“I liked him,” said Antony cheerfully. “Do you s’pose he’s staying here? Do you s’pose I shall see him again?”
John caught his breath. Once more there was the fraction of a pause, a little tense silence.
Then came Lady Mary’s well-bred voice.
“I think you will see him again. I shall ask him to come and see the Castle before long.”
John looked up, amazed.
CHAPTER XIV
A POINT OF VIEW
“Of course,” said John to himself, “I see her point of view.”
It was, be it stated, at least the fiftieth time in the course of the last four and twenty hours that he had assured himself of the perspicacity of his vision. Also, it must be observed, it was because his own point of view was so diametrically opposed to hers that he found the assurance necessary. It emphasized, in a measure, his own broadness of mind, his ability to perceive another’s standpoint even while he disagreed with it in toto. You will doubtless have observed this attitude of mind in such persons as are fully determined to adhere to their own opinions.
Of course he realized Lady Mary’s point of view, her quixotic determination to recognize the interloper as one of the family, now that his claim to recognition had been fully established. Of course it was noble, chivalrous, Christian to a very fine degree of nicety; but it was, to John’s way of thinking, ultra-quixotic, unnecessary, save to aspirers after saintship. And John, from a delightfully human standpoint, saw no reason to imagine Lady Mary as an aspirer to this exalted degree of perfection. Therefore, from a human standpoint, her determination was tinged, distinctly tinged, with absurdity.
It was one thing, argued John, to bear a treacherous dog’s bite with courage and equanimity, it was quite another to welcome and caress the dog that has bitten you. There was treachery, unfairness, in the whole business as far as the interloper was concerned; that fact made John’s point of view the justifiable, and, indeed, the only sane one. He saw precisely how he would have acted in the matter. He would have given a dignified refusal to permit the interloper to put so much as his nose inside the Castle, till such time as he himself and his belongings had made a dignified exit from it. There was dignity enough in John’s attitude, you may be sure. In fact it was a dignity which, for the time being, entirely overrode his quite abundant sense of humour. Therefore, you perceive, that the dignity was coloured by a very decided sense of ill-temper. This last quality and self-appreciation—and I believe our John was modest enough—alone are capable of subordinating such humour.