CHAPTER I

oftheusualmasculineimpersonalityandauthority,mightrevealmoresubtleemotionsunderfavorablecircumstances,fortheywerelarge,andofaclear,browncolortheyseemedunexpectedlytohesitateandspeculatebutKatharineonlylookedathimtowonderwhetherhisfacewouldnothavecomenearerthestandardofherdeadheroesifithadbeenadornedwithside-whiskers.Inhissparebuildandthin,thoughhealthy,cheeks,shesawtokensofanangularandacridsoul.Hisvoice,shenoticed,hadaslightvibratingorcreakingsoundinit,ashelaiddownthemanuscriptandsaid: “Youmustbeveryproudofyourfamily,MissHilbery.” “Yes,Iam,”Katharineanswered,andsheadded,“Doyouthinkthere’sanythingwronginthat?” “Wrong?Howshoulditbewrong?Itmustbeabore,though,showingyourthingstovisitors,”headdedreflectively. “Notifthevisitorslikethem.” “Isn’titdifficulttoliveuptoyourancestors?”heproceeded. “IdaresayIshouldn’ttrytowritepoetry,”Katharinereplied. “No.Andthat’swhatIshouldhate.Icouldn’tbearmygrandfathertocutmeout.And,afterall,”Denhamwenton,glancingroundhimsatirically,asKatharinethought,“it’snotyourgrandfatheronly.You’recutoutallthewayround.IsupposeyoucomeofoneofthemostdistinguishedfamiliesinEngland.TherearetheWarburtonsandtheMannings—andyou’rerelatedtotheOtways,aren’tyou?Ireaditallinsomemagazine,”headded. “TheOtwaysaremycousins,”Katharinereplied. “Well,”saidDenham,inafinaltoneofvoice,asifhisargumentwereproved. “Well,”saidKatharine,“Idon’tseethatyou’veprovedanything.” Denhamsmiled,inapeculiarlyprovokingway.Hewasamusedandgratifiedtofindthathehadthepowertoannoyhisoblivious,supercilioushostess,ifhecouldnotimpressherthoughhewouldhavepreferredtoimpressher. Hesatsilent,holdingthepreciouslittlebookofpoemsunopenedinhishands,andKatharinewatchedhim,themelancholyorcontemplativeexpressiondeepeninginhereyesasherannoyancefaded.Sheappearedtobeconsideringmanythings.Shehadforgottenherduties. “Well,”saidDenhamagain,suddenlyopeningthelittlebookofpoems,asthoughhehadsaidallthathemeanttosayorcould,withpropriety,say.Heturnedoverthepageswithgreatdecision,asifhewerejudgingthebookinitsentirety,theprintingandpaperandbinding,aswellasthepoetry,andthen,havingsatisfiedhimselfofitsgoodorbadquality,heplaceditonthewriting-table,andexaminedthemalaccacanewiththegoldknobwhichhadbelongedtothesoldier. “Butaren’tyouproudofyourfamily?”Katharinedemanded. “No,”saidDenham.“We’veneverdoneanythingtobeproudof—unlessyoucountpayingone’sbillsamatterforpride.” “Thatsoundsratherdull,”Katharineremarked. “Youwouldthinkushorriblydull,”Denhamagreed. “Yes,Imightfindyoudull,butIdon’tthinkIshouldfindyouridiculous,”Katharineadded,asifDenhamhadactuallybroughtthatchargeagainstherfamily. “No—becausewe’renotintheleastridiculous.We’rearespectablemiddle-classfamily,livingatHighgate.” “Wedon’tliveatHighgate,butwe’remiddleclasstoo,Isuppose.” Denhammerelysmiled,andreplacingthemalaccacaneontherack,hedrewaswordfromitsornamentalsheath. “ThatbelongedtoClive,sowesay,”saidKatharine,takingupherdutiesashostessagainautomatically. “Isitalie?”Denhaminquired. “It’safamilytradition.Idon’tknowthatwecanproveit.” “Yousee,wedon’thavetraditionsinourfamily,”saidDenham. “Yousoundverydull,”Katharineremarked,forthesecondtime. “Merelymiddleclass,”Denhamreplied. “Youpayyourbills,andyouspeakthetruth.Idon’tseewhyyoushoulddespiseus.” Mr.DenhamcarefullysheathedtheswordwhichtheHilberyssaidbelongedtoClive. “Ishouldn’tliketobeyouthat’sallIsaid,”hereplied,asifheweresayingwhathethoughtasaccuratelyashecould. “No,butoneneverwouldliketobeanyoneelse.” “Ishould.Ishouldliketobelotsofotherpeople.” “Thenwhynotus?”Katharineasked. Denhamlookedatherasshesatinhergrandfather’sarm-chair,drawinghergreat-uncle’smalaccacanesmoothlythroughherfingers,whileherbackgroundwasmadeupequallyoflustrousblue-and-whitepaint,andcrimsonbookswithgiltlinesonthem.Thevitalityandcomposureofherattitude,asofabright-plumedbirdpoisedeasilybeforefurtherflights,rousedhimtoshowherthelimitationsofherlot.Sosoon,soeasily,wouldhebeforgotten. “You’llneverknowanythingatfirsthand,”hebegan,almostsavagely.“It’sallbeendoneforyou.You’llneverknowthepleasureofbuyingthingsaftersavingupforthem,orreadingbooksforthefirsttime,ormakingdiscoveries.” “Goon,”Katharineobserved,ashepaused,suddenlydoubtful,whenheheardhisvoiceproclaimingaloudthesefacts,whethertherewasanytruthinthem. “Ofcourse,Idon’tknowhowyouspendyourtime,”hecontinued,alittlestiffly,“butIsupposeyouhavetoshowpeopleround.Youarewritingalifeofyourgrandfather,aren’tyou?Andthiskindofthing”—hen