smaller boys — and worse. Though he tells the truth manfully, he is still a savage. Nonetheless, he is beginning to realize dimly that he is no longer a child. To be sure, he has not yet looked at himself and seen himself for the shameless little ruffian he is, nor has he looked below the surface of his fellows. In his folly he is still inclined to say of Shrimp Minor, ‘Shrimp Minor is a worm,’ simply because Shrimp Minor is no good at games and cries if you look at him — not realizing that Shrimp is handicapped by bad eyesight and can’t fight and knows it.… Mark my words, boys, your comings and your goings are observed by your elders. Not a day passes in which I do not have to write a letter of recommendation for some old boy whose virtues and failings — whose failings and virtues I know even better than my own. Most of you, by an incredible miracle of nature will eventually turn into men. One or two of you — I name no names, but I know the ones I speak of, and let them beware ! — will, I am convinced, end their days hanging higher than Haman.… Three pages on the ‘Awkward Age’ — not less than ten words to the line — for tomorrow at nine o’clock.”
II
Pen remarked in the noncommittal voice he always used when speaking of his brother-in-law : “Murdo thinks Europe is drifting toward war. He thinks he ought to come back to the West.”
“Sounds like Murdo,” said Charles; “he left Japan because he thought there would be trouble in China, now he wants to leave China because he hopes there will be trouble at home.”
“‘Hopes,’ Charles?” exclaimed Euphemia severely.
“Oh, he doesn’t call it hope. But make no mistake about Murdo. It’s meat and drink to him to be in the centre of a row! I know my brother; he’s a restless soul.”
It was “after church” in the evening and, as usual, the family had gathered together for high tea. On Sunday evenings no servants were present and the family relaxed and expanded, each member talking of his own interests to whomever would listen, so that before long, by a process of social selection, there was always a cleavage of sexes. The men (and Euphemia) discussed the affairs of the universe, the women were soon engrossed in their practical world within a world. Everyone was talking except Joanna, who was quiet as a mouse, liking best to listen, and Tessa Thatcher, who ate scarcely anything and who hoped that, presently, her husband would feel the quality of her silence.
Alastair, to stir up mischief, began to talk of the Thatcher family motto. Balancing a fork on his finger to attract attention, he said: “I came across the Thatcher motto today. It’s pretty loathsome.” Pen looked up quickly and exclaimed: “Indeed! What’s wrong with it?” — “It’s so stuffy, Father. Virtute. So obvious, so trite. They might as well hurl the Bible in your face.… What’s the Burnet motto?” Three voices answered in unison. “Curre ad astras. ” — “That means, ‘curry favour with the big wigs,’ doesn’t it?” asked Alastair innocently. Fanny who had not much humour cried indignantly: “No! It means, roughly, ‘hitch your wagon to a star.’ Does that mean anything to you, young sir? It ought to, it’s four hundred years old!”
“As a matter of fact,” put in Charles, “the first Burnet who could steal enough money to buy a coat of arms, proved the motto by running away at the battle of Flodden. But everybody ran at Flodden and you’ll find that the Burnets are never left behind.” “Well,” said Alastair, “I think everyone ought to make their own motto, so I’ve thought of one in French because French is the language of chivalry.” — “What is it,” asked Euphemia incautiously. “Toujours les entrailles ,” said Alastair. After a pause, during which the family translated this effort, Maud said severely: “Alastair, children should be seen but not heard!”
The conversation divided into streams, each stream isolated by the general din. Charles turned to Tessa Thatcher. “You’re very quiet tonight, Tessa, mia . It isn’t like you.” Because he was talking to a pretty woman, his voice curled up into an ingratiating laugh at the end of his sentence.
“Don’t you ever feel, Charles, that you want to go inside and shut the door after you?”
“Not often. I’d rather be outside. I like noise and chatter and gaiety.”
“But aren’t you ever serious?”
“As little as possible. You know what the sundial says?”
“What does it say?”
“It says, horas non numero nisi serenas. I’ll translate it for you. ‘I record only the sunny times’ .… That’s me, Tessa. But I should have thought that you, too —”
“Much you know about me, Charles Burnet.… Sometimes I could almost scream at people’s lack of sensibility. People say the same things over and over simply because they’re used to saying them and without ever thinking what they mean!”
“Who, for instance?”
“Well … Pen and my husband. They’re talking about war and the institution of marriage and stoicism — whatever that is. Words, Charles! Who cares about war in the Balkans? I don’t! But Daniel says we all think too much about ourselves. He says we should all get along better if we only took life quietly and were a little stoical.… Do you know, sometimes I could almost hate men!”
This was more than Charles had bargained for, and instinct warned him of something wrong. He was afraid of women when they were like this. He liked to feel gay and frivolous and he did not like to look too closely at things.… Better turn it off lightly, he thought, then she would see that he didn’t want to —
“Well, Charles, what do you think of me? You think I’m always empty headed?”
“No, not empty headed.”
“Empty hearted, then. That’s what you really think of me! … What are you thinking of, Charles? Now! Right this minute!”
Something to say popped into Charles’s head, and being Charles, he said it without thinking first. “I was thinking of Aurora and Tithonus — but you wouldn’t understand.”
“Aren’t we literary? … As a matter of fact, I do understand. You mean the myth about Aurora asking every good gift for her lover except one — youth, so that, though Tithonus is immortal, he is old?”
“I swear to heaven, Tessa — ” began Charles, horrified. “What a God-forgotten fool I am!”
But Tessa said recklessly: “Why not say it, Charles … only, you see, it isn’t true. Daniel’s sun doesn’t rise by me. And he isn’t immortal — not even old.… And I do love him. It isn’t as simple as that!”
“Tessa, will you believe me when I say —”
Tessa leaned forward, laying her hand on his sleeve, and lowered her voice. “We’re good friends, aren’t we, Charles?”
“Always have been. Always will be!”
“Then keep it to yourself, dear Charles.… You see, it’s not Daniel’s fault. I’m just a restless person, that’s all.”
At one end of the table Maud was reflecting how odd it was that men could get so very excited over ideas. “And why do they love to talk about war?” The word always chilled her heart and made her unreasonably angry. “But they like to. In their hearts they think of it as adventure and change: boys to the end of their days, every one of them.”
She relaxed and took in the family with an affectionate look, feeling at the very centre of it. She thought, if only Daniel could go out to people; so formal, so humourless. Not even to Tessa, so much younger than he. And she is so quiet it frightens one. I’d rather see her flighty and gay as she was before she lost her baby — If only she were well enough to have another child —
Maud’s thoughts were interrupted by a piercing yell from Dan. “You hound! My shin! You wait!”
“He was asleep,” explained Alastair coolly, “so I just woke him up.”
“I wasn’t, I was thinking.… Mother, why do people always speak