Michael

against the unfairness of it. The question, he knew well, wassarcastically asked, the flavour of irony in the "permission to inquire"was not there by accident. To speak like that implied contempt of hisopposition; he felt that he was being treated like a child over somenursery rebellion, in which, subsequently, there is no real possibilityof disobedience. He felt his anger rising in spite of himself.

  "If you refer to it as rubbish, sir, there is the end of the matter."

  "Ah! I thought we should soon agree," said Lord Ashbridge, chuckling.

  "You mistake me," said Michael. "There is the end of the matter, becauseI won't discuss it any more, if you treat me like this. I will say goodnight, if you intend to persist in the idea that you can just brush myresolves away like that."

  This clearly took his father aback; it was a perfectly dignified andproper attitude to take in the face of ridicule, and Lord Ashbridge,though somewhat an adept at the art of self-deception--as, for instance,when he habitually beat the golf professional--could not disguise fromhimself that his policy had been to laugh and blow away Michael's absurdideas. But it was abundantly clear at this moment that this apparentlyeasy operation was out of his reach.

  He got up with more amenity in his manner than he had yet shown,and laid his hand on Michael's shoulder as he stood in front of him,evidently quite prepared to go away.

  "Come, my dear Michael. This won't do," he said. "I thought it bestto treat your absurd schemes with a certain lightness, and I have onlysucceeded in irritating you."

  Michael was perfectly aware that he had scored. And as his object was toscore he made another criticism.

  "When you say 'absurd schemes,' sir," he said, with quiet respect, "areyou not still laughing at them?"

  Lord Ashbridge again retreated strategically.

  "Very well; I withdraw absurd," he said. "Now sit down again, and wewill talk. Tell me what is in your mind."

  Michael made a great effort with himself. He desired, in the secret,real Michael, to be reasonable and cordial, to behave filially, whileall the time his nerves were on edge with his father's ridicule, andwith his instinctive knowledge of his father's distaste for him.

  "Well, it's like this, father," he said. "I'm doing no good as I am. Iwent into the Guards, as you know, because it was the right thing to do.A business man's son is put into business for the same reason. And I'mnot good at it."

  Michael paused a moment.

  "My heart isn't in it," he said, "and I dislike it. It seems to meuseless. We're for show. And my heart is quite entirely in music. It'sthe thing I care for more than anything else."

  Again he paused; all that came so easily to his tongue when he wasspeaking to Francis was congealed now when he felt the contempt withwhich, though unexpressed, he knew he inspired his father.

  Lord Ashbridge waited with careful politeness, his eyes fixed on theceiling, his large person completely filling his chair, just as hisatmosphere filled the room. He said nothing at all until the silencerang in Michael's ears.

  "That is all I can tell you," he said at length.

  Lord Ashbridge carefully conveyed the ash from his cigarette to thefireplace before he spoke. He felt that the time had come for his mostimpressive effort.

  "Very well, then, listen to me," he said. "What you suffer from,Michael, is a mere want of self-confidence and from modesty. You don'tseem to grasp--I have often noticed this--who you are and what yourimportance is--an importance which everybody is willing to recognise ifyou will only assume it. You have the privileges of your position, whichyou don't sufficiently value, but you have, also, the responsibilitiesof it, which I am afraid you are inclined to shirk. You haven't got thelarge view; you haven't the sense of patriotism. There are a great manythings in my position--the position into which you will step--which Iwould much sooner be without. But we have received a tradition, and weare bound to hand it on intact. You may think that this has nothingto do with your being in the Guards, but it has. We"--and he seemed toswell a little--"we are bound in honour to take the lead in the serviceof our country, and we must do it whether we like it or not. We have totill, with our own efforts, 'our goodly heritage.' You have to learn themeaning of such words as patriotism, and caste, and duty."

  Lord Ashbridge thought that he was really putting this very well indeed,and he had the sustaining consciousness of sincerity. He entirelybelieved what he said, and felt that it must carry conviction to anyonewho listened to it with anything like an open mind. The only thing thathe did not allow for was that he personally immensely enjoyed his socialand dominant position, thinking it indeed the only position which wasreally worth having. This naturally gave an aid to comprehension, andhe did not take into account that Michael was not so blessed as he, andindeed lacked this very superior individual enlightenment. But his ownwords kindled the flame of this illumination, and without noticing theblank stolidity of Michael's face he went on with gathering confidence:

  "I am sure you are high-minded, my dear Michael," he said. "And it is toyour high-mindedness that I--yes, I don't mind saying it--that I appeal.In a moment of unreflectiveness you have thrown overboard what I am sureis real to you, the sense, broadly speaking, that you are English and ofthe highest English class, and have intended to devote yourself to moreselfish and pleasure-loving aims, and to dwell in a tinkle of pleasantsounds that please your ear; and I'm sure I don't wonder, because, asyour mother and I both know, you play charmingly. But I feel confidentthat your better mind does not really confuse the mere diversions oflife with its serious issues."

  Michael suddenly rose to his feet.

  "Father, I'm afraid this is no use at all," he said. "All that I feel,and all that I can't say, I know is unintelligible to you. You havecalled it rubbish once, and you think it is rubbish still."

  Lord Ashbridge's eloquence was suddenly arrested. He had been canteringgleefully along, and had the very distinct impression of having run upagainst a stone wall. He dismounted, hurt, but in no way broken.

  "I am anxious to understand you, Michael," he said.

  "Yes, father, but you don't," said he. "You have been explaining me allwrong. For instance, I don't regard music as a diversion. That is theonly explanation there is of me."

  "And as regards my wishes and my authority?" asked his father.

  Michael squared his shoulders and his mind.

  "I am exceedingly sorry to disappoint you in the matter of your wishes,"he said; "but in the matter of your authority I can't recognise it whenthe question of my whole life is at stake. I know that I am your son,and I want to be dutiful, but I have my own individuality as well. Thatonly recognises the authority of my own conscience."

  That seemed to Lord Ashbridge both tragic and ludicrous. Completelysubservient himself to the conventions which he so much enjoyed, it waslike the defiance of a child to say such things. He only just checkedhimself from laughing again.

  "I refuse to take that answer from you," he said.

  "I have no other to give you," said Michael. "But I should like to sayonce more that I am sorry to disobey your wishes."

  The repetition took away his desire to laugh. In fact, he could not havelaughed.

  "I don't want to threaten you, Michael," he said. "But you may know thatI have a very free hand in the disposal of my property."

  "Is that a threat?" asked Michael.

  "It is a hint."

  "Then, father, I can only say that I should be perfectly satisfied withanything you may do," said Michael. "I wish you could leave everythingyou have to Francis. I tell you in all sincerity that I wish he had beenmy elder brother. You would have been far better pleased with him."

  Lord Ashbridge's anger rose. He was naturally so self-complacent as tobe seldom disposed to anger, but its rarity was not due to kindliness ofnature.

  "I have before now noticed your jealousy of your cousin," he observed.

  Michael's face went white.

  "That is infamous and untrue, father," he said.

  Lord Ashbridge turned on him.
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  "Apologise for that," he said.

  Michael looked up at his high towering without a tremor.

  "I wait for the withdrawal of your accusation that I am jealous ofFrancis," he replied.

  There was a dead silence. Lord Ashbridge stood there in swollen andspeechless indignation, and Michael faced him undismayed. . . . And thensuddenly to the boy there came an impulse of pure pity for his father'sdisappointment in having a son like himself. He saw with the candourwhich was so real a part of him how hopeless it must be, to a man of hisfather's mind, to have a millstone like himself unalterably bound