The Pool in the Desert [18]
But, mamma, how lovely it is! Do let us come again in the daytime. I am dying to make a sketch of it.'
Mr. Tottenham was to leave us on the following day. In the morning, after 'little breakfast,' as we say in India, he sought me in the room I had set aside to be particularly my own.
Again I was writing to John, but this time I waited for precisely his interruption. I had got no further than 'My dearest husband,' and my pen-handle was a fringe.
'Another fine day,' I said, as if the old, old Indian joke could give him ease, poor man!
'Yes,' said he, 'we are having lovely weather.'
He had forgotten that it was a joke. Then he lapsed into silence while I renewed my attentions to my pen.
'I say,' he said at last, with so strained a look about his mouth that it was almost a contortion, 'I haven't done it, you know.'
'No,' I responded, cheerfully, 'and you're not going to. Is that it? Well!'
'Frankly--' said he.
'Dear me, yes! Anything else between you and me would be grotesque,' I interrupted, 'after all these years.'
'I don't think it would be a success,' he said, looking at me resolutely with his clear blue eyes, in which still lay, alas! the possibility of many delusions.
'No,' I said, 'I never did, you know. But the prospect had begun to impose upon me.'
'To say how right you were would seem, under the circumstances, the most hateful form of flattery.'
'Yes,' I said, 'I think I can dispense with your verbal endorsement.' I felt a little bitter. It was, of course, better that the connoisseur should have discovered the flaw before concluding the transaction; but although I had pointed it out myself I was not entirely pleased to have the article returned.
'I am infinitely ashamed that it should have taken me all these days--day after day and each contributory--to discover what you saw so easily and so completely.'
'You forget that I am her mother,' I could not resist the temptation of saying.
'Oh, for God's sake don't jeer! Please be absolutely direct, and tell me if you have reason to believe that to the extent of a thought, of a breath--to any extent at all--she cares.'
He was, I could see, very deeply moved; he had not arrived at this point without trouble and disorder not lightly to be put on or off. Yet I did not hurry to his relief, I was still possessed by a vague feeling of offense. I reflected that any mother would be, and I quite plumed myself upon my annoyance. It was so satisfactory, when one had a daughter, to know the sensations of even any mother. Nor was it soothing to remember that the young man's whole attitude towards Cecily had been based upon criticism of me, even though he sat before me whipped with his own lash. His temerity had been stupid and obstinate; I could not regret his punishment.
I kept him waiting long enough to think all this, and then I replied, 'I have not the least means of knowing.'
I can not say what he expected, but he squared his shoulders as if he had received a blow and might receive another. Then he looked at me with a flash of the old indignation. 'You are not near enough to her for that!' he exclaimed.
'I am not near enough to her for that.'
Silence fell between us. A crow perched upon an opened venetian and cawed lustily. For years afterward I never heard a crow caw without a sense of vain, distressing experiment. Dacres got up and began to walk about the room. I very soon put a stop to that. 'I can't talk to a pendulum,' I said, but I could not persuade him to sit down again.
'Candidly,' he said at length, 'do you think she would have me?'
'I regret to say that I think she would. But you would not dream of asking her.'
'Why not? She is a dear girl,' he responded inconsequently.
'You could not possibly stand it.'
Then Mr. Tottenham delivered himself of this remarkable phrase: 'I could stand it,' he said, 'as well as you can.'
There was far from being any joy in the irony with which I regarded him and under which I saw him gather up his resolution to go; nevertheless I did
Mr. Tottenham was to leave us on the following day. In the morning, after 'little breakfast,' as we say in India, he sought me in the room I had set aside to be particularly my own.
Again I was writing to John, but this time I waited for precisely his interruption. I had got no further than 'My dearest husband,' and my pen-handle was a fringe.
'Another fine day,' I said, as if the old, old Indian joke could give him ease, poor man!
'Yes,' said he, 'we are having lovely weather.'
He had forgotten that it was a joke. Then he lapsed into silence while I renewed my attentions to my pen.
'I say,' he said at last, with so strained a look about his mouth that it was almost a contortion, 'I haven't done it, you know.'
'No,' I responded, cheerfully, 'and you're not going to. Is that it? Well!'
'Frankly--' said he.
'Dear me, yes! Anything else between you and me would be grotesque,' I interrupted, 'after all these years.'
'I don't think it would be a success,' he said, looking at me resolutely with his clear blue eyes, in which still lay, alas! the possibility of many delusions.
'No,' I said, 'I never did, you know. But the prospect had begun to impose upon me.'
'To say how right you were would seem, under the circumstances, the most hateful form of flattery.'
'Yes,' I said, 'I think I can dispense with your verbal endorsement.' I felt a little bitter. It was, of course, better that the connoisseur should have discovered the flaw before concluding the transaction; but although I had pointed it out myself I was not entirely pleased to have the article returned.
'I am infinitely ashamed that it should have taken me all these days--day after day and each contributory--to discover what you saw so easily and so completely.'
'You forget that I am her mother,' I could not resist the temptation of saying.
'Oh, for God's sake don't jeer! Please be absolutely direct, and tell me if you have reason to believe that to the extent of a thought, of a breath--to any extent at all--she cares.'
He was, I could see, very deeply moved; he had not arrived at this point without trouble and disorder not lightly to be put on or off. Yet I did not hurry to his relief, I was still possessed by a vague feeling of offense. I reflected that any mother would be, and I quite plumed myself upon my annoyance. It was so satisfactory, when one had a daughter, to know the sensations of even any mother. Nor was it soothing to remember that the young man's whole attitude towards Cecily had been based upon criticism of me, even though he sat before me whipped with his own lash. His temerity had been stupid and obstinate; I could not regret his punishment.
I kept him waiting long enough to think all this, and then I replied, 'I have not the least means of knowing.'
I can not say what he expected, but he squared his shoulders as if he had received a blow and might receive another. Then he looked at me with a flash of the old indignation. 'You are not near enough to her for that!' he exclaimed.
'I am not near enough to her for that.'
Silence fell between us. A crow perched upon an opened venetian and cawed lustily. For years afterward I never heard a crow caw without a sense of vain, distressing experiment. Dacres got up and began to walk about the room. I very soon put a stop to that. 'I can't talk to a pendulum,' I said, but I could not persuade him to sit down again.
'Candidly,' he said at length, 'do you think she would have me?'
'I regret to say that I think she would. But you would not dream of asking her.'
'Why not? She is a dear girl,' he responded inconsequently.
'You could not possibly stand it.'
Then Mr. Tottenham delivered himself of this remarkable phrase: 'I could stand it,' he said, 'as well as you can.'
There was far from being any joy in the irony with which I regarded him and under which I saw him gather up his resolution to go; nevertheless I did