Their poor dear mother did the usual thing
while they were with us. Then of course, Harrow, Cambridge, the usual
routine of their class. I saw very little of them, and thought very
little about them: how could I? with a whole province on my hands.
They and I are--acquaintances. Not perhaps, quite ordinary
acquaintances: theres a sort of--er--I should almost call it a sort
of remorse about the way we shake hands (when we do shake hands) which
means, I suppose, that we're sorry we dont care more for one another;
and I'm afraid we dont meet oftener than we can help. We put each
other too much out of countenance. It's really a very difficult
relation. To my mind not altogether a natural one.
TARLETON. _[impressed, as usual]_ Thats an idea, certainly. I dont
think anybody has ever written about that.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Bentley is the only one who was really my son in any
serious sense. He was completely spoilt. When he was sent to a
preparatory school he simply yelled until he was sent home. Harrow
was out of the question; but we managed to tutor him into Cambridge.
No use: he was sent down. By that time my work was over; and I saw a
good deal of him. But I could do nothing with him--except look on. I
should have thought your case was quite different. You keep up the
middle-class tradition: the day school and the business training
instead of the university.
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