“Yes, but I think that all gets knocked out of you at college,” said Boy, beginning to gain more confidence as he talked. “You see, you can’t be an explorer very well, unless you can get some Government to commission you to explore, and find you all the money and the rig-out. And when you’re an officer in the Army, you’ve got to obey orders, and go where you’re told,—not where you like.”
This statement was unanswerable, and for a few minutes the little party of four at luncheon ate ‘vol-au-vent’ and ‘cotelettes d’agneau,’ without much recognition of the delicacies they were supposed to be enjoying. Miss Letty had certainly lost her appetite. But—as was her usual habit—she mentally scolded herself for allowing any sense of hurt or disappointment to weigh upon her mind. “What am I bothering my head about!” she thought: “the boy is going through the usual training necessary for his career, and is being turned out just like other boys.” But there, though she did not admit it to herself, was the chief source of her regret,—“just like other boys!” That was the pity and pain of it. Ground down into the same educational pattern,—crammed with the same assorted and classified facts,—trained by the same martinet rules of discipline, without any thought taken as to diversity of character or varying quality of temperament, Boy was being shaped, like a jelly in a cook’s mould, to the required size and type of the military automaton. There would be no room left for the expansion of any new or bold form of disposition,—no chance would be given for any originality of ideas,—he was destined to become merely one of a set of army chess-men, moving in strict accordance with the rules of the game,—rules, not only of the game of war, but of the game of life. And part of this game of life, with latter-day Englishmen, is to check all natural emotion,—kill enthusiasm,—and let all the wonders of the world and the events of time and history pass by, while you stand in the place where fortune or circumstance has thrown you, never budging, and indifferent to all things but your own precious, and (if you only knew it!) most unimportant and ridiculously opinionated self. It was the knowledge of this system of education that gave Miss Letty the uncomfortable little ache at her heart, as she noted Boy’s evident listlessness and cynicism; for in the sweet, eminently idealistic, but unpractical way of women, she had hoped something better and higher might have chanced for him. She watched him as he ate his ‘vol-au-vent,’—which, after a slow consideration, causing much irritation to the vivacious French waiter who served it to him, he had chosen as the most tempting of the two ‘entrées’ offered,—and wondered what would be his ultimate fate! In prospective fancy she saw him as an officer on halfpay, like his father,—perhaps married to a slovenly woman, like his mother,—and—who could tell?—finally taking to the same dissolute courses which marked the daily existence of the Honourable Jim! And while she was thinking this with a little inward shudder, Violet was endeavouring to ‘draw him out’ on some other subject than the way in which he considered his career,—a way which she could see was distinctly vexatious to both her uncle and Miss Letty. Drawing towards her one of the graceful clusters of flowers which so lavishly decorated the table, she said,—
“How lovely the English roses are!—much sweeter than the American! Are you fond of flowers?”
This, with a bright glance at Boy.
“I don’t mind them much!” he replied indifferently.
Violet coloured a little, and was silent. Her attempt to turn the conversation into a lighter and more pleasant vein, was frustrated.
But now the Major spoke.
“You don’t ‘mind’ flowers?” he said. “Well, what do you mind? Anything?”
Boy laughed.
“I don’t know.”