Free Noble in Reason by Phyllis Bentley Page A

He pronounced my malaise due to overwork at Northchester. This diagnosis I resisted hotly, and though during the weeks that followed I certainly felt odd in more ways than one, I concealed my symptoms with care lest they should give the anti-Northchester theory more support.
    But in vain, as it seemed. For one night Henry came into my room, where I was reading in bed as usual, and leaning over the rails at the foot with an expression of vexation and perplexity on his handsome face, asked me if I would like to go to London with him.
    â€œOf course!” I exclaimed joyously, sitting upright.
    â€œInstead of going back to school,” concluded Henry.
    No doubt my face revealed the incredulous horror, the dumbfounded despair, which I felt, for Henry added on a note almost of apology:
    â€œIt might be better for you, Chris—since you seem to be overworking.”
    I got out a strangled exclamation: “No!”
    â€œWell, there’s no help for it, Chris,” said Henry, walking about the room with a quick nervous step. “Father can’t afford for you to go to Northchester any longer.”
    â€œBut I have a scholarship!” I cried proudly.
    â€œIt doesn’t cover the whole expense. And there’s your railway fares, and your midday meal, and so on. No! It’s no good. Father’s made up his mind. I’m to go to London—anold friend of father’s has got me a job there. And I’ll take you with me. We’ll manage somehow.”
    I gazed at him overwhelmed.
    â€œBut will you like going away from Hudley, Henry?”
    Henry strode about the room. “I shall attend music classes at night,” he said. “John is going to one of our step-uncles in Ashworth.”
    As I had never then heard of our step-uncles in Ashworth, I was more and more dismayed. My normal world seemed to be breaking up about me, revealing dark horrifying vistas veiled in wreaths of sulphurous smoke.
    â€œThere’s a good opening for John there as the uncle hasn’t any sons. Father wanted me to go,” explained Henry haughtily, “but I declined. I didn’t wish to be beholden to them. Come, Chris!” he added on an impatient note: “It’s no use pulling a long face about it. You must bear up and be a man. We must all do our best.”
    â€œBut why must everything be changed like this?” I wailed.
    Henry shrugged his shoulders. “It’s those American tariffs, I suppose,” he said.
    â€œWhat will Netta do?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Henry, frowning. “Now don’t make any fuss about this to father and mother, Christopher. And don’t start Netta crying. We’re going on Wednesday.”
    Accordingly on Wednesday morning a sad little group of male Jarmaynes stood on the departure platform of the Hudley railway station. My father’s mood seemed to me at its most difficult and peremptory; he had already offended the booking-office clerk, the ticket-collector and the porter by his strictures on railway procedures as to tickets, luggage and the signalling of trains. John stood silent and scowling, viewing my father’s fussings with heavy contempt. Henry walked impatiently up and down the platform; he held his head high but his face was pale and pinched. I could see that he suffered. As for me, Iexperienced a keen agony. We had parted from my mother and Netta at home; Netta bade me farewell with loving sweetness, as always, but she did not understand that our absence was to be permanent and babbled: “Goodbye Chris goodbye have a nice time come back soon Chris dear soon soon
soon”
all in a breath as her way was, so that she almost broke my heart; my mother, slow and drowsy in her speech that morning, embraced me tenderly but seemed hardly more conscious of the meaning of our departure than her little daughter from whom the knowledge had been kept. After this ordeal of parting, to see my father making