Anna.
“I feel I shall gain with the years,” said Bernard, “but I think that is generally other people’s gain.”
“I feel I have the gift of perennial youth,” said Terence.
“I think Anna has it,” said Sukey. “I never saw anyone look so young for her age.”
“Oh, I am often accused of that,” said her niece. “I sometimes suspect a suggestion of crudeness and un-development.”
“There is none from me,” said Sukey, smiling. “I should hardly have so much opinion of the effects of time. An invalid of fifty-three has no great welcome for them.”
“We people with less to lose have an advantage there,” said Anna. “I often feel that I shall be quite a passable person in middle age. It must be hard to feel your superiority slipping away all the time. Not that anyone in our generation will reach your level. It is a case of elders and betters indeed.”
“It serves people right for feeling superior,” said Jessica.
“Oh, they can’t help their personal endowments,” said her niece.
“It is a good thing we are not responsible for them,” said Sukey, changing her tone as she spoke. “It is strange for me to feel that all that I am, may come to an end on any day. I wonder if all of you know it. Had you heard of it, Anna, my dear?”
“I believe we did hear that something had gone wrong with your heart,” muttered Anna, not meeting her eyes. “Father did say something about it.”
“Was it not a little more than that?” said Sukey, bending forward.
“Yes, of course it was. It was put in the natural way,” said Bernard. “But Anna is quite right not to face it. It is too much for us to believe.”
“So I face it alone,” said Sukey, as if she were speaking to herself. “I cannot put it from me. I go on with my life, not knowing on what day or at what hour my change will come.”
“I don’t suppose we can any of us be sure of that,” said Anna.
“We simply feel it will not come,” said Terence.
“I am glad you can do that,” said Sukey, in a tone in which irony and honesty seemed to contend.
“All this nobility and tragedy is rather much for us,” muttered Anna. “We were hardly prepared for it.”
“Come and sit by me, my little nephew,” said Sukey, seeing Reuben’s eyes fixed on her face. “You and I know what it is to halt through life behind other people, and it is so good that for you those days are past.”
Reuben took the place, and his aunt put her arm about him.
“Quite a touching scene,” said Anna. “We shall all wish we were disabled in some way.”
“My sister’s disability is real enough,” said Esmond to Terence. “She deserves some compensation.”
“I daresay it is,” said Anna, overhearing. “I am downright and outspoken and anything you please, but they may not be such desperate disadvantages compared with other people’s. You and I are not a suave and finished pair, and there is an end of it.”
“I trust it is not the beginning,” said Bernard.
Jessica smiled on her brother’s motherless flock, in a simpler kindness than that she felt for her own. It was free from the strain and anxiety of her nearest feeling.
Benjamin rose and walked, as if by chance, by Esmond, and spoke in the husky mutter that had become an omen.
“Perhaps you will try to improve the impression you have made. It is not an advantage to us to be related to a savage.”
“I know it is not,” said his son, and said no more.
Sukey looked up in surprise at a manifestation new to her, and Benjamin glanced from her to his son with a mingled discomfiture and pride, that could have appeared on no other face.
“Here are Claribel and Jenney coming to swell our ranks,” said Anna. “I thought they were full enough for a beginning. And it seems rather the moment for a diversion.”
“Well, have the young people made their impression?” said Claribel, advancing with her deliberate stride. “I felt we should not be present at the more intimate reunion. But perhaps we may now contribute what we have to give. What an elaborate conversation piece! I feel I shall be quite lost in the midst of it.” She proceeded to this point of the group.
“Well, you see that the years have gone by,” said Thomas.
“It sounds as if Uncle Thomas had been rather struck by the signs of it,” said Anna.
“I never think as much of the years as other people,” said Claribel. “I seem to be one by myself there. They seem to leave me essentially the same, and so I see other people with the same eyes, and there does not seem to me all that difference. I don’t know what havoc you think has been worked in me. Mercifully I am unconscious of it.”
“I am sure you may be,” said Sukey. “I am the person for whom that is impossible.”
“I don’t think you have much to complain of,” said Claribel, looking into her face. “No more than you ever had, as far as I can see. But that is my characteristic reaction.”
“Not on that score perhaps. People seem to be agreed there,” said Sukey, choosing to add the general one. “And the real thing is beyond complaint. And so I will not complain.”
“And we will not think what we feel cannot be true,” said Claribel.
“While there is life there is hope,” said Anna.
Sukey turned a smile on her niece, that was almost one of pity.
“What do you think of the march of years, Miss Jennings?” said Thomas.
“Jenney hesitates to say how poorly she thinks of it,” said Bernard.
“Well, it would be strange if there were no changes,” said Jenney.
“Why are we so cast down by them?” said Thomas.
“Because they show that we are further on in our progress to the grave,” said Terence. “It would be odd to be uplifted. But I feel it is all rather ennobling.”
“So that is the effect we have on you,” said Claribel. “What must you be thinking of us?”
“My son might truthfully say he was thinking of himself,” said Thomas.
“You have had a hard time, Anna, my dear,” said Jessica. “I have moved a family from house to house, and I know it is not a small thing.”
“It was finding the house that was the business, Aunt Jessica. I thought I should never achieve it, but I kept my shoulder to the wheel and brought it off. And Jenney approves of my decision, and that is what matters.”
“I also have conceded my approval,” said Claribel.
“And I see that the best has been made of our choice,” said Benjamin. “And I congratulate and thank my daughter.”
“Well, better late than never, Father,” the daughter replied.
“You must have a grateful family,” said Sukey to her niece.
“Oh, the young males wait for things to be done, and then criticise. I pay no heed to them.”
“I always thought that class of person was hardly dealt with,” said Terence. “I did not know they deserved it.”
“Esmond was the worst,” said Bernard. “I should not have said a word, if it had not been for his example. I am the weaker one, and he led me wrong.”
“I like the house,” said Reuben, looking round. “I never care what other people think, if a thing appeals to me.”
“It had been empty for years,” said Esmond. “And would be so now, if we were not in it. You should have seen the size of the notice of the sale. The owner could hardly convince himself that he had sold it, and doubted his power to convince anyone else.”
“They have no idea how far money goes on that sort of thing,” said Anna, looking at her aunts.
“I suffered similar things when I took this house,” said Thomas. “Only my Tullia supported me.”
“We know better now,” said his wife.
“But Tullia did so then, and it shall be said of her,” said Thomas, putting his arms round his daughter and his niece. “We three know what it is to be first burdened and then buffeted.”
“We are a bad match on either side of you,” said Anna. “You and I would make a better pair.”
“Tullia was too young to understand. She just took your part,” said Jessica. “I had to say what seemed to me to be the truth.”
“She supported her father; that is what I remember,” said Thomas.
“It is the sort of thing that is remembered,” said his wife.
“I came out badly,” said Terence. “I thought of what people would think. I did not know that we ought to despise their opinions. After all, they are our fellow-creatures.”
“What kind of surroundings did you expect?” said Claribel, looking round. “Most of us have to be content with an inferior setting to this. We are much more dependent upon ourselves.”
“I am really happy and contented anywhere,” said Bernard. “It sounds as if I did not think much was due to me. And I do not know why so very much is.”
“I always said a young man was a pathetic creature,” said Terence.
“He arrived without notice, and went down to the kitchen and had tea with the servants,” said Anna.
“And which enjoyed it the more?” said Thomas.
“We enjoyed it together,” said his nephew. “We have a great deal in common. And there are more things in a kitchen than anywhere else.”
“The pair have settled down, I am thankful to say,” said Anna, just throwing up her voice and her brows.
“You have a lucky hand with maids, have you?” said Sukey, feeling that her niece might show a rough kindliness. “It is a thing that means more than it sounds.”
“Oh, well,” said Anna, lifting her shoulders, “I am often at a loss how to bridge the gulf between us. We have so little idea of the state of things on the other side. I can’t just step across it, as Bernard can.”
“I have never seen it,” said her brother.
“Would they not talk to you, if you helped them?” said Jessica to her niece.
“I daresay they would. They do show the disposition sometimes, but I am inclined to check it. It is no good to get on to their ground. We are not at home on it, and there it is.”
“We can learn to be,” said Jessica.
“Well, if you think the lesson worth learning. I hardly think it is, myself. I don’t see where it leads.”
“To a better understanding of other people,” said Jessica.
“And of their whims and their fancies and their superstitions. They have already discovered that the stairs are steep, and that the house is haunted. So much has emerged without encouragement. I tremble to think what the output would be, if it was invited.”
“Are the stairs a superstition?” said Tullia.
“Yes, they are,” said Anna, with some sharpness. “They are no more steep than these.”
“Oh, well, yes, they are,” said Jenney, as if she could not but bear witness to the truth. “It was natural to notice them at first. They are trying to get used to them.”
“I must make the guilty confession that my feelings are with Anna in these matters,” said Claribel.
“Anna does not have much to do with the servants,” said Esmond. “They are Jenney’s province.”
“Oh, I have my part to play, if only you knew,” said his sister. “I don’t take Bernard’s line and make friends of them. I prefer my friends in my own sphere.”
“A friend in any sphere is a valuable thing,” said Jessica.
“Oh, well, Aunt Jessica, when I meet you walking arm-in-arm with the housemaid, I will believe you.”
There was a pause.
“A friend in one’s own is better,” said Sukey. “I agree with Anna there. It is not so natural to be with people from another plane.”
“Thank you, Aunt Sukey. You are honest, if nothing else—if no one else is. And you and I are at one. I should have thought that we all should be, but it appears that no one else holds the established and old-fashioned ideas.”
“I believe in the equality of all men,” said Reuben, glancing at Jessica.
“Need we give so much thought to our own opinions?” said the latter. “It is better to look outside ourselves for our interests.”
“But then we could not have any,” said her son.
“Oh, most of us cast an eye in our own direction sometimes,” said Anna. “And I should not have thought Aunt Jessica was an exception.”
“She looks less at herself than inside herself,” said Thomas.
A cloud came over his wife’s face.
“She is introspective, is she?” said Anna.
“Never become so, my dear,” said Jessica. “It is selfish and useless, and becomes a habit. And what is there of importance inside oneself?”
“Not much that would look too well, if it were brought outside,” said Esmond.
“You can know no mind but your own,” said his father. “So we take your words to apply to that.”
“Why think of anyone then?” said Anna. “If no one is important, why not forget the human race? All our thoughts and emotions go on inside ourselves.”
“It would be nice to meet people who thought of things, for a change,” said Claribel.
“We do meet them,” said Terence. “They read the papers and talk as if they had found everything out. It is dreadful to have a masculine mind.”
“Claribel was feeling that she had one,” said Bernard. “And I think I should like to feel the same.”
“Are you so different from such people?” said Anna to Terence.
“Yes, I love personalities and the difficulties of my friends.”
“That sounds an amiable characteristic.”
“It is a sign of affection,” said Terence. “Indeed it is a proof of it. We are quite sorry about the misfortunes of strangers.”
“But does it show that you have a feminine mind?”
“Well, I also love scandal. Or I should, if the very word did not suggest that it might not be true. Of course the whole point of people’s mistakes is that we should be able to depend on them.”
“Mere mistakes do not give much ground for scandal.”
“I never use a harder word than mistakes,” said Terence.
“That is the charm of women, that they are so good at such things,” said Bernard. “I wish I could spend all my time with them. I wish I did not have to work.”
“Hush, don’t say it out loud,” said Terence. “I shall have to too, and I am so afraid people will discover it. They are beginning to suspect.”
“Is that an allusion to Cook and Ethel?” said Anna, in a rather loud tone to her brother. “Your giving your time to them is a true enough touch.”
“I wish they did not have to work either,” said Bernard. “Our difficulties seem so much the same.”
“What would they do, if they didn’t?” said Anna.
“They would talk and have tea and read books with paper covers. I should do some of those things myself. How I should like it for them! As it is, thinking of Cook makes me want to cry.”
“Ethel seems to me the heroic figure, if you must find one.”
“Ethel makes me feel inspired.”
“Ethel is a thoroughly nice woman,” said Jenney.
“We are not the only people who have servants,” said Esmond. “We shall not hear as much about Aunt Jessica’s half-dozen in a month, as we do about our couple in a day.”
“Aunt Jessica’s four,” said Anna; “and one of those is Aunt Sukey’s attendant.”
“My wife has the gift of winning their hearts,” said Thomas.
“But why does that mean that we do not hear about them?” said Bernard. “You would think we should hear more.”
“Of course we should not,” said Terence. “You should think before you speak.”
“They are always good and kind to me,” said Jessica.
“I believe I am Aunt Jessica’s true nephew,” said Bernard. “I am sure no one else is. I wish she would say that Esmond is not.”
“And I am her true son,” said Terence. “She has no other true relations.”
“Have we produced a pair of kindred spirits?” said Jessica, smiling at her brother and looking at their eldest sons.
Benjamin nodded in understanding, but at once withdrew his glance, lest his children should see it; a needless precaution, as his sons kept their eyes from his face, and his daughter did not think to turn hers towards it.
“Perhaps Esmond has some attention to spare for his other aunt,” said Sukey.
“They are all giving you enough,” said Claribel. “They have no eyes for anyone else. I should feel most flattered, if Esmond bestowed half the amount on me.”
Her nephew gave every sign that he bestowed none on her at all.
Miss Lacy returned to the house with her pupils, and paused by the group in privileged interest.
“What is the matter in hand?” she said.
“That I am Aunt Jessica’s especial nephew,” said Bernard.
“And I come second,” said Reuben, loudly.
“Your aunt loves you all alike, of course,” said Miss Lacy.
“Can anyone really love a nephew, when she loves her son as much as Mother does Terence?” said Dora.
“Mother is different from other people,” said Thomas.
Jessica’s face darkened, as if she could give her own meaning to the words. Her eyes rested on Dora in new and troubled knowledge. The child saw Terence as better loved than herself, and saw it with unconcern. Jessica had thought that feelings that were not revealed, were unbetrayed, and had not reflected that she was unlikely to give voice to them. She often fell into the pitfalls of her path; the very straightforwardness of her nature caused it; the common precautions and contrivances were not for her.
“Perhaps one aunt will have some feeling over for the niece,” said Anna.
“Let me be that one,” said Sukey, making room at her side. “You and I must support each other. We are not used to being left out in the cold.”
“I believe I am pretty well accustomed to it,” said Anna, as she took the seat. “I am the person who has to control and contrive. And that does relegate one to a chilly place.”
“You are young to be at the head of things,” said Sukey.
“I am not young now in any sense, but I was, when I came from school to the place at the helm. And that made me lay an indifferent foundation. And then there was no living it down.”
“We must help each other,” said Sukey. “I may not have lived too wisely myself. I often see signs of weariness of me and my ways.”
Jessica observed the pair, in relief that Sukey should find this companionship. She had not thought of a bond between her sister and her niece, but welcomed it as an advantage and solution. Sukey needed service and support beyond what could be accorded in her sister’s home, and Jessica unconsciously assumed that such things would come as a due from Anna’s level to Sukey’s. That Anna might expect return for what she gave, did not enter her thoughts. Such things did not strike people with regard to Anna.
“Are you having luncheon with us to-day, Miss Lacy?” said Jessica. “Is it a day when you are here in the afternoon?”
“It is such a day, but I am going home,” said Miss Lacy, in calm decision of her course. “The children have obtained your leave for a holiday, and I do not superintend their leisure. They do not need to be taught to play.”
“I do not remember giving them the holiday,” said Jessica, wrinkling her forehead. “They take advantage of my absence of mind, and hold me to what I am betrayed into saying. Now isn’t this another case of it, children?”
“Yes,” said Julius, with a shamefaced grin.
“Yes,” said Dora, pushing a stick about on the floor, and suddenly sending a flash of honest eyes across her mother’s face. “We knew you didn’t know you said it.”
Jessica accepted acknowledgment as an atonement, and also accepted the uncertainty of her brain, an unfair effort, as it had not been at fault.
“Do you notice the difference in the ranks of our young people, Miss Lacy?” said Thomas.
“Is not there an increase in them?” said Miss Lacy, looking round with an air of finding this dawn upon her. “Yes, a perceptible increase.”
“You have not forgotten me,” said Bernard. “No one has ever done that. I make a simple impression, but it is my own.”
“Is it the voice of Bernard?” said Miss Lacy.
“You remember Bernard and Anna, who used to visit your schoolroom when Terence and Tullia were there.”
“Then how do you do, Bernard and Anna?” said Miss Lacy, shaking hands and using Christian names as her natural prerogative. “I am glad to see you again, and I hope you will remember my schoolroom with Tullia’s successors.”
“We can’t expect you to remember Reuben and Esmond,” said Anna.
“How do you do, Reuben and Esmond?” said Miss Lacy, shaking hands in order of age, but using the names in Anna’s order, as if she had no aid from her memory. “What very handsome names! I feel as if a book had come true.”
“You knew that Reuben was the youngest,” said Dora. “Because you said you were glad his leg was better.”
“Am I not doing myself justice?” said Miss Lacy, with some amusement. “And I thought I was making a creditable effort. It was certainly a sincere one. How do you do, Esmond and Reuben? Bernard, Anna, Esmond and Reuben. Or does Anna come first?”
“No, Bernard is the eldest,” said Anna. “But people often assume that I am the first, as I take the lead in things. The sister has to do that.”
“I should not have assumed it,” said Miss Lacy, turning her eyes from face to face. “I should have said that you were the second. But I am inclined to sympathise with people; I was getting unsure of myself. Bernard, Anna, Esmond and Reuben.”
“Oh, Bernard and Anna are ordinary names enough. And the others are not as out-of-the-way as all that.”
“Anna is a good name, my dear,” said Miss Lacy, in a kindly, if absent tone, as she turned to Jessica. “I suppose they do not remember their mother?”
“Good gracious, yes,” Anna interposed. “I was eighteen when she died, old enough to be summoned home to steer the family course.”
“Poor child!” said Miss Lacy, passing her eyes over Reuben, as if to judge of the result of this guidance, and then dropping her voice to its sibilant note. “Poor children!”
“We have always had Miss Jennings with us,” said Bernard.
“Oh, Miss Jennings! I want to see Miss Jennings,” said Miss Lacy, her tone somehow implying that she made nothing of any distance between them. “I was great friends with Miss Jennings. And I want to ask her advice on a matter of my own, on a charge that is coming to me.”
“Are you expecting some fresh responsibility?” said Thomas.
“Yes, an orphan niece is to make her home with me,” said Miss Lacy, in the even tone of one who had found varied experience a part of life. “The daughter of my younger brother, a girl of twenty. Poor child, I hope I shall be able to make my house a home to her. And I am sure Miss Jennings is the person to advise me. How not to ask too much of her; how to ask enough, for that is important too; how to ask enough of myself, without asking too much. Well, it will all have to be decided, or rather it will all decide itself, and we shall be helpless about it.”
“Will she like to live just with a much older person?” said Dora.
“That is one of my problems, Dora,” said Miss Lacy, in a grave tone. “And you remind me that she may be expecting the older person’s welcome. There is no need for me to fail there.”
Miss Lacy turned and went with mild haste down the drive, to be overtaken by Bernard and escorted to the gate.
“Miss Lacy has gone to the gate by herself for eighteen years,” said Terence, looking after them.
“Then she should be better versed in the problems of the latch than Bernard seems to be,” said Benjamin.
“Why do all gates have different fastenings?” said Anna. “A standard one might bring a fortune to somebody.”
“I suppose each one was to have been that one,” said Thomas.
“And I wonder it was not. Latches are so very clever,” said Terence.
“Why does not Miss Lacy help the clumsy boy?” said Benjamin, in open nervous distress. “God knows how long he will be.”
“He may know,” said Thomas, “but as we cannot, we will not concern ourselves with the matter.”
The children broke into the laughter caused by such jests in a household where they were forbidden, and Jessica lost no time in turning the subject.
“Now is everyone clean and tidy for luncheon? The bell will ring at any moment.”
“May we just run to our Chinese temple and back?” said Julius.
“Yes, if you do only that.”
The children ran out of the house.
“O great and good and powerful god, Chung,” prayed Dora, “forgive us, we beseech thee, the lie that has passed our lips. For we have uttered to thy handmaid, our governess, the thing that is false, yea and even to our mother. And this we did to gain respite from our daily task. And most humbly we implore thee not to visit our sin upon us. For Sung Li’s sake, amen.”
“We couldn’t have enjoyed our luncheon with that burden on us,” said Julius. “And as the relations are staying, it will be a good one. And Mother does not suspect.”
“I should think it is especially wicked to take advantage of her being absent-minded, when it is a sort of illness,” said Dora.
The pair met each other’s eyes and in a moment were back at the rock.
“O great god, Chung, pardon any wickedness we showed in putting our mother’s weakness to our wrongful purposes. For Sung Li’s sake, amen.”
They walked away, talking of other things, and came straight to the table.
“It is nice to arrive just as we are being helped ourselves,” said Julius.
“Oh, is that why you came in late?” said Jessica.
“No, we didn’t think of it,” said Dora, in the honest tone that served an honest statement as well as another.
“And have you remembered that you have missed grace?”
“Yes, but we didn’t know what to do about it.”
“Well, say it to yourselves, my dears.”
Dora bent her head and murmured under her breath.
“O great god, Chung, remember, we beseech thee, that which we asked of thee. For Sung Li’s sake, amen.”
Julius muttered the last words after her.
“Do you have your own grace?” said Reuben, in some curiosity.
“Do you, my dears?” said Jessica, who felt that discomfiture in this sphere was not in place.
“Sometimes we say what we like,” said Dora.
“Well, I think that is very nice,” said her mother.
“It does seem more friendly and informal,” said Thomas.
“Some progress ought to be made towards intimacy, as time goes by,” said Terence. “That sort of intercourse errs on the side of distance.”
There was a pause.
“Terence and I are in disgrace with Mother, my children,” said Thomas. “Do you understand why?”
“You talk about God as if you knew Him,” said Dora.
“It should be enough that He knows us,” said Jessica.
“He knows even the sparrows,” said Dora, with innocent voice and eyes.
“That used to seem to cheapen the regard,” said Bernard.
“He lets them fall to the ground,” said Julius, simply.
“Well everything has to die,” said Dora, “or the world would be too full.”
“It may be good for us to realise that it will happen to us in the end,” said Jessica.
“I expect I am the only person who does so,” said Sukey. “I do not-feel that anyone else is with me. I find I cannot often feel that.”
“The hairs of our heads are numbered,” said Julius, with a touch of solemnity.
“Is it impressive or not, to be included in these wholesale dealings?” said Bernard.
“Impressive,” said Thomas. “As it was to find that we lived in the universe. It is awe-inspiring that there is nowhere to live but there.”
“I think we are some of us rather too old for this talk,” said Jessica.
“It is only grown-up people who can do it,” said Dora.
“Just grown-up perhaps,” said Esmond.
“I have been said to have an adolescent mind,” said Thomas, with a laugh.
“But it should not have been your nephew who said it,” said Bernard.
“But Father is pleased about it,” said Terence. “Just as young people are pleased to be thought mature. We all like to be what we are not; it shows the disappointment of life. I know I was wiser at fifteen than I am now; and it was not the wisdom of the child; I never had any of that.”
“I am sorry to hear of your deterioration, as you are to teach Reuben,” said Anna.
“I had forgotten that was before me.”
“It does not sound as if you were making much preparation.”
“Preparation?” said Terence, raising his eyes.
“I might learn with Miss Lacy,” said Reuben, in his louder tone. “A woman would have more tenderness for my infirmity.”
’“We won’t talk of infirmity, Reuben. There is plenty of the opposite thing behind that head of yours,” said Terence, in a mock schoolmaster’s manner.
“So the touch can be acquired in a moment,” said Anna.
“I have always thought the manner would be the easiest part of a profession,” said Terence. “I could belong to any of them, if nothing else was needed. I expect that is how the manners became established. There had to be something that was within people’s power.”
“Reuben is not the only one who will make progress,” said Thomas.
“They must both be kind to each other,” said his wife, as if the pair were on a level.
“I will make the humdrum task as easy for my cousin as I can,” said Reuben.
“It does not sound as if it matters which is the teacher and which the pupil,” said Sukey,
“Oh, don’t put that into Reuben’s head, Aunt Sukey,” said Anna. “He has learned very little of the ordinary things, and we don’t want him more-unlike other boys than can’t be helped.”
“So you find it an ingratiating character, the ordinary boy’s,” said Reuben.
“What do you know about it?” said his sister.
“I have watched the development of Esmond, who is the essence of the typical young male.”
“I don’t believe I have a single brother who is that.”
“You may be right,” said Benjamin, in an enigmatic tone.
“You are a fortunate sister,” said Thomas.
“Oh, I don’t know. I should not have minded a nice, little, ordinary boy like Julius for a brother. It would make fewer problems.”
“What do you say to that, Dora?” said Thomas.
“I don’t know what it is, not to be ordinary. Most people must be that, or it would be something else.”
“Well, a lot of people think they are not,” said Julius.
“I plead guilty to the feeling, myself,” said Sukey. “No, I do not feel that I am quite an ordinary person, or that I should have been, with another person’s chance.”
“It is generally recognised, isn’t it?” said Anna.
“That is a pleasant thing to hear, my dear. I like to feel I have made some little mark, before I go alone into the darkness.”
“Does Aunt Sukey always strike this note of drama?” said Bernard to Terence.
“It was natural to her, even when she was well.”
“Fancy maintaining it in sickness and in health!”
“That gives her a better use for it. I can also see the tendency in my mother.”
“I think my father is free from it,” said Bernard.
“I am not quite sure,” said Esmond. “His temper would prevent his showing it. He could not betray concern for the impression he made on other people.”
“Aunt Sukey’s temper is not her best point,” said Terence. “I do not mind speaking evil of a sick woman. I told you I had not a masculine mind.”
Julius and Dora turned their eyes on Sukey and withdrew them. Her experience was too far removed, to have any bearing on their lives. They regretted it as they regretted that of the martyrs, but were hardly more nearly affected by it.
“I must take my family away,” said Anna. “Seven guests to luncheon is no light matter, when they are related. We don’t want to leave you in a state of collapse.”
“I will not thank you for coming,” said Sukey, keeping her hand. “But it has done me good to see you. Yes, and I think I will say to be seen by you. Those who do not meet us every day, may take a truer view of us. And there may not be many more visits to pay to me, not so very many.”
“Must we take this despairing view of things?” said Anna, not meeting her eyes.
“The doctors tell me it is the right one. They do not keep it from me now. The weaker I grow, the more fit I am to bear it. I don’t know that it makes anyone feel despair. I don’t somehow think that it does.”
“I refuse to regard it as possible,” said Bernard.
“Yes, that is what people do; that is how they protect themselves. But there is no protection for me.”
“I know you felt it was a safeguard for her,” said Terence to his cousin. “I used to think it, myself, and it is a great pity it is not.”
“It is not anyone’s fault that Aunt Sukey is ill,” said Julius.
“Poor little things, it is not yours indeed,” said Sukey. “And your life will be the same, when mine is over. So there is nothing for you to be too sorry about.”
Dora sank into tears.
“The comforting speech failed of its effect,” said Tullia.
“My little niece does not like the thought of life without her aunt,” said Sukey, resting her eyes on Dora, so that she seemed not to see that the protest on Thomas’s face had almost reached his lips.
“Can’t people be cured?” said Julius.
“Not always, my boy,” said Benjamin.
“Then what is the use of doctors?”
“I have asked myself that so many times,” said Sukey. “And I am sure you have all asked it for me. There is only one answer. They are not much use to me. But now I must not see such sad little faces. I shall have to reproach myself, and that is not good for me; and other people may reproach me too, and that is not very good for them, as I am so much weaker than they are. So let me see the sunshine out again. That one old aunt has to die, does not matter so much, does it?”
“You seem to think it matters,” said Julius.
“Well, I am not just an old aunt to myself, you see.”
“You are supposed to have a good deal of time left, aren’t you?” said Anna, in an uneasy manner.
“Well, we will make the most of it, however much it may be. I am glad to have time to get to know my niece. We have run it close, but I hope we are not too late. Though you must not expect too much of a woman sentenced to death. She cannot give a great deal.”
“She affords me the greatest interest,” said Bernard to his uncle. “I have never met such a case of concentrated experience. I can hardly believe I am in contact with it.”
“You would soon get to realise it, and then to forget it,” said Thomas. “We cannot spend out lives on the brink of a grave.”
“That is what Aunt Sukey has to do.”
“Yes, that is what she would say.”
“But isn’t it true?” said Bernard.
“It is true, my son,” said Benjamin.
“She seems to take her part in everything else,” said Thomas. “We do not do much without her.”
“No one is improved by the knowledge that her time is running out,” said his nephew.
“It should improve other people,” said Thomas, with a sigh. “If it does not, it is difficult to manage.”
“I think you are a person improved by it,” said Terence to Bernard. “And it seemed to be improving your sister. And my mother is so much improved, that she no longer has her feet on the earth. But it has the other effect on my father and me, and I think it has on Aunt Sukey.”
“I should have thought the last was inevitable,” said Bernard.
“If you become any more improved, things will be impossible. And your sister has been wanting for some time to take you home. I hope the atmosphere is less exalted there. And I should think it is.”
“I should like to come and see you as often as I may,” said Anna to Sukey, with embarrassed suddenness.
“Then shall we have a time together in the mornings? Before your father comes to see me. But I must make one condition. If you are tired of it, you will tell me.”
“Oh, I shall not be tired of it.”
“Then we will begin to-morrow, and people will leave us to each other. And that will give them a rest from me, and be a kindness to them as well as to me. So you will be doing more good than you thought, and you meant to do good, I know.”
“I meant just to please myself.”
“Perhaps Anna’s bluntness is the kind that disguises feeling,” said Esmond to Terence. “How are we to tell it from the other kind?”
“We will not try to, but I hope it is the other kind.”
“It would be hard to have to be embarrassed by it in more than the usual way.”
“Well, we won’t keep on promising to depart, and then not doing so,” said Anna, not looking again at her aunts. “I will marshal my party to the gate, and no one need come to open it for me, as there are three young men to officiate.”
Benjamin rose and gave his arm to Sukey, and led her from the room, as if to protect her from the leave-taking.
“I see how neglected Aunt Sukey has been,” said Terence. “It takes two families to look after her.”
“Well, it is never too late to mend,” said his sister.
“I should think it often is. It probably is this time. Yes, I feel we have let our opportunity pass.”
“Those children may be a help to us,” said Jessica to her husband. “You married into a difficult family, my dear.”
“You are people on too large a scale,” said Thomas, “and your problems seem to be on the same measure. And perhaps smaller people are better able for things. They bring less feeling and less resistance to them.”
“It sounds an inconvenient type,” said Claribel, approaching by herself, as her niece and nephews departed. “And I must plead guilty to belonging to it. It is hard to have a cousin of your own kind, instead of a friend who would bring more convenient and lighter qualities. But I cannot claim to be anything but the typical, strung-up woman of the family. Birds of a feather flock together, and that must be my excuse for bringing more nerves and capacity for various emotions to a place where they exist in plenty.”
“There can be no excuse,” said Terence, in a voice that could almost be heard.
“Well, Father and I will leave you to make the best of these qualities,” said Tullia, taking Thomas’s arm. “It seems a wise step, as I am afraid my portion of them is also on the lavish side.”
Jessica gave a look from Claribel to her daughter.
“Do you see a likeness?” said Claribel.
“Well, I did for a moment.”
“I am always flattered by showing any likeness to the younger generation. It shows that the years have not quite overlaid the thing one was meant to be. One likes to feel that there is a glimpse of it left.”
“I think it always gets clearer,” said Terence.
“Well, I hope that is meant in a complimentary sense.”
“It would hardly have been said, otherwise,” said Thomas, his tone conveying a faint warning to his son.
“We are all about the same height,” went on Claribel, “Jessica and Sukey and me. I know I ought to say ‘I,’ but somehow my lips do not take to that little word; I am at one with Cleopatra there. I often discover in myself an affinity with the characters that we know as friends. I wonder if she was as high as we are. We shall make quite an imposing group, if we are seen about together.”
“We shall share our interest in the young lives about us,” said Jessica, stating another prospect for them.
“And I keep an interest in myself too, and in my own generation. I do not limit my thoughts to the young. I think that experience and knowledge of life often add to people, and bring out what they are. I find myself a more interesting study than when I was a girl. What I see then, is a lighter creature, with less to give. And I find the principle borne out in the young things about me. They have not reached the stage of depths and complexities, and the other things that enhance our value to my mind.”
“You must find Miss Jennings a great support,” said Jessica.
“Yes, she prevents me from being a creature quite apart. I do not feel that I am the only person with memories of the past, and scepticism of the future. I do not live entirely in an atmosphere of hope, that I fear is too ill-founded. But she does not ask as much for herself as I do; she is content with less. I fear I am a grasping person beside her, a person of deeper needs and more demands. I must deal on a larger scale with life. Well, I will take my unsatisfactory self away, and give you a further dose of it later. I will follow my youthful and unsophisticated flock.”
The people thus described were walking in a group towards their home.
“Well, we have had the initiation into our new life,” said Anna. “It strikes me that there will be a degree of responsibility involved in it.”
“People in Aunt Sukey’s situation ought not to be at large,” said Esmond. “They can do other people nothing but harm.”
“They may limit their concern to themselves in the time they have left,” said Bernard.
“Bernard has gone overboard about Aunt Sukey,” said Anna. “She will be competing with Cook and Ethel for his esteem.”
“I thought I saw signs of your yielding to her spell, yourself,” said her brother.
“Yes, I have fallen a victim,” said Anna, pursuing her way into the house, “and have let myself in for the consequences. It is not in my line to listen to people’s last words and that sort of thing, but I shall have to get up to the level.”
“Well, how have you managed with it all?” said Jenney, who had come home early by herself.
“I think we got through with credit,” said Anna at once. “Anyhow three of us are to go there every day, Reuben to learn from Terence, and Father and I to attend upon Aunt Sukey, at our different times and in our different ways.”
“You are to do that, are you? So you got on well with her. And I hear she is not the easiest person. She is supposed to make trouble.”
“She hardly needs to do that, as far as she is concerned, herself,” said Bernard.
“No, poor thing, I can see she is very ill. It must be dreadful to live with all those well people, feeling you are in that state yourself.”
“You have expressed her exact view,” said Esmond.
“Well, anyone would feel the same.”
“The words, ‘poor thing,’ hardly give her,” said Bernard.
“Bernard has lost his heart,” said Anna. “He had eyes and ears for no one else. And I am somewhat in the same case. She does exert her own spell.”
Benjamin’s voice came from behind.
“This is a good word to me, my daughter. I hoped you had enough of me in you, to see my sister as I see her, and it seems it is the case. This may be a growing time for all of us.”
“Why do people think it is such a good thing for people to take after them, even when they have no particular self-esteem?” murmured Bernard. “I don’t think Father has any great opinion of himself.”
“But doubtless a better one than he has of his family,” said Esmond. “Indeed he implies it.”
“We shall have to go forward a bit, if we are to accompany Aunt Sukey to the brink of the grave,” said Anna. “We were not expecting any such thrust onwards. But the hopeful point is that with her it is easier than you would think. She seems to carry one with her.”
“It seems unfair to take advantage of that, and then to turn back ourselves,” said Bernard.
“So much so, my son, that you will understand, if that feeling is at times too much for her,” said Benjamin.
“I hardly knew I was Father’s son before,” murmured Bernard. “I only just knew that Anna was his daughter, though that is not his fault.”
“That is what my sisters do for people,” said Benjamin, as if he were speaking to himself. “They shed their own light.”
“I hardly know what to make of this new chapter of our family life,” muttered Esmond. “I cannot claim to feel at home in it.”
“Now what do we all say to Tullia?” said Anna. “I say that the elders put her into the shade, in spite of her youth. I never saw such a case of advantage in older faces.”
“It seems rather shallow of her to be settled in this life, when Aunt Sukey is so precariously balanced in it,” said Bernard.
“You might say that of us all,” said Esmond.
“I do say it,” said his brother.
“Aunt Sukey seems so much of this world, in her own way,” said Anna, “and yet she has to leave it. And Aunt Jessica is so apart from it, and yet has to stay and struggle on. It seems a pity that they cannot change places, though I cannot imagine their doing so. But don’t let it all depress you, Father. We shall do no better in this new life for carrying long faces. There is Reuben at the gate, with those two children. I suppose they have escorted him home. Well, he is not so much older than they are. If he becomes a thought more childish, it won’t be a bad thing.”
Reuben came into the room, rather conscious over his companions.
“Well, I have not uttered a word that could pollute those tender minds.”
“We do not need the assurance,” said Esmond. “We do you that justice.”
“Oh, but I like to think there is danger.”
“Do they love their mother?” said Bernard.
“Yes, I think they do,” said Reuben, raising his eyes.
“And their father?”
“Yes, they love him.”
“And Aunt Sukey?”
“Well, they don’t want her to die, or anything like that.”
“And Terence and Tullia?” said Bernard.
“They seem to like Terence. They did not talk about Tullia.”
“What a lot of Ts!” said Anna.
“Do they live in a world of their own?” said Bernard.
“They do in a way,” said Reuben, looking surprised by this knowledge.
“I never did,” said Bernard. “I lived in this world, as I do now. It is the only one I like. Do not try to enter their world, Reuben. You would never get inside.”
“I don’t think they want me to,” said his brother.
“And it would take you out of your own world,” said Anna, “and you have enough to do there.”
“I hardly think he has one,” said Bernard, looking at his brother. “Any more than I had, or not much more.”
“I ought to be a boy who lives in the world of books and dreams,” said Reuben.
“Oh, a little physical disability does not make all that difference,” said Anna. “Not in a bad sense or a good. I hope those children don’t make things difficult for you.”
“No, they have shown the instinctive delicacy of childhood.”
“And I suppose you have done the same,” said Bernard. “You have not called attention to their peculiarities.”
“They have not any,” said Reuben.
“You are mistaken,” said Esmond. “Dora is subject to facial contortions, and Julius to bodily ones of a more violent character.”
“Oh, the little nervous habits of childhood!” said Anna. “I remember you in that stage.”
“I can say the same to you, but that does not alter my opinion that it is a regrettable one. Indeed it supports it.”
“The process of getting used to the world seems to be too much for us,” said Bernard.
“So it is hard on people like Aunt Sukey, who have to leave it too soon,” said Anna. “They seem to serve their apprenticeship without the reward.”
“I fear they do so,” said Benjamin.
“Well, it is nobody’s fault, after all, Father.”
“I feel it is mine, when I am with her,” said Bernard. “It seems that some of my strength ought to be taken from me and given to her.”
“It would improve you both,” said Esmond, resting his eyes on his brother’s bulky frame.
“Oh, Bernard has not so much strength to spare,” said Anna. “Father and Reuben are really the strongest of us. And thin, wiry people like Claribel and Miss Lacy are the toughest of all. Oh, Miss Lacy wants to have a talk with you, Jenney.”
“Does she? Miss Lacy?” said Jenney, in a tone of mild excitement. “To think of her still being there, and still teaching those children! Well how things do go on!”
“No more for her than for any of us,” said Anna. “Though I suppose we have now achieved a break in our lives.”
“Julius and Dora seem rather to like Miss Lacy,” said Reuben. “They do what she says, almost as if she were Aunt Jessica.”
“It seems the fashion to treat her with respect,” said Anna, as if the case admitted of other dealings. “She wants Jenney’s advice about a niece who has come to live with her, and puts her in rather a quandary. Jenney is supposed to be wise about young people and their problems.”
Jenney just cast a glance on the members of this class, as if there could be no further light for her.
Claribel came idly and absently into the room.
“I am sorry to be such a laggard, but I was detained by my contemporaries, as you were released by yours.”
“It sounds as if you were more of a success than we were,” said Bernard.
“Well, it was pleasant to meet a demand for someone of my age and sex. It is not such a frequent occurrence. And to-day that was what was wanted. Your Aunt Jessica asked that and nothing else, and all I had to do was to surrender myself to her need.”
“It is odd how that family seems to have a use for this one,” said Anna.