He had never for a second suffered. I took this as a
direct disproof of his having really been chastised.
If he had been wicked he would have "caught" it, and I should
have caught it by the rebound--I should have found the trace.
I found nothing at all, and he was therefore an angel.
He never spoke of his school, never mentioned a comrade or a master;
and I, for my part, was quite too much disgusted to allude to them.
Of course I was under the spell, and the wonderful part
is that, even at the time, I perfectly knew I was.
But I gave myself up to it; it was an antidote to any pain,
and I had more pains than one. I was in receipt in these days
of disturbing letters from home, where things were not going well.
But with my children, what things in the world mattered?
That was the question I used to put to my scrappy retirements.
I was dazzled by their loveliness.
There was a Sunday--to get on--when it rained with such force
and for so many hours that there could be no procession to church;
in consequence of which, as the day declined, I had arranged
with Mrs. Grose that, should the evening show improvement,
we would attend together the late service. The rain happily stopped,
and I prepared for our walk, which, through the park and by the
good road to the village, would be a matter of twenty minutes.
Coming downstairs to meet my colleague in the hall, I remembered a pair
of gloves that had required three stitches and that had received them--
with a publicity perhaps not edifying--while I sat with the children
at their tea, served on Sundays, by exception, in that cold,
clean temple of mahogany and brass, the "grown-up" dining room.
Pages:
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54