Free Noble in Reason by Phyllis Bentley Page B

himself absurd in front of amused spectators, to perceive his injustice to the porters and resent it on their behalf, to dread further explosions of his vehement temper, kept me in a state of quivering pain, so that I longed for nothing so much as the arrival of the express.
    Across two sets of railway lines, both at present empty though trains were signalled, as John pointed out to me, for arrival on both, another platform lay open to our view. It was from this platform that I had been used to take the train to Northchester. On that platform, I thought despairingly, the travellers looked ordinary, happy people, bound on interesting and hopeful journeys; and this impression was heightened when I saw descending the far steps Mrs. Darrell and Beatrice, both agreeably dressed in furs and what I remember as “costumes” in two shades of mauve, with crisp lace bows at the throat. We Jarmaynes hastily put on our public expressions at the sight of our neighbours; we removed hats and caps, bowed and smiled as blandly as if we too were on some pleasurable excursion. Suddenly Henry, with an exclamation, left us; he flew up the steps from our platform and could be seen a moment later hastening down the other flight. This rush to the side of a pretty girl naturally aroused the interest of all the waiting passengers, who smiled amiably, for Henry was a pleasing and even distinguished-looking youngman. But John’s heavy face flushed a dark crimson, while my father’s aquiline features turned pale—even in my anguish I could not help remarking with interest the difference in their hue. Almost at the same moment our train came in. The necessary slight bustle with our luggage was completed and two corner seats had been secured for us by John, and still Henry had not reappeared.
    â€œWell, goodbye, Christopher. Be a good boy,” said my father, kissing me. “Henry is too busy with his friends to say goodbye to his father, I see.”
    My father’s tone was so full of grief and anger, and I was so obviously a second-rate son as far as he was concerned, that I could hardly have felt at once more ashamed and more resentful of him than I did at that moment. How could my father imagine that any son of his should wish to bid him a fond farewell? Yet it was wrong of Henry not to behave as the departing sons of other families would (I thought) surely do.
    â€œHe’ll miss the train if he doesn’t look out,” said John.
    Although we all knew that in fact the efficient, alert and sensible Henry would not miss the train, there was a pause full of suspense and wretchedness until he at last appeared running rapidly down our flight of steps. His expression was now bright and eager, and he jumped into the train breathless and laughing.
    â€œWell, goodbye, Chris—don’t let Henry here make too much of a prig of you,” said John.
    The train now began to move; my father reached up hastily to Henry, seized his hand and implanted a sudden kiss on his cheek.
    â€œGoodbye, father! Goodbye, John!” cried Henry cheerfully, in his resonant and pleasant tones.
    â€œGoodbye,” said John.
    His face was grim, and he stood with both hands in his pockets, not offering a parting clasp to either of his brothers.It was then that I perceived the rivalry between Henry and John for Beatrice. I grasped at once that John’s lateness for breakfast every morning had sprung from his meetings with Beatrice—in the backyard we shared with the Darrells, perhaps; there was disused stabling where such meetings could take place. My heart sank like a stone at the prospect of further family conflict which such a rivalry evoked. This additional emotion, piled on top of all the rest, with the immense relief of leaving my father behind, the sadness of leaving home and the fear of the unknown future, was altogether too much for me, and as the train glided past the Hudley signboard I gave a loud sobbing snort. This