‘How would you make an image of a person’s mind?’ Charlotte woke Caroline up to ask, one night; and when Caroline with sleepy sharpness said, ‘You can’t; go to sleep, do,’ Charlotte answered, ‘I believe you can; there was something written under somebody’s portrait in history, about painting his mind; and if you can paint a mind, you can make a wax image of it. I believe that’s what somebody’s done to Rupert, don’t you? And stuck knives into it? Oh, well, if you will go to sleep!’ said Charlotte.
Rupert grew grumpier and grumpier as the days went on, and seemed to care less and less for being with the three C.’s. He would go for long walks by himself, and seemed to prefer to be with William, who ‘put up’ with him, or even with Mrs. Wilmington, who adored him, to being with the children.
‘And we thought it would be so jolly,’ sighed Charlotte; ‘and the worst of it is Charles tries to imitate him. He speaks quite rudely sometimes, even to you, Caro, and you know he always used to like you best.’
The only thing Rupert seemed truly and constantly to care for was swimming. He went down to the river with Mr. Penfold almost every day, or met him at the bathing-place, and they swam together. With Mr. Penfold, Rupert was nearly always at his best, perhaps because Mr. Penfold never seemed to notice it when he wasn’t.
The village was growing more and more busy and excited as the day drew near when Lord Andore’s coming of age was to be celebrated by what the people called a Grangaileranfeat. This was to be held in Lord Andore’s park and in certain meadows adjoining; there were to be roundabouts and cocoanut-shies and shooting-galleries, and a real circus, with a menagerie and performing elephants and educated seals,—all free. The children looked forward longingly to the day. Lord Andore had sent them cards with his mother’s name and his on them in print, and the name of each child in writing, requesting the pleasure of their company on the occasion of Lord Andore’s twenty-first birthday. And they had joyously, and with much violet ink, accepted. And the day came nearer and nearer. It did not seem worth while to engage in any new magic while there was this real pleasure to look forward to.
And then, the very day before the day, when the roundabouts had arrived and been set up, and the menagerie was howling invitingly in its appointed field, the cup of joy was dashed, as Charlotte said, into little bits. Lady Andore slipped on an orange pip and broke her ankle, and the festivities were postponed until September. So said a card brought by the very footman who had not known their names.
‘He jolly well knows them now,’ said Charles. It was his only comfort.
‘There’s many a pip ’twixt the cup and the lip,’ said Charlotte; and Caroline said, ‘Oh, bother!’
Rupert said nothing. He had been invited too, of course, and had, at moments, seemed pleased. Now he just took his cap and went out, and came home late for tea. The three C.’s learned with feelings of distress, mingled with anger, that Rupert had been to the menagerie by himself, and had seen all the beasts, and that he had also witnessed a performance of the circus people, which they had thought it worth while to give to such of the villagers as cared to pay for their amusements. He had seen everything, from the accomplished elephants to the educated seals.
‘You might have told us you were going,’ said Charles.