comfortable dining-room she was certain that she was speaking the truth.
Complacently, Mrs Knight called over the names of other men Sheila might have married, none of whom, in her mother’s view, had gone as far as I had. For an instant I looked at Sheila, who recognized my glance but did not smile. Then came Mr Knight’s modulated voice: ‘Is he, is our friend Lewis, content with how far he’s gone?’
‘I should think so,’ said Mrs Knight sturdily.
‘Is he? I never have been, but of course I’ve done nothing that the world can see. I know our friend Lewis has been out there in the arena, but I should like to be certain that he is content?’
What was he getting at? No one had a sharper appraisal of worldly success than Mr Knight.
‘Of course I’m not,’ I said.
‘I rather fancied you might feel that.’ Circuitous, not looking at me, he went on: ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, I am a child in these matters, but I vaguely imagined that between the two activities you’ve chosen, you don’t expect the highest position in either? I suppose there couldn’t be anything in that impression?’
‘It is absolutely true,’ I said.
‘Of course,’ Mr Knight reflected, ‘if one were of that unfortunate temperament, which some of us are spared, that doesn’t feel on terms with life unless it collects the highest prizes, your present course would mean a certain deprivation.’
‘Yes, it would,’ I said.
He was talking at me, painfully near the bone. He knew it: so did Sheila, so did I. But not so Mrs Knight.
‘Most men would be glad to change with Lewis, I know that,’ she said. She called out to Sheila, who was sitting on a pouf in the shadow: ‘Isn’t that true, Sheila?’
‘You’ve just said it.’
‘It’s your fault if it’s not true, you know.’
Mrs Knight gave a loud laugh. But she could see Sheila’s face, pale with the mechanical smile, fixed in the shadow; and Mrs Knight was irritated that she should not look more hearty. Healthy and happy herself, Mrs Knight could see no reason why everyone round her should not be the same.
‘It’s time you two counted your blessings,’ she said.
Mr Knight, uneasy, was rousing himself, but she continued: ‘I’m speaking to you, Sheila. You’re luckier than most women, and I hope you realize it.’
Sheila did not move.
‘You’ve got a husband who’s well thought of,’ said Mrs Knight, undeterred, ‘you’ve got a fine house because your parents were able to make a contribution, you’ve got enough money for anything in reason. What I can’t understand is–’
Mr Knight tried to divert her, but for once she was not attending to him.
‘What I can’t understand is,’ said Mrs Knight, ‘why you don’t set to work and have a child.’
As I listened, the words first of all meant nothing, just badinage, uncomprehending, said in good nature. Then they went in. They were hard enough for me to take; but my wound was nothing to Sheila’s wound. I gazed at her, appalled, searching for an excuse to take her out and be with her alone.
Her father was gazing at her too, glossing it over, beginning some preamble.
To our astonishment Sheila began to laugh. Not hysterically, but matily, almost coarsely. That classical piece of tactlessness had, for the moment, pleased her. Just for an instant, she could feel ordinary among the ordinary. To be thought a woman who, because she wished to be free to travel or because she did not like to count the pounds, had refused to have a child – that made her feel at one with her mother, as hearty, as matter-of-fact.
Meanwhile Mrs Knight had noticed nothing out of the common, and went on about the dangers of leaving it too late. Sheila’s laugh had dried; and yet she seemed ready to talk back to her mother, and to agree to go out with her for an afternoon’s shopping.
As they walked down the path in the sunshine, Sheila’s stride flowing beneath a light green dress, our eyes followed them, and then,
Complacently, Mrs Knight called over the names of other men Sheila might have married, none of whom, in her mother’s view, had gone as far as I had. For an instant I looked at Sheila, who recognized my glance but did not smile. Then came Mr Knight’s modulated voice: ‘Is he, is our friend Lewis, content with how far he’s gone?’
‘I should think so,’ said Mrs Knight sturdily.
‘Is he? I never have been, but of course I’ve done nothing that the world can see. I know our friend Lewis has been out there in the arena, but I should like to be certain that he is content?’
What was he getting at? No one had a sharper appraisal of worldly success than Mr Knight.
‘Of course I’m not,’ I said.
‘I rather fancied you might feel that.’ Circuitous, not looking at me, he went on: ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, I am a child in these matters, but I vaguely imagined that between the two activities you’ve chosen, you don’t expect the highest position in either? I suppose there couldn’t be anything in that impression?’
‘It is absolutely true,’ I said.
‘Of course,’ Mr Knight reflected, ‘if one were of that unfortunate temperament, which some of us are spared, that doesn’t feel on terms with life unless it collects the highest prizes, your present course would mean a certain deprivation.’
‘Yes, it would,’ I said.
He was talking at me, painfully near the bone. He knew it: so did Sheila, so did I. But not so Mrs Knight.
‘Most men would be glad to change with Lewis, I know that,’ she said. She called out to Sheila, who was sitting on a pouf in the shadow: ‘Isn’t that true, Sheila?’
‘You’ve just said it.’
‘It’s your fault if it’s not true, you know.’
Mrs Knight gave a loud laugh. But she could see Sheila’s face, pale with the mechanical smile, fixed in the shadow; and Mrs Knight was irritated that she should not look more hearty. Healthy and happy herself, Mrs Knight could see no reason why everyone round her should not be the same.
‘It’s time you two counted your blessings,’ she said.
Mr Knight, uneasy, was rousing himself, but she continued: ‘I’m speaking to you, Sheila. You’re luckier than most women, and I hope you realize it.’
Sheila did not move.
‘You’ve got a husband who’s well thought of,’ said Mrs Knight, undeterred, ‘you’ve got a fine house because your parents were able to make a contribution, you’ve got enough money for anything in reason. What I can’t understand is–’
Mr Knight tried to divert her, but for once she was not attending to him.
‘What I can’t understand is,’ said Mrs Knight, ‘why you don’t set to work and have a child.’
As I listened, the words first of all meant nothing, just badinage, uncomprehending, said in good nature. Then they went in. They were hard enough for me to take; but my wound was nothing to Sheila’s wound. I gazed at her, appalled, searching for an excuse to take her out and be with her alone.
Her father was gazing at her too, glossing it over, beginning some preamble.
To our astonishment Sheila began to laugh. Not hysterically, but matily, almost coarsely. That classical piece of tactlessness had, for the moment, pleased her. Just for an instant, she could feel ordinary among the ordinary. To be thought a woman who, because she wished to be free to travel or because she did not like to count the pounds, had refused to have a child – that made her feel at one with her mother, as hearty, as matter-of-fact.
Meanwhile Mrs Knight had noticed nothing out of the common, and went on about the dangers of leaving it too late. Sheila’s laugh had dried; and yet she seemed ready to talk back to her mother, and to agree to go out with her for an afternoon’s shopping.
As they walked down the path in the sunshine, Sheila’s stride flowing beneath a light green dress, our eyes followed them, and then,
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