“I don’t think I should know what to say to Lady
Rose if I met her。”
“I don’t find any difficulty；” Rodney chuckled。 “You talk
to them about their children； if they have any； or their
acplishments—painting； gardening； poetry—they’re
so delightfully sympathetic。 Seriously； you know I think a
woman’s opinion of one’s poetry is always worth having。
Don’t ask them for their reasons。 Just ask them for their
feelings。 Katharine； for example—”
“Katharine；” said Henry； with an emphasis upon the
name； almost as if he resented Rodney’s use of it；
“Katharine is very unlike most women。”
“Quite；” Rodney agreed。 “She is—” He seemed about
to describe her； and he hesitated for a long time。 “She’s
looking very well；” he stated； or rather almost inquired；
in a different tone from that in which he had been speaking。
Henry bent his head。
“But； as a family； you’re given to moods； eh？”
“Not Katharine；” said Henry； with decision。
“Not Katharine；” Rodney repeated； as if he weighed the
meaning of the words。 “No； perhaps you’re right。 But her
engagement has changed her。 Naturally；” he added； “one
would expect that to be so。” He waited for Henry to confirm
this statement； but Henry remained silent。
“Katharine has had a difficult life； in some ways；” he
continued。 “I expect that marriage will be good for her。
She has great powers。”
“Great；” said Henry； with decision。
“Yes—but now what direction d’you think they take？”
Rodney had pletely dropped his pose as a man of
the world； and seemed to be asking Henry to help him in
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a difficulty。
“I don’t know；” Henry hesitated cautiously。
“D’you think children—a household—that sort of
thing—d’you think that’ll satisfy her？ Mind； I’m out all
day。”
“She would certainly be very petent；” Henry stated。
“Oh； she’s wonderfully petent；” said Rodney。 “But—
I get absorbed in my poetry。 Well； Katharine hasn’t got
that。 She admires my poetry； you know； but that wouldn’t
be enough for her？”
“No；” said Henry。 He paused。 “I think you’re right；” he
added； as if he were summing up his thoughts。 “Katharine
hasn’t found herself yet。 Life isn’t altogether real to her
yet—I sometimes think—”
“Yes？” Rodney inquired； as if he were eager for Henry
to continue。 “That is what I—” he was going on； as Henry
remained silent； but the sentence was not finished； for
the door opened； and they were interrupted by Henry’s
younger brother Gilbert； much to Henry’s relief； for he
had already said more than he liked。
CHAPTER XVII
When the sun shone； as it did with unusual brightness
that Christmas week； it revealed much that was faded
and not altogether wellkeptup in Stogdon House and
its grounds。 In truth； Sir Francis had retired from service
under the Government of India with a pension that was
not adequate； in his opinion； to his services； as it certainly
was not adequate to his ambitions。 His career had
not e up to his expectations； and although he was a
very fine； whitewhiskered； mahoganycolored old man
to look at； and had laid down a very choice cellar of good
reading and good stories； you could not long remain ignorant
of the fact that some thunderstorm had soured
them； he had a grievance。 This grievance dated back to
the middle years of the last century； when； owing to some
official intrigue； his merits had been passed over in a
disgraceful manner in favor of another； his junior。
The rights and wrongs of the story； presuming that they
had some existence in fact； were no longer clearly known
to his wife and children； but this disappointment had
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played a very large part in their lives； and had poisoned
the life of Sir Francis much as a disappointment in love is
said to poison the whole life of a woman。 Long brooding
on his failure； continual arrangement and rearrangement
of his deserts and rebuffs； had made Sir Francis much of
an egoist； and in his retirement his temper became increasingly
difficult and exacting。
His wife now offered so little resistance to his moods
that she was practically useless to him。 He made his
daughter Eleanor into his chief confidante； and the prime
of her life was being rapidly consumed by her father。 To
her he dictated the memoirs which were to avenge his
memory； and she had to assure him constantly that his
treatment had been a disgrace。 Already； at the age of
thirtyfive； her cheeks were whitening as her mother’s
had whitened； but for her there would be no memories of
Indian suns and Indian rivers； and clamor of children in a
nursery； she would have very little of substance to think
about when she sat； as Lady Otway now sat； knitting
white wool； with her eyes fixed almost perpetually upon
the same embroidered bird upon the same firescreen。
But then Lady Otway was one of the people for whom the
great makebelieve game of English social life has been
invented； she spent most of her time in pretending to
herself and her neighbors that she was a dignified； important；
muchoccupied person； of considerable social
standing and sufficient wealth。 In view of the actual state
of things this game needed a great deal of skill； and；
perhaps； at the age she had reached—she was over sixty—
she played far more to deceive herself than to deceive
any one else。 Moreover； the armor was wearing thin； she
forgot to keep up appearances more and more。
The worn patches in the carpets； and the pallor of the
drawingroom； where no chair or cover had been renewed
for some years； were due not only to the miserable pension；
but to the wear and tear of twelve children； eight of
whom were sons。 As often happens in these large families；
a distinct dividingline could be traced； about halfway
in the succession； where the money for educational
purposes had run short； and the six younger children had
grown up far more economically than the elder。 If the
boys were clever； they won scholarships； and went to
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school； if they were not clever； they took what the family
connection had to offer them。 The girls accepted situations
occasionally； but there were always one or two at
home； nursing sick animals； tending silkworms； or playing
the flute in their bedrooms。 The distinction between
the elder children and the younger corresponded almost
to the distinction between a higher class and a lower
one； for with only a haphazard education and insufficient
allowances； the younger children had picked up acplishments；
friends； and points of view which were not to
be found within the walls of a public school or of a Government
office。 Between the two divisions there was considerable
hostility； the elder trying to patronize the
younger； the younger refusing to respect the elder； but
one feeling united them and instantly closed any risk of
a breach—their mon belief in the superiority of their
own family to all others。 Henry was the eldest of the
younger group； and their leader； he bought s