The Essential W. Somerset Maugham Collection. W. Somerset Maugham

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СКАЧАТЬ a loose-limbed young man strolled up, and was presented to James. He appeared on friendly terms with the two girls, who called him Bobbikins.

      "How long have you been back?" he asked. "I was out in the Imperial Yeomanry--only I got fever and had to come home."

      James stiffened himself a little, with the instinctive dislike of the regular for the volunteer.

      "Oh, yes! Did you go as a trooper?"

      "Yes; and pretty rough it was, I can tell you."

      He began to talk of his experience in a resonant voice, apparently well-pleased with himself, while the red-faced girls looked at him admiringly. James wondered whether the youth intended to marry them both.

      The conversation was broken by the appearance of Mr. Larcher, a rosy-cheeked and be-whiskered man, dapper and suave. He had been picking flowers, and handed a bouquet to one of his guests. James fancied he was a prosperous merchant, who had retired and set up as a country gentleman; but if he was the least polished of the family, he was also the most simple. He greeted the visitor very heartily, and offered to take him over his new conservatory.

      "My husband takes everyone to the new conservatory," said Mrs. Larcher, laughing apologetically.

      "It's the biggest round Ashford," explained the worthy man.

      James, thinking he wished to talk of his son, consented, and as they walked away, Mr. Larcher pointed out his fruit trees, his pigeons. He was a fancier, said he, and attended to the birds entirely himself; then in the conservatory, made James admire his orchids and the luxuriance of his maidenhair.

      "I suppose these sort of things grow in the open air at the Cape?" he asked.

      "I believe everything grows there."

      Of his son he said absolutely nothing, and presently they rejoined the others. The Larchers were evidently estimable persons, healthy-minded and normal, but a little common. James asked himself why they had invited him if they wished to hear nothing of their boy's tragic death. Could they be so anxious to forget him that every reference was distasteful? He wondered how Reggie had managed to grow up so simple, frank, and charming amid these surroundings. There was a certain pretentiousness about his people which caused them to escape complete vulgarity only by a hair's-breadth. But they appeared anxious to make much of James, and in his absence had explained who he was to the remaining visitors, and these beheld him now with an awe which the hero found rather comic.

      Mrs. Larcher invited him to play tennis, and when he declined seemed hardly to know what to do with him. Once when her younger daughter laughed more loudly than usual at the very pointed chaff of the Imperial Yeoman, she slightly frowned at her, with a scarcely perceptible but significant glance in Jamie's direction. To her relief, however, the conversation became general, and James found himself talking with Miss Larcher of the cricket week at Canterbury.

      After all, he could not be surprised at the family's general happiness. Six months had passed since Reggie's death, and they could not remain in perpetual mourning. It was very natural that the living should forget the dead, otherwise life would be too horrible; and it was possibly only the Larchers' nature to laugh and to talk more loudly than most people. James saw that it was a united, affectionate household, homely and kind, cursed with no particular depth of feeling; and if they had not resigned themselves to the boy's death, they were doing their best to forget that he had ever lived. It was obviously the best thing, and it would be cruel--too cruel--to expect people never to regain their cheerfulness.

      "I think I must be off," said James, after a while; "the trains run so awkwardly to Tunbridge Wells."

      They made polite efforts to detain him, but James fancied they were not sorry for him to go.

      "You must come and see us another day when we're alone," said Mrs. Larcher. "We want to have a long talk with you."

      "It's very kind of you to ask me," he replied, not committing himself.

      Mrs. Larcher accompanied him back to the drawing-room, followed by her husband.

      "I thought you might like a photograph of Reggie," she said.

      This was her first mention of the dead son, and her voice neither shook nor had in it any unwonted expression.

      "I should like it very much."

      It was on Jamie's tongue to say how fond he had been of the boy, and how he regretted his sad end; but he restrained himself, thinking if the wounds of grief were closed, it was cruel and unnecessary to reopen them.

      Mrs. Larcher found the photograph and gave it to James. Her husband stood by, saying nothing.

      "I think that's the best we have of him."

      She shook hands, and then evidently nerved herself to say something further.

      "We're very grateful to you, Captain Parsons, for what you did. And we're glad they gave you the Victoria Cross."

      "I suppose you didn't bring it to-day?" inquired Mr. Larcher.

      "I'm afraid not."

      They showed him out of the front door.

      "Mind you come and see us again. But let us know beforehand, if you possibly can."

      * * *

      Shortly afterwards James received from the Larchers a golden cigarette-case, with a Victoria Cross in diamonds on one side and an inscription on the other. It was much too magnificent for use, evidently expensive, and not in very good taste.

      "I wonder whether they take that as equal in value to their son?" said James.

      Mary was rather dazzled.

      "Isn't it beautiful!" she cried, "Of course, it's too valuable to use; but it'll do to put in our drawing-room."

      "Don't you think it should be kept under a glass case?" asked James, with his grave smile.

      "It'll get so dirty if we leave it out, won't it?" replied Mary, seriously.

      "I wish there were no inscription. It won't fetch so much if we get hard-up and have to pop our jewels."

      "Oh, James," cried Mary, shocked, "you surely wouldn't do a thing like that!"

      James was pleased to have seen the Larchers. It satisfied and relieved him to know that human sorrow was not beyond human endurance: as the greatest of their gifts, the gods have vouchsafed to man a happy forgetfulness.

      In six months the boy's family were able to give parties, to laugh and jest as if they had suffered no loss at all; and the thought of this cleared his way a little. If the worst came to the worst--and that desperate step of which he had spoken seemed his only refuge--he could take it with less apprehension. Pain to those he loved was inevitable, but it would not last very long; and his death would trouble them far less than his dishonour.

      Time was pressing, СКАЧАТЬ