The wives had found her difficult of access during the customary calling hours, and mildly resented a reticence which might almost be described as unfriendly.
John mingled with the other children in the so-called "Gardens" of the Station, at first entirely as an onlooker, in charge of the impassive Burmese servant, but, later, in the capacity of a leader, of few words and indomitable energy.
John, at Black Towers, during those short years of his life when his mother, like Cyprian, was hiding from an Argus-eyed Society, had existed as a dreamer of dreams and an inventor of games peopled by imaginary companions. It was not long before the notion struck him to cast the youth of the Station for the various roles hitherto filled by bolsters, chain-armour and stuffed animals.
Ferlie noted with satisfaction that he fitted his own niche in Cyprian's heart, and, while remonstrating, she was secretly entertained when Cyprian discoursed with him in the terms of an equal.
"He simply inspires me with multi-syllabic expressions," pleaded Cyprian, "I think it is his insuperable gravity."
At that she sighed a little.
"One would imagine he had already learnt that, though we may make a game of Life, Life is often more successful in making game of us."
To which he answered, "Nonsense," adding, most inexcusably, the over-worked saw, "I am the Master of my Fate; I am the Captain of my Soul."
"I am delighted to hear you say so," Ferlie told him, "I can remember a time when your soul captained you pretty thoroughly, though, pagan that you are, you could hardly own to such domination."
She sometimes reflected upon that self-sufficiency which induced him to dismiss the Churches as unreliable excrescences upon a useful ethical foundation.