Anne Severn and the Fieldings | Page 6

me, poor dear, five minutes. I
suppose he'll always remember that I jilted him for Robert."
And now he wanted her to see that if Anne's mother would be always

Anne's mother, his wife would be always his wife. Was he desperately
faithful, too? Always?
How could he have been? It was characteristic of Alice Severn that
when she had to choose between her husband and her daughter she had
chosen Anne. It was characteristic of John that when he had to choose
between his wife and his Government, he had not chosen Alice. He
must have had adventures out in India, conducted with the discretion
becoming in a Commissioner and a Member of the Legislative Council,
but adventures. Perhaps he was going back to one of them.
Severn dressed hastily and went into the schoolroom where Anne sat
reading in her solitary hour between supper time and bed-time. He took
her on his knee, and she snuggled there, rubbing her head against his
shoulder. He thought of Adeline, teasing, teasing for the child's
caresses, and every time repulsed.
"Anne," he said, "don't you think you can love Auntie Adeline?"
Anne straightened herself. She looked at him with candid eyes. "I don't
know, Daddy, really, if I can."
"Can't you love her a little?"
"I--I would, if she wouldn't try--"
"Try?"
"To do like Mummy did."
Robert was right. He knew it, but he wanted to be sure.
Anne went on. "It's no use, you see, her trying. It only makes me think
of Mummy more."
"Don't you want to think of her?"
"Yes. But I want to think by myself, and Auntie Adeline keeps on
getting in the way."

"Still, she's awfully kind to you, isn't she?"
"Awfully."
"And you mustn't hurt her feelings."
"Have I? I didn't mean to."
"You wouldn't if you loved her."
"You haven't ever hurt her feelings, have you, Daddy?"
"No."
"Well, you see, it's because I keep on thinking about Mummy. I want
her back--I want her so awfully."
"I know, Anne, I know."
Anne's mind burrowed under, turning on its tracks, coming out
suddenly.
"Do you love Auntie Adeline, Daddy?"
It was terrible, but he owned that he had brought it on himself.
"I can't say. I've known her such a long time; before you were born."
"Before you married Mummy!"
"Yes."
"Well, won't it do if I love Uncle Robert and Eliot and Colin? And
Jerrold?"
That night he said to Adeline, "I know who'll take my place when I'm
gone."
"Who? Robert?"

"No, Jerrold."
In another week he had sailed for India and Ambala.
* * * * *
viii
Jerrold was brave.
When Colin upset the schoolroom lamp Jerrold wrapped it in the
tablecloth and threw it out of the window just in time. He put the chain
on Billy, the sheep-dog, when he went mad and snapped at everybody.
It seemed odd that Jerrold should be frightened.
A minute ago he had been happy, rolling over and over on the grass,
shouting with laughter while Sandy, the Aberdeen, jumped on him,
growling his merry puppy's growl and biting the balled fists that pushed
him off.
They were all out on the lawn. Anne waited for Jerry to get up and take
her into Wyck, to buy chocolates.
Every time Jerrold laughed his mother laughed too, a throaty, girlish
giggle.
"I love Jerry's laugh," she said. "It's the nicest noise he makes."
Then, suddenly, she stopped it. She stopped it with a word.
"If you're going into Wyck, Jerry, you might tell Yearp----"
Yearp.
He got up. His face was very red. He looked mournful and frightened
too. Yes, frightened.
"I--can't, Mother."

"You can perfectly well. Tell Yearp to come and look at Pussy's ears, I
think she's got canker."
"She hasn't," said Jerry defiantly.
"She jolly well has," said Eliot.
"Rot."
"You only say that because you don't like to think she's got it."
"Eliot can go himself. He's fond of Yearp."
"You'll do as you're told, Jerry. It's downright cowardice."
"It isn't cowardice, is it, Daddy?"
"Well," said his father, "it isn't exactly courage."
"Whatever it is," his mother said, "you'll have to get over it. You go on
as if nobody cared about poor Binky but yourself."
Binky was Jerry's dog. He had run into a motor-bicycle in the Easter
holidays and hurt his back, so that Yearp, the vet, had had to come and
give him chloroform. That was why Jerrold was afraid of Yearp. When
he saw him he saw Binky with his nose in the cup of chloroform; he
heard him snorting out his last breath. And he couldn't bear it.
"I could send one of the men," his father was saying.
"Don't encourage him, Robert. He's got to face it."
"Yes, Jerrold, you'd better go and