Two Worlds and Their Ways (16 page)

“Perhaps she wanted another pupil,” said Gwendolen.

“And got one of a kind she may not much have wanted,” said Esther.

“Perhaps it is as much your parents' fault as yours, that things have happened as they have,” said Gwendolen.

“I should advise your reconsidering your attitude to school before next term, Clemence,” said Maud.

“You might have been expelled,” said Esther.

“Well, I should not have minded that. I have no great wish to be here.”

“I hardly think that is the case, Esther,” said Maud. “Things would have had to go further.”

“And would soon have done so, if they had not been checked. They were moving apace.”

“I don't think there was any talk about it,” said Clemence, in an indifferent tone.

“Miss Firebrace would hardly want to lose Clemence after taking all that trouble to get her,” said Gwendolen.

“People would hardly keep schools, if they wanted to lose their pupils,” said Maud.

“What an odd conversation this is!” said Verity. “Are we in sympathy with Clemence, or are we not?”

“I hope we are, Verity,” said Maud. “The more we regret what has happened, the more we should be, in a way.”

“Oh, that kind of sympathy! I wonder if Clemence is grateful for it.”

“I don't think Clemence is easily grateful,” said Esther.

“You would hardly have an opportunity of judging that. About me or anyone,” said Clemence. “You are not a person to inspire gratitude.”

“You frighten me, Clemence,” said Gwendolen. “Maud, forbid her to tell me her opinion of me. I am nervous of people who do that.”

“I think a great deal more of you than I do of Esther,” said Clemence.

“Clemence's tongue is unloosed,” said Verity. “She will make us all nervous. It is a good thing that Miss Chancellor is coming.”

“Well, what is the subject of discussion? You seem very earnestly engaged in it.”

There was the slightest pause.

“Clemence's parents do not mind how well she does at school, Miss Chancellor. They think it does not matter.”

“Well, that is a pity, Gwendolen, as she seems likely to do well. I hope she is mistaken, and I think it probable
that she is. People do not always say all they think, before their children. There are many reasons why they might not.”

“We might get to feel that our own affairs were too important. Especially as we are allowed no concern in any others. I am sure I hope my affairs at school are not important. It would be a sad thing if they were.”

“Well, perhaps that sort of success is hardly in your line, Gwendolen. I should say it is more in Clemence's, and she shapes well towards it.”

“Clemence, Clemence, Clemence! Suppose we all copied her!” muttered Esther.

“Well, you might do worse, Esther. Do you not think you might, yourself?”

“I wish I were as clever as she is,” said Esther, in her rapid monotone.

“Well, the break-up party is in four days,” said Gwendolen.

“And is that a continuation of the subject, Gwendolen?” said another voice.

“No, Miss Firebrace. But I wanted a change of subject.”

“Then there was no reason why you should not have it. Break-up parties merit our interest as much as other things. They depend on people's thought and effort. We do not ask you to be indifferent to them.”

“Will you have a new dress for the party, Clemence?” said Esther.

“No, I should not think so. There is not enough time, is there? Only four days.”

“What about the one you said you had at home—the one you left at home?” said Esther.

“Yes, Esther, your phrasing needed correction,” said Lesbia.

“Oh, I should think I must have grown out of that. It has been about for so long. And it is such a fussy thing. I would rather wear the old muslin that is upstairs. That is at any rate ordinary and simple.”

“There is time to get a ready-made one,” said Verity, as Lesbia withdrew into the background, keeping her eyes on Clemence, as though to receive light on her character. “And they are much better than they were.”

“Write now and catch the post,” said Gwendolen. “Miss Chancellor will give you permission. Say you forgot it in the stress of the examinations. There is sure to be something at home, to give the measurements.”

“May I write, Miss Chancellor?” said Clemence, yielding to the mood of recklessness induced by her position.

“Yes, certainly, Clemence. I see nothing against it.”

Clemence wrote to her mother and stated the case, unable to think of another pretext under scrutiny and on the spur of the moment. Gwendolen ran to the hall and returned with an air of relief.

“I was just in time. The box was being cleared.”

“I am glad, Gwendolen,” said Miss Chancellor, “and as much for you as for Clemence. I think you take the matter more seriously than she does.”

A pair of eyes at the door rested gently on Gwendolen.

“I wish I could command a new dress at a moment's notice,” said Verity. “Mine has been brought up to date, with the result that it is a medley of dates. It is better not to give people time to think. Their thoughts run to contrivance, which is an indulgence for them and not for us.”

“Clemence may not have her request granted, Verity,” said Miss Chancellor. “I shall think she is fortunate, if she does. Such short notice involves both trouble and expense.”

The term moved to its end. The examination lists were read. Clemence was given the place second to Maud, that her marks warranted, without question or sign of doubt. The course was involved in the policy of silence, and she supposed that any unfairness or false impression was balanced by the exposure on the report, and did not see the scale as weighted on her own side. She sat through the applause in awareness of the thoughts about her, feeling
her uneasiness a shadow of the real thing. She imagined prisoners awaiting their doom, with a sort of envy. Here was dignity of fate, simple, strong trouble instead of subtle and humbling.

An unfamiliar gleam of light pierced the darkness. A dress arrived from Maria, chosen indeed with haste, but with a care prompted by regard for its cost and its future usefulness. A letter hinted surprise and a sense of lavishness, and enjoined care of the garment. Clemence felt the irony of the pleasure cankered at the root, but gave herself to the moment. The form hailed the parcel, and proceeded to Miss Tuke to be present at the unpacking. Miss Chancellor followed, as though she hardly knew where her steps led her.

“Do you take an interest in clothes, Miss Chancellor?”

“I am quite interested in seeing Clemence's dress, Verity. It is a signal instance of what can be done at a moment's notice.”

“It is a charming dress, Clemence,” said Maud. “And I think it should be becoming.”

“I am jealous of it,” said Verity. “I wish we had not reminded Clemence to send for it.”

“Well, really, Verity, what a very odd line for a joke to take!”

“It is not a joke, Miss Chancellor. Our dresses will suffer by comparison.”

“I do not think you need trouble about a comparison that no one will make, Verity.”

“People ought to make it. They ought to put themselves in other people's place,” said Gwendolen.

“It was really clever of Clemence's mother to manage it in so short a time,” said Miss Chancellor, with a reference in her tone to her momentary glimpse of Maria.

“Have you a new dress for the party, Maud?” said Verity.

“Yes, I have one this year, Verity.”

“Then why did you not show it to us?”

“It did not strike me as a very interesting object. And I think I will hold to my own view of it.”

“One that is apparently unique in your present company, Maud,” said Miss Chancellor.

“Dear, dear, how proud I shall be of you all!” said Miss Tuke.

“What are you going to wear, Miss Tuke?” said Gwendolen.

“Oh, I shall have too much to do in supervising other people's clothes, to worry about my own.”

Miss Chancellor looked towards the window with an easy expression.

“What are you—have you thought about your dress, Miss Chancellor?”

“Yes, I have thought, Verity. I gave quite proper attention to it at one moment, though I admit it has escaped my mind since. I shall be wearing a velvet dress with lace touches, that I think will meet the occasion.”

“The one you wore—the dress I think you wore at the spring concert?” said Esther.

“The very same, Esther. Not a stitch or a button altered. To my joy it was not held to be necessary. No thought, no trouble, no expense! It was a great relief.”

Clemence went through the evening with a sense of suffering a dead form of the pleasure that might have been hers. She marvelled that the girls assumed her enjoyment to be of the same order as their own. The lack of imagination staggered her and wrought in her a lasting change. Her growing sense of superiority would have startled the arbiters of her fate. The farewells and the actual departure followed with the same unreality. Miss Tuke kissed numbers of girls without sign of discrimination, and Miss Chancellor shook hands with her form, as though the prospect of travelling with them gave no cause for dispensing with the observance. The principals bade each pupil a cordial farewell, and Miss Laurence held Clemence's hand for a moment longer than was usual, and looked into her
face. Lesbia said an extra word to Clemence at the last, as though they might now resume their relationship.

“You and I are to be re-united in a week, Clemence. I shall meet you next in the capacity of a guest. It is quite a turn in our affairs.”

Clemence smiled in acceptance of the words, disguised the sinking of her heart, wondered if Lesbia would see the visit as imposing silence, or as affording scope for violation of it. She felt the impulse to put the question, to plead the code of host and guest, but found her courage fail. She did not care if Lesbia read her thought, almost hoped she did, that she might recall and act upon it. She followed her companions to the cab and the train with no sign of her inner tumult. They were to travel with Miss Chancellor to London, there to be met and conducted onwards. Clemence was the only one whose destination was earlier, and it seemed a part of the ruthless hastening of fate.

“You are fortunate to get home so quickly,” said Verity. “This is a dreary stage of the term.”

“Why not call it the first stage of the holidays, Verity?” said Miss Chancellor.

“I find it the best of all moments. Nothing over, and everything to come,” said Gwendolen, striking at the pain in Clemence's heart.

“School seems a long way off already. I have almost forgotten it.”

“Well, really, Clemence, that is evidence of a very shallow heart,” said Miss Chancellor. “And when school so soon afforded you a niche of your own!”

“It must be odd to have Miss Firebrace to stay,” said Esther. “What is she like in the house?”

“Why should it be odd?” said Miss Chancellor. “I suppose Miss Firebrace may pay a visit like anyone else. And no doubt she is like herself, Esther, and so an entertaining guest. I expect Clemence will enjoy having her.”

“I hope she will not broach awkward school affairs,” said
Esther, breaking off as she realised where her words might lead.

“I failed to see what school affairs have been awkward for Clemence, Esther. And I do not know why Miss Firebrace should take another view.”

“I shall not see much of her,” said Clemence. “My brother and I will be together. We are not a great deal with guests. We are still looked upon as children.”

“Won't your being at school make a difference to that?” said Esther.

“No, I don't think so. School is not much regarded. And we like our old ways best.”

“But you see your father and mother?”

“Yes, we can go to them when we like. But Miss Petticott is with us in the schoolroom.”

“I suppose it is a very large house.”

“Well, it seems to be divided into parts. I suppose houses in the country are like that.”

“We live humbly in London,” said Gwendolen.

“I do not see anything humble in living in the greatest city in the world, Gwendolen.”

“There are slums in great cities, Miss Chancellor.”

“But you do not live in one, so I fail to see how that is on the point.”

“We live in a watering-place,” said Verity, lifting her shoulders.

“We live in a suburb,” said Esther, speaking as though she did not spare her bluntness in her own case.

“Maud lives in the same place as I do, and we never meet,” said Verity, as if in mockery of the circumstances.

“We move in a different milieu, Verity. My mother and I live in another part of the town. Those things count in a place of that kind, even if they do not count in themselves.”

“As they do,” muttered Esther.

“Where do you live, Miss Chancellor?”

“Also in a suburb, Gwendolen. And very pleasant I find it, and very anxious I am to get there.”

“Have you parents, Miss Chancellor?” said Verity, in a tone that recalled the one she sometimes used to Maud.

“Yes, indeed I have, Verity. And they are eagerly awaiting me. I am going back to be a child at home again, as Clemence is.”

“But you are not kept upstairs in a schoolroom?”

“No, not quite that. I have enough of schoolrooms in the term. But I believe my father would think it was rather my proper place.”

“Have you not had enough of them, Clemence?” said Verity.

“No, not of my own schoolroom. I have had nothing of it for three months.”

“But everything of it for years before,” said Esther.

“It is a natural feeling, Clemence,” said Miss Chancellor. “You are fortunate to have a sanctum of your own. It is one of the things for which I envy you.”