Free The Aerodrome: A Love Story by Rex Warner Page B

than this good man to whom I had always looked up as to a second father, and who now, in spite of and in a way because of his dignity, was suddenly so abject. I leant forward and touched his sleeve with my hand. "Even if this can't be avoided," I said, "you'll be able to think of all you've done here." He made no sign to show that he had heard me, and I continued in a somewhat awkward attitude, leaning forward and peering into his face. At length he began to speak, though rather to himself than as though he were addressing his words to me. "You think much too kindly of me," he said. "I have begun to see recently how worthless and useless my life has been. I have never made anyone happy." He went on quickly and added: "No, never," as though fearing contradiction; and indeed I was on the point of speaking to remind him of the successful tenants' parties which he had held, of the gifts of butter and eggs to expectant and nursing mothers, of his constant support to the cricket and football teams, the bellringers, the mummers, the boys' club and indeed to every village activity. All this, maybe, was in his mind, but he was unwilling to hear of it, and I listened respectfully, but ill at ease, as he continued. "Some good," he said, "may have been done by accident; but that is not exactly what I mean. My position has made it possible for a little ordinary human kindness to pass through me as a medium; but as for myself I have been a constant charge upon and nuisance to others. Look at Florence." Here he paused, but I made no move, for it seemed to me almost indecent to remind him of the good feeling and gratitude of which I knew he was the object. He must have been suffering from something much deeper than a mere uncertainty as to how he was regarded by others. Though I was deeply sorry for him, I looked at him rather as at the victim of a disease than as a man whom I could help; for who was I, at my age, to supply wisdom and confidence to men much older and more experienced than myself? "I wish I could help you," I began, but he continued as though he had not heard me speak. "Florence," he said, "has shared her life with me, and I have done nothing to deserve her devotion. She has never been happy, or only once, and for a short time. And at that time I did everything I could to deprive her of her happiness. I regret it now, although then I was convinced that I was acting for the best. Now it seems almost a retribution. Then I thought only of the scandal. Your guardian agreed with me." His words mystified me, but they seemed to hint at some secret which may have been shared between our two families, that is if I might be said to have a family at all. Though I felt sympathy for the old man, it was partly curiosity which prompted me to speak. "I have heard her say so often," I said, "that her life with you has been the happiest one that she could have had." The Squire seemed suddenly to become aware of my presence. He sat up in his chair, almost as though he had awakened from a sleep. He would have wished, I think, to appear energetic, alert, and friendly; but though he looked straight at me his eyes still held that look of baffled bewilderment and of distress which I had observed when he was speaking of the loss of his land. "Thank you for your sympathy, my boy," he said. "You are very good. You are young and must not allow an old man to take up your time." He looked hurriedly round the room, at the pictures and extensive assortment of objects on the wall; and his look seemed to show a suspicion of danger. "Youth!" he said. "It's a great thing." I could see no appropriateness in this remark and for security went back to the beginning of the conversation. "But what exactly is the position?" I asked. "About the Government, I mean." The Squire, too, showed by his manner that he had observed how far we had strayed from the original subject. He now spoke precisely. "They are giving me a week," he said, "in which to make an appeal; but as I