“That’s all right,” said Philip, who was thinking of Katherine.
“No, it isn’t all right,” said Henry, striking the table with his fist. “I must tell you, now that you’ve been so kind to me. You see I’m shy really, I wouldn’t like most people to know that, but I am. I’m shy because I’m so unfortunate about little things. You must have noticed long ago how unlucky I am. Nothing ever goes right with me at home. I’m always untidy and my clothes go to pieces and I break things. People seem to think I want to ...” His voice was fierce for a moment.
“That’s all right,” said Philip again. “Have some more bone.”
“Yes, thank you,” said Henry, staring darkly in front of him. “I don’t know why I’m so unfortunate, because I know I could do things if I were given a chance, but no one will ever let me try. What do they keep me at home for when I ought to be at Oxford? Why don’t they settle what I’m going to be? It’s quite time for them to make up their mind.... It’s a shame, a shame....”
“So it is. So it is,” said Philip. “But it will be all right if you wait a bit.”
“I’m always told I’ve got to wait,” said Henry fiercely. “What about other fellows? No one tells them to wait.... I’m nineteen, and there are plenty of men of nineteen I know who are doing all kinds of things. I can’t even dress properly—soot and fluff always come and settle on my clothes rather than on anyone else’s. I’ve often noticed it. Then people laugh at me for nothing. They don’t laugh at other men.”
“You oughtn’t to care,” said Philip.
“I try not to, but you can’t help it if it happens often.”
“What do you want to be?” said Philip. “What would you like to do?”
“I don’t mind; anything,” said Henry, “if only I did it properly. I’d rather be a waiter who didn’t make a fool of himself than what I am. I’d like to be of use. I’d like to make people proud of me. I’d like Katherine—”