surprised.
‘Oh no. I’ve been thinking of moving up there myself. It’s so quiet and away from the traffic of the house. I’m having a door put on, too. I can shut myself up there with my thoughts and compose my sermons. Oh, I
do
look forward to it.’
Miss Bohun seemed unusually happy, but Felix was wondering if he very much wanted Frau Leszno in the room just across the passage. He decided he did not and gloomed a little over the idea until at luncheon-time, as he was about to descend the stairs, he heard a new uproar break out, this time from the room below.
‘What then is it for me,’ Frau Leszno somehow wailed and raged at the same time, ‘to spend my life in this so little box, like a prisoner? Am I a bad that I spend my life so? How is my son, a black-beetle, that he must in the kitchen sleep? Is this the roof you put upon my head and the head of my child? And here mine own furnitures – mine six dining-chairs, mine table, mine horsehair sofa? For what? That I may not sit at mine own table, that my child may not sit at mine own table? Then I go. Then I find myself such a big job as is fitting. . . .’
‘That,’ Miss Bohun’s voice broke in quietly, ‘is for you to decide, Frau Leszno. If you insist on going, of course, I cannot . . .’
‘So!’ screamed Frau Leszno, ‘now I am to go! Such is the great promise of the death-bed of Herr Leszno. Always a roof I have – and now to go. Now I, a lady, who had been to boarding-school, must make herself a servant in another’s house.’ Frau Leszno’s voice was pitched on anote of self-pity and self-righteousness and accusation that roused in a listener neither remorse nor compassion, but rather a murderous irritation of the nerves. Miss Bohun’s voice, breaking in, was in comparison reasonable and dignified:
‘But you always tell me the Germans treat their servants very well. You might get an
au pair
job in a German-Jewish household. . . .’
‘Never,’ screamed Frau Leszno. ‘Never do I leave my home—’
Miss Bohun again interrupted, speaking with decision: ‘I really think, now you have suggested it, that you had better go, Frau Leszno. These scenes are exhausting me. They break into my contemplative life and I owe it to my nephew to give him a tranquil home in which to pursue his studies. You are not happy here. You could do better elsewhere.’ She picked up the bell, rang it loudly, but called ‘Felix’ as though she knew him to be within hearing. He began to descend the stairs. Frau Leszno gave him a look of distracted disgust, then went out, crashing the door behind her.
The meal was served. Felix ate his, but Miss Bohun sat for some time with her right hand shading her eyes. After a long pause, she said: ‘Frau Leszno is leaving. I have broken my promise. Do you think I have done wrong?’
‘No,’ said Felix, who could not feel sentimental about a promise that had proved so troublesome to all concerned.
There was another long pause, then Miss Bohun said: ‘I like you, Felix, I think you’re a very nice, well brought-up boy; but you are, after all, very young and a member of the opposite sex, so I hope you won’t feel hurt if I feel – have indeed felt for some time – that I owe it to myselfto have someone here who will be my friend. You
do
understand?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Felix, not knowing whether he was hurt or not.
Miss Bohun continued: ‘I have met a young widow, a Mrs Ellis, who would like to come to me. Mr Posthorn put me in touch, as a matter of fact; he met her at the Hendersons’. She’s quiet little thing – simple perhaps, but there’s something so nice about her, so trusting. I’m sure you’ll like her.’
‘Yes,’ said Felix again, rather coldly, already dissociating himself from this female partnership. In his mind he said: ‘I’ve always got Faro,’ and at the same time he began to think he must go and enquire about Mr Jewel. He felt now that Mr Jewel was out of the house there could be no
‘Oh no. I’ve been thinking of moving up there myself. It’s so quiet and away from the traffic of the house. I’m having a door put on, too. I can shut myself up there with my thoughts and compose my sermons. Oh, I
do
look forward to it.’
Miss Bohun seemed unusually happy, but Felix was wondering if he very much wanted Frau Leszno in the room just across the passage. He decided he did not and gloomed a little over the idea until at luncheon-time, as he was about to descend the stairs, he heard a new uproar break out, this time from the room below.
‘What then is it for me,’ Frau Leszno somehow wailed and raged at the same time, ‘to spend my life in this so little box, like a prisoner? Am I a bad that I spend my life so? How is my son, a black-beetle, that he must in the kitchen sleep? Is this the roof you put upon my head and the head of my child? And here mine own furnitures – mine six dining-chairs, mine table, mine horsehair sofa? For what? That I may not sit at mine own table, that my child may not sit at mine own table? Then I go. Then I find myself such a big job as is fitting. . . .’
‘That,’ Miss Bohun’s voice broke in quietly, ‘is for you to decide, Frau Leszno. If you insist on going, of course, I cannot . . .’
‘So!’ screamed Frau Leszno, ‘now I am to go! Such is the great promise of the death-bed of Herr Leszno. Always a roof I have – and now to go. Now I, a lady, who had been to boarding-school, must make herself a servant in another’s house.’ Frau Leszno’s voice was pitched on anote of self-pity and self-righteousness and accusation that roused in a listener neither remorse nor compassion, but rather a murderous irritation of the nerves. Miss Bohun’s voice, breaking in, was in comparison reasonable and dignified:
‘But you always tell me the Germans treat their servants very well. You might get an
au pair
job in a German-Jewish household. . . .’
‘Never,’ screamed Frau Leszno. ‘Never do I leave my home—’
Miss Bohun again interrupted, speaking with decision: ‘I really think, now you have suggested it, that you had better go, Frau Leszno. These scenes are exhausting me. They break into my contemplative life and I owe it to my nephew to give him a tranquil home in which to pursue his studies. You are not happy here. You could do better elsewhere.’ She picked up the bell, rang it loudly, but called ‘Felix’ as though she knew him to be within hearing. He began to descend the stairs. Frau Leszno gave him a look of distracted disgust, then went out, crashing the door behind her.
The meal was served. Felix ate his, but Miss Bohun sat for some time with her right hand shading her eyes. After a long pause, she said: ‘Frau Leszno is leaving. I have broken my promise. Do you think I have done wrong?’
‘No,’ said Felix, who could not feel sentimental about a promise that had proved so troublesome to all concerned.
There was another long pause, then Miss Bohun said: ‘I like you, Felix, I think you’re a very nice, well brought-up boy; but you are, after all, very young and a member of the opposite sex, so I hope you won’t feel hurt if I feel – have indeed felt for some time – that I owe it to myselfto have someone here who will be my friend. You
do
understand?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Felix, not knowing whether he was hurt or not.
Miss Bohun continued: ‘I have met a young widow, a Mrs Ellis, who would like to come to me. Mr Posthorn put me in touch, as a matter of fact; he met her at the Hendersons’. She’s quiet little thing – simple perhaps, but there’s something so nice about her, so trusting. I’m sure you’ll like her.’
‘Yes,’ said Felix again, rather coldly, already dissociating himself from this female partnership. In his mind he said: ‘I’ve always got Faro,’ and at the same time he began to think he must go and enquire about Mr Jewel. He felt now that Mr Jewel was out of the house there could be no
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