Perhaps, unconsciously, he felt that to do so would be to shirk responsibility; but it is very certain that he was already devoutly wishing that he had never sought responsibility. Elizabeth’s careless little remark had added quite an appreciable weight to it. It is astonishing how the merest fragment added to an already heavy load will make it almost insupportable. It was, too, the absurdest fragment, the most ridiculous fragment, but there it was, flung carelessly upon him. Mentally, though vaguely, he saw a million other like fragments, which he told himself shudderingly would be added. He saw at least another ton load waiting for him. To those used to these burdens of conventionality they would be a mere featherweight. But to him!
He began to enumerate the list, to drag forth to clearer vision what he was vaguely perceiving. To this end he recalled his dinner at Delancey Castle.
Dress clothes headed the list. True, they had not been present, but then they should have been. His own ignorance would evidently be a very formidable fragment. Well then, number one, dress clothes, stiff collars and shirt fronts, and all the rest of the paraphernalia. Number two, servants standing in the room while you eat. An abomination! Number three, servants handing you food in silver dishes. An idiotic custom! Why couldn’t they put the things on the table? Number four, accept everything offered you as indifferently as possible. Avoid thanking a servant. Well, with a bit of practice he might manage that. Number five, water placed before you in glass dishes, which water you were evidently not intended to drink,—he had grasped that much. A purely silly convention. Number six, coffee in minute cups that slid about on the saucers, and nowhere to put the elusive fragile things. David went hot and cold at the remembrance. Number seven, no pipes in the drawing-room. He groaned. This much his own experience had taught him, and taught him within the space of a couple of hours. And Heaven alone knew how many more fragments there might not be.
Of course you might argue, and justly, why think of these conventions at all? Brush them aside. Treat them as non-existent. He was his own master. That is logical and sound reasoning.
But no. To David’s mind it behooved him, in accepting the responsibility, to accept with it all that appertained thereto. Herein lay that touch of simplicity, that touch of childlikeness, which, perhaps you may have perceived in him. Therefore it is small wonder that civilization was bearing heavily upon him.
Truly a sorry state for a man.
CHAPTER XXXVI
CONSPIRATORS
Elizabeth was talking to Mrs. Trimwell.
She was sitting in a low chair by the open back door. The baby lay in her lap, peacefully sucking a small pink thumb, round eyes gazing at Elizabeth’s face the while. The baby was as at home with Elizabeth, as Elizabeth was at home with the baby.
Before them lay the garden,—cabbages, potatoes, and onions neatly surrounded by flower borders. On a clothes-line, white pinafores and little blue and pink cotton frocks swung gently in the breeze.