The Tysons | Page 2

him straight in the face.
It seemed that he had worked his way out to Bombay and back again.
He had been reporter to half-a-dozen provincial papers. He had been
tutor to Somebody's son at some place not specified. He had tried his
hand at comic journalism in London and at cattle-driving in Texas, and
had been half-way to glory as a captain of irregulars in the Soudanese
war. No, nobody was more surprised than himself when that mystic old
man left him Thorneytoft. He thought he had chucked civilization for
good. For good? But--after his exciting life--wouldn't he find
civilization a little--dull? (Miss Batchelor had a way of pointing her
sentences as if she were speaking in parables.) Not in the country, there
was hardly enough of it there, and he had never tried being a country
gentleman before; he rather wanted to see what it was like. Wouldn't it
be a little hard, if he had never--? He thought not. The first thing he
should do would be to get some decent hunters.
Hunters were all very well, but had he no hobbies? No, he had not; the
bona fide country gentleman never had hobbies. They were kept by
amateur gentlemen retired from business to the suburbs. Here Sir Peter
observed that talking of hobbies, old Mr. Tyson had a
perfect--er--mania for orchids; he spent the best part of his life in his
greenhouse. Mr. Nevill Tyson thought he would rather spend his in
Calcutta at once.
A dark lean man who had arrived with Tyson was seen to smile
frequently during the above dialogue. Miss Batchelor caught him doing
it and turned to Tyson. "Captain Stanistreet seemed rather amused at
the notion of your being a fine old country gentleman."
"Stanistreet? I daresay. But he knows nothing about it, I assure you. He
has the soul of a cabman. He measures everything by its distance from
Charing Cross."
"I see. And you--are all for green fields and idyllic simplicity?"
He bowed, as much as to say, "I am, if you say so."

Miss Batchelor became instantly self-possessed.
"You won't like it. Nothing happens here; nothing ever will happen.
You will be dreadfully bored."
"If I am bored I shall get something to do. I shall dissipate myself in a
bland parochial patriotism. I can feel it coming on already. When I
once get my feet on a platform I shall let myself go."
"Do. You'll astonish our simple Arcadian farmers. Nothing but good
old Tory melodrama goes down here. Are you equal to that?"
"Oh yes. I'm terrific in Tory melodrama. I shall bring down the house."
She turned a curious scrutinizing look on him.
"Yes," said she, "you'll bring down the house--like Samson among the
Philistines."
He returned her look with interest. "I should immensely like to know,"
said he, "what you go in for. I'm sure you go in for something."
She looked at her plate. "Well, I dabble a little in psychology."
"Oh!" There was a moment's silence. "Psychology is a large order,"
said Tyson, presently.
"Yes, if you go in deep. I'm not deep. I'm perfectly happy when I've got
hold of the first principles. It sounds dreadfully superficial, but I'm not
interested in anything but principles."
"I'm sorry to hear it, for in that case you won't be interested in me."
She laughed nervously. She was accustomed to be rallied on her
attainments, but never quite after this fashion.
"Why not?"
"Because I haven't any principles."

She bent her brows; but her eyes were smiling under her frown.
"You really mustn't say these things here. We are so dreadfully literal.
We might take you at your word."
Tyson smiled, showing his rather prominent teeth unpleasantly.
"I wish," said she, "I knew what you think a country gentleman's duties
really are."
"Do you? They are three. To hunt hard; to shoot straight; and to go to
church."
"I hope you will perform them--all."
"I shall--all. No--on second thoughts I draw the line at going to church.
It's all very well if you've got a private chapel, or an easy chair in the
chancel, or a family vault you can sit in. But I detest these modern
arrangements; I object to be stuck in a tight position between two
boards, with my feet in somebody else's hat, and somebody else's feet
in mine, and to have people breathing down my collar and hissing and
yelling alternately, in my ear."
Again Miss Batchelor drew her eyebrows together in a friendly frown
of warning. She liked the cosmopolitan Tyson and his reckless speech,
and she had her own reasons for wishing him to make a good
impression. But her hints had roused in him the instinct of antagonism,
and he went on more recklessly than before. "No; you