‘Well,’ said Sebastian, ‘what of it?’
‘May I continue to go to church, sir? I feared you might forbid me,’ said Carrie, her heart bounding with hope.
‘The deuce take your honesty, Carrie. Do you think I can forbid you now?’
Carrie laughed with delight—words after all were not everything. If once each week she could sit and gaze at Philip, a year and a half would surely pass quickly enough!
CHAPTER XXIV
There is no reckoning with the infinite possibilities for variation in human character, which is one of the reasons why all ‘theories’ of education are doomed to failure. Yet you will sometimes hear the cleverest men and women lay down general axioms, forgetful of this qualifying phrase, that may upset the entire calculation.
Richard Meadowes—in other matters a man of considerable acuteness, fell into this common snare. The axiom which misled him was one which has been accepted—well-nigh proven by half the world: that youth is fickle and forgetful. Given fresh interests, new playthings, the young man does not live (said he) who will not soon forget what so lately charmed him most. Well, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred this may be true; but that elusive hundredth case must also be reckoned with if one would make certain.
‘Phil must go into society and see other women; ere six months are passed he will never give another thought to this Caroline Shepley,’ said the prudent parent, who had indeed, on his way through the world, seen many a man forget. Phil showed scant desire for society; he declared his inclinations lay rather in the way of study, and expressed a special yearning for legal research. But his father opposed this with wise moderation.
‘There was of course no reason against it—Phil might please himself—he was, by now, old enough to choose his own path in life—but, if he might suggest it, a Parliamentary career offered greater scope for his peculiar talents. Nothing would be easier. A few years hence . . . time passed quickly—there was much to see and learn meantime . . . there was the world to see, not to speak of the men in it. . . . Should they go the Grand Tour of Europe together? . . . No?—ah, well, there was time enough for that . . . He preferred London? Well, there was of course no society like London, and the proper study of mankind (“clever mankind, Phil, my son”) was certainly man—learn men and manners. He did not wish to go into society? Ah, well, he might stay at home and do some reading—no time was lost in reading—he had worked too hard at Oxford and deserved a rest this winter,’ etc. etc.
Phil listened to it all and smiled and took his own way; he knew perfectly well what his father’s thoughts were.