“Most children,” went on Lady Mary, “have a subtle power of imagination. If you were to bring them to hard bed-rock fact, they’d own to the imagination, though probably reluctantly.”
“I know,” said John, “a willow wand is not a spear, neither is a broomstick a horse, nor a twisted tree-trunk a dragon, and you know it. But when you ride forth on the horse, armed with the spear, to kill the dragon, you suffer some terrible and indefinable loss when the actual facts of the case are set before you in faultless English by an all too-truthful aunt.”
“You see,” smiled Lady Mary.
“I see,” said John, “and I withdraw my query, or, rather, you have answered it.”
There was a silence, and again they both waited. They made no attempt to break the silence. It could only have been broken now by some entirely futile remark, and neither John nor Lady Mary was in the mood for such remarks.
John looked in the direction of Rosamund and Corin. He saw that the former glanced towards the door every now and again, and back from it to the clock. The minutes seemed interminably slow in their passing. And then, suddenly, footsteps were heard in the hall without. John’s heart leaped; Lady Mary’s face was pale; Rosamund was smiling; Father Maloney looked up from the little tin soldier he was examining.
The door opened and the butler appeared on the threshold. He muttered something. Certainly his speech was not his usual clear enunciation. John, seeing his solemnly injured expression, felt a sudden desire to laugh. Lady Mary certainly smiled. And then David Delancey entered the room.
Of course the actuality wasn’t half, or a quarter, as bad as the anticipation. In two minutes the introductions were over. John had shaken hands; everyone had shaken hands; Antony, in a clear treble, had informed the guest that it was on his account alone that he and Michael had been granted half an hour’s furlough from bed. The announcement broke the ice, so to speak; if, indeed, there had been any to break. Probably there wasn’t any. There had been a sudden thaw the moment the solemnly injured butler had appeared upon the threshold.
And David himself was so utterly simple. To his direct mind the invitation alone had conveyed sufficient assurance of his welcome. Why on earth should it have been issued else? There you have your child all over. He may hesitate to intrude for fear of a snub; but, once let an invitation be given, snubbing does not enter into the category at all. Such conventionalities as enforced politeness do not enter his mind. Of course Lady Mary was as pleased to welcome him as David was to make her acquaintance. It was sine qua non to the present situation.
I don’t say it hadn’t surprised him. He had been extremely surprised. It wasn’t in the least the way he saw himself acting had he been in Lady Mary’s place. Nevertheless he saw entire genuineness in her action.