mustn’t feel you have to entertain me. I don’t want to
interrupt any of your habits… What do you usually do after dinner?”
“Sometimes I take a walk in the garden, but I think it’s already begun to
rain. Sometimes I read, or play records.”
“Then please do just what you like—as usual.”
Without another word she went to the gramophone and put on Mozart; after
it finished she closed the instrument and called from the doorway: “Good
night.” When he gave no answer she went back to his chair and saw that he was
asleep, so she took the warm pipe out of his hand in case it set fire to
something; then she laid another cob of coal on the reddened embers in the
grate.
It was all very easy the next morning, so far as Livia was concerned. But
as the day proceeded it became clear that other people were bent on making
difficulties. First there arrived Richard Felsby, and a somewhat stormy scene
took place from which Livia was excluded, though she tried to listen at the
door and gathered that the old man was just as shocked as Miss Fortescue. She
was also vaguely aware that matters of importance were being arranged over
her head, and decided there and then to insert her own personal clause into
whatever plans were being concocted. And that was simply that she would not,
in any circumstances, go back to Cheldean. As soon as the chance came she
reiterated this. “And if you send me,” she added, “I’ll run away again.”
Neither she nor her father knew that Miss Williams would not have had her
back in any event; it would have saved them an argument. “Very well,” he said
at length, “I’ll see about somewhere else.” But it was already too late for
the girl to begin the new term at any other school.
And the sensation of John Channing’s return, combined with the scandal of
Emily Channing’s departure, raged like a hurricane through Browdley and
neighbourhood for several weeks, then slowly sank to the dimensions of a
zephyr.
* * * * *
They became good friends. It was not that Livia liked him
instantly, still
less was she aware of any submerged filial emotions, nor was there any
conscious effort to like him; but a moment came, quite a casual one, when she
realized that she had already been liking him a good deal for some time.
She did not call him ‘father’. It was hard to begin, and since she did not
begin soon enough, it became impossible to begin. Eventually, since she had
to call him something, she asked if he would mind ‘Martin’.
“MARTIN? Why Martin?”
“I like the name. I used to have a friend at school called Martin… Joan
Martin.”
“Used to have? It’s not so long ago.” He was rather relieved to find she
had had a friend, after what Dr. Whiteside had said when they met a few days
before. “Don’t you keep in touch with her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she thinks I stole her watch.”
The answer was devastating, and out of it came the story of the Cheldean
incident. After she had given him the somewhat curious details he said
quizzically: “And did you?”
“Good heavens, no—what do you think I am?”
“Well, what do you think I am?”
She pondered gravely for a moment, whereupon he laughed, not because there
was anything to laugh at, but because he had at last found a way of
introducing a matter which he wanted to clear up once and for all. “You see,
Livia, I don’t wish you to get any false ideas. Don’t think up excuses for
me. Don’t dramatize me innocent, for instance, as you dramatized yourself
guilty… On the other hand—don’t believe everything you read about me
in the papers… Know what I mean?”
She nodded and he knew she did.
She added hastily: “I must tell you something else though… I didn’t
steal her watch, but I did steal her money afterwards.”
“WHAT?”
Then more explanations. He finally laughed again and said: “That’s all
right. Perhaps we’re neither of us quite as
interrupt any of your habits… What do you usually do after dinner?”
“Sometimes I take a walk in the garden, but I think it’s already begun to
rain. Sometimes I read, or play records.”
“Then please do just what you like—as usual.”
Without another word she went to the gramophone and put on Mozart; after
it finished she closed the instrument and called from the doorway: “Good
night.” When he gave no answer she went back to his chair and saw that he was
asleep, so she took the warm pipe out of his hand in case it set fire to
something; then she laid another cob of coal on the reddened embers in the
grate.
It was all very easy the next morning, so far as Livia was concerned. But
as the day proceeded it became clear that other people were bent on making
difficulties. First there arrived Richard Felsby, and a somewhat stormy scene
took place from which Livia was excluded, though she tried to listen at the
door and gathered that the old man was just as shocked as Miss Fortescue. She
was also vaguely aware that matters of importance were being arranged over
her head, and decided there and then to insert her own personal clause into
whatever plans were being concocted. And that was simply that she would not,
in any circumstances, go back to Cheldean. As soon as the chance came she
reiterated this. “And if you send me,” she added, “I’ll run away again.”
Neither she nor her father knew that Miss Williams would not have had her
back in any event; it would have saved them an argument. “Very well,” he said
at length, “I’ll see about somewhere else.” But it was already too late for
the girl to begin the new term at any other school.
And the sensation of John Channing’s return, combined with the scandal of
Emily Channing’s departure, raged like a hurricane through Browdley and
neighbourhood for several weeks, then slowly sank to the dimensions of a
zephyr.
* * * * *
They became good friends. It was not that Livia liked him
instantly, still
less was she aware of any submerged filial emotions, nor was there any
conscious effort to like him; but a moment came, quite a casual one, when she
realized that she had already been liking him a good deal for some time.
She did not call him ‘father’. It was hard to begin, and since she did not
begin soon enough, it became impossible to begin. Eventually, since she had
to call him something, she asked if he would mind ‘Martin’.
“MARTIN? Why Martin?”
“I like the name. I used to have a friend at school called Martin… Joan
Martin.”
“Used to have? It’s not so long ago.” He was rather relieved to find she
had had a friend, after what Dr. Whiteside had said when they met a few days
before. “Don’t you keep in touch with her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she thinks I stole her watch.”
The answer was devastating, and out of it came the story of the Cheldean
incident. After she had given him the somewhat curious details he said
quizzically: “And did you?”
“Good heavens, no—what do you think I am?”
“Well, what do you think I am?”
She pondered gravely for a moment, whereupon he laughed, not because there
was anything to laugh at, but because he had at last found a way of
introducing a matter which he wanted to clear up once and for all. “You see,
Livia, I don’t wish you to get any false ideas. Don’t think up excuses for
me. Don’t dramatize me innocent, for instance, as you dramatized yourself
guilty… On the other hand—don’t believe everything you read about me
in the papers… Know what I mean?”
She nodded and he knew she did.
She added hastily: “I must tell you something else though… I didn’t
steal her watch, but I did steal her money afterwards.”
“WHAT?”
Then more explanations. He finally laughed again and said: “That’s all
right. Perhaps we’re neither of us quite as
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