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Title: The Philistine: A StoryAuthor: E M Delafield* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *eBook No.: 1302141h.htmlLanguage: EnglishDate first posted: May 2013Most recent update: May 2013Project Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editionswhich are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright noticeis included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particularpaper edition.Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check thecopyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing thisfile.This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the termsof the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may be viewed online athttp://gutenberg.net.au/licence.htmlTo contact Project Gutenberg of Australia go to http://gutenberg.net.au
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He was rather a stolid little boy, but they did their very bestwith him.
He had, of course, exactly the same treats as the otherchildren, the same pleasures, the same privileges. His toys andpresents were better than theirs, if anything, because his aunt, inher heart of hearts, knew him to be less attractive than her ownCynthia and Jeremy and Diana.
For one thing, Colin wasn't as good-looking as they were, andfor another, he was less intelligent. Cynthia, at nine years old,had a vivid, original mind, and the few people—but they werepeople who really knew—to whom Lady Verulam showed her littlepoems had seen great promise in them.
Jeremy, a year younger, had thick, tight curls of brown hair allover his head, beautiful, long-lashed brown eyes, and an adorablesmile. His manners were perfect. He said things—innocent,naive, irresistible things—about God, and the fairies, andhow much he loved his mother.
Lady Verulam's youngest girl, Diana, was precociouslyintelligent too, with a delightfully extensive and grown-upvocabulary at five years old. She had straight, square-cut bobbedbrown hair like Cynthia, but she was lovelier than either of theothers, and her eyes were a pure, deep blue, fringed with long,curled black lashes.
All Lady Verulam's artist friends wanted to paint Diana, butonly Sir Frederick Lorton, the best known portrait-painter inEngland, was allowed to do so. The portrait was exhibited at theRoyal Academy.
Colin was the only child of Lady Verulam's widowedbrother-in-law, and he had been sent home to her from India whenhis mother died. He had been five years old then, and now he waseight.
He was a dear little boy, and Lady Verulam felt remorsefullythat he might have been adarling little boy if it hadn'tbeen that Cynthia and Jeremy and Diana unconsciously set such avery high standard of charm and intelligence. Intelligence countedfor so very much, in that political-artistic section of society inwhich the Verulams lived. Most children of wealthy parents could bemade tolerably pretty, after all, and if they weren't born withbrains and personality they stood little chance of individualdistinction.
Not that Colin hadn't got personality.
Lady Verulam, who was President of the Cult of the ChildrenSociety, and had written a little book about child-psychology, hadstudied Colin on his own merits, as it were. And she quiterecognized that he had character, and even imagination, of a sort,although when the children were all taken to see "Peter Pan" andtold to clap their hands if they believed in fairies, he was theonly one of Lady Verulam's large party who didn't clap.
"But Idon't believe in them, really," said Colin, ratherpale.
"But Tinker-Bell!" protested Jeremy, "She'd have died if wehadn't clapped!"
"And we do believe in fairies," said Cynthia firmly.
"Then it was all right for you to clap," said Colin. "There wereenough of you without me."
But afterwards he was very silent for a long while and lookedworried.
Lady Verulam saw that and she changed her seat in one of theintervals and came beside him.
"Do you like it, darling?"
"Oh, yes," he said, unusually emphatic. But his face hadn'tgrown scarlet with excitement, like little Diana's, and he wasn'tdelightfully, stammeringly enthusiastic, like Jeremy. Presently heasked Lady Verulam in rather a troubled way:
"I wasn't unkind or naughty, was I, not to clap for TinkerBell?"
"Not at all," she was obliged to answer. "The children were onlyasked to clap if they believed in fairies."
"I don't really believe in them," Colin said apologetically. "Doyou, Aunt Doreen?"
"Shall I tell you a secret?" she answered, bending her charming,smiling face down to his. "I like topretend that I believein fairies, little Colin."
Anyone of the others would have responded to her whimsicalfancy—they'd have understood. But Colin only looked up at herwith solemn gray eyes staring rather stupidly out of a puzzledface.
"Do you?" was all he said.
"Oh, belovedest, isn't it marvelous!" said Cynthia, her eyesshining and dancing with sheer rapture.
Well, Colin hadn't got the same capacity for enjoyment, that wasall. And even if he'd had it, he wouldn't have been able to expressit in words.
He was anordinary child.
"He'll never suffer as much as I'm afraid my darlings will,because he'll never feel as much," said Lady Verulam to the Frenchnursery governess, who had so many certificates of her training asa teacher, and as a student of psychology, and as a hospital nurse,that she was as expensive as a finishing-governess.
"Probably not, Lady Verulam. But I think they do one anothergood. Cynthia's and Jeremy's enthusiastic ways will help Colin tobe less stolid in time. And in one way, of course, it's a reliefthat he's not as excitable as they are."
The head-nurse said the same.
Diana before a party or a pantomime was positively ill withexcitement sometimes. They never dared to tell her of anythinguntil just before it was going to happen.
But Colin never looked forward to things like that. He lived inthe present.
"Such a relief," said Lady Verulam rather wistfully. Shecouldn't help wondering sometimes what her brother-in-law, Vivian,would think of his only child, when he came home...But Colin'smother, whom she had known well as a girl, had been rather stolid,too.
Every day the children went to play in Kensington Gardens. Thelittle procession came out at the front door of the house inLowndes Square, and Lady Verulam, who adored her children, watchedthem from the window of the dining room where she was havingbreakfast after her ride in the Park.
First the under-nurse and the footman, carefully lifting thesmart white perambulator down the steps, then Nurse, in stiff whitepiqué, carrying the rose-colored silk bundle that was thefour-months-old baby, and depositing him carefully among his laceyshawls and pillows, under the silk-fringed summer awning of thepram. Then Diana, adorable in a tiny, skimpy frock of palest lemoncolor, with lemon-colored streamers falling from her shade hat andsandals on her beautiful little slim brown feet. She was carrying aridiculous little doll's parasol and walking by herself, just asshe always did. There was a certain dainty pride about Diana thatnever allowed her to accept the nurse's hand. She walked by theside of the pram, erect and exquisite.
After the nursery party, Mademoiselle and the elder childrencame down the steps. In the gardens, they would all coalesce, butthe nursery party always started first.
Lady Verulam, peeping out between the window-boxes of scarletgeraniums and white daisies and the edge of the red-striped sunblind, watched them.
Mademoiselle was neat, efficient, French-looking—from thetop of her shiny black straw hat, tipped forward over her blackhair, to the black patent-leather belt placed very low down on hershort-sleeved black-and-white check frock, and the pointed tips ofher buttoned black boots. She was drawing on black kid gloves, thatcame half-way up her arms.
One on each side of her, were the two little boys. They weredressed alike, in white silk shirts and silk ties, and darkknickerbockers. Neither wore a cap, and Jeremy's thick curls lookedburnished in the strong July sunlight. People always turned to lookat him and at those wonderful curls.
Colin's hair was quite straight, and it suited him best to haveit cut very short. It was of no particular color. Both little boysheld themselves very upright, but while Colin was stocky and rathershort, Jeremy was tall and slim and beautifully made, like a littlestatue.
Then Cynthia came out of the house, quick and slender andradiating vitality in every graceful gesture. Her frock and hatwere the replica of little Diana's, but instead of the minute,absurd parasol, some heavenly instinct had caused her to take fromthe big glass bowl in the hall a handful of great mauve sweet peasthat looked like butterflies against the pale, soft folds of herfrock.
Cynthia's strong, instinctive sense of beauty was a joy to hermother.
She seemed to dance, rather than walk, along the hot pavement,her long, slim brown legs bare to the sun. From the little vivid,glancing gesture of her hands and head, Lady Verulam knew that shewas talking. She could even guess what Cynthia was talkingabout—the party.
They were giving a party the next day on Colin's birthday, justbefore going down into the country. It was, actually, three yearssince the Verulams had given a children's party. One thing andanother had prevented it.
This was called Colin's party but, as usual, the other childrenwere far more excited about it than he was.
Lady Verulam herself was a tiny bit excited about it because forthe first time Royalty—very young Royalty—was to be herguest.
She wanted the party to be a great success.
Smiling, she turned away from the window.
Cynthia's mother had been quite right. The children were talkingabout the party.
"I'm looking forward to it more than I've ever looked forward toanything in all my life," said Jeremy solemnly. "I think ifanything happened to prevent it now I'd die."
"Oh, no, you wouldn't," said Cynthia scornfully. "Besides,nothingcould happen to prevent it."
They knew little of disappointments, any of them. They were notallowed to experience disappointments if their mother couldpossibly prevent it because they were such terribly highly strungchildren.
"Mademoiselle, may Diana be told about the party yet?"
"She may be told, but she isn't to know which day it is till thelast minute," said Mademoiselle, who knew very well that it wouldbe impossible to keep sharp little Diana from the infectiousexcitement and sense of preparation that had already begun topervade the house.
So they were able to talk about the party freely when theyjoined Diana and the nurses.
Cynthia did not want to talk about anything else, and the othersalways followed her lead. Except sometimes Colin, who was whatNurse called "independent."
He was independent to-day, and when he grew tired of hearingCynthia and Jeremy discuss what games they would play at the party,and Diana chatter about her new frock with the roses on it, he gotup and went away and bounced his ball on the Broad Walk.
He was pleased about the party, and Aunt Doreen had allowed himto choose what the entertainment should be, and he had chosen aconjuror, and she had said thatperhaps he would have a cablefrom Daddy, like last year, for his birthday—but Colin didn'tfeel that he could think, and talk, and plan about nothing but theparty, like the others.
Mademoiselle often said that he had no imagination, and Colinfelt sure that she was right. He wasn't certain that he even wantedto have an imagination, much. He knew that he was stupid, comparedwith Jeremy and Cynthia, but at least he didn't have cryingfits—like a girl—as Jeremy occasionally had, and hedidn't stammer from pure eagerness as Cynthia did when she gotexcited.
He did hope, very much, that there might be a cable from Daddyon his birthday, because that would be something of his very own.No one would be able to say that the others cared more than he did,because it wouldn't have anything at all to do with the others.
Feeling rather mean but not able to help it, Colin secretlywished that the others mightn't know anything at all about hiscable if it did come. Then they couldn't exclaim and be excited andsay things and make Colin feel—and look—stupider thanever.
On the way home he was very silent, trying to think of a plan bywhich he could prevent the other children from seeing his cable.Perhaps they'd be so busy getting ready for the party that theywouldn't remember about it.
When the next day came it really seemed as though it might beso.
The children flew up and down stairs, even down into the kitchenwhere the good-natured chef showed them the cakes, and the jelliesand the pink and white creams, and dishes of colored sweets, and anamusing log made out of of chocolate with chopped-up green stuffall over it and cream inside it.
They ran into the dining room, too, and saw the long, decoratedtable and the rows of little gilt chairs.
"There are other chairs in the drawing-room—millions moreof them, for the conjuror," said Diana.
"Let's go up there."
"Let's," said Cynthia and Jeremy.
They dashed off.
Colin was just going to follow when he looked out of the window.He had been looking out of the window at intervals all daylong.
But this time a telegraph boy really was crossing the square andglancing up at the numbers. It must, surely, be Daddy's cable, andhe could take it himself and open it and there'd be nobody there tosay that he didn't seem to care half as much as Master Jeremy, notif itwere his own father...
Colin, for once moving quickly, ran out to the hall and openedthe front door before the boy could ring the bell.
"Is it a foreign telegram—a cable?" he askedanxiously.
"Yes, addressed Verulam."
"Then it's mine," said Colin with decision. "There isn't anyanswer."
He had often heard this said and felt sure it was right.
The telegraph boy, whistling, went away.
Colin retreated to the linen cupboard on the schoolroom landingwhich was large and light, and to which people seldom came, and satdown on the floor to decipher his birthday cable.
Regret inform you Major Vivian Verulam dangerously illcholera will cable progress.
Colin's face slowly became pink and then the color ebbed awayagain and left him rather white. He sat on the floor of the linencupboard for a long while, not moving.
If Aunt Doreen knew about the cable, the party would have to bestopped, surely. And Diana would cry herself ill, and everybodywould be in a dreadful state, and what would happen to all thosebeautiful cakes? Probably they would be vexed with him, too, forhaving opened the telegram.
Colin's mind, his slowly moving, tenacious mind, had not yetbegun to work on the exact meaning of "dangerously ill." For dayshe had heard of nothing but the party, and the party had become thealpha and omega of existence.
It was impossible that it should be stopped. "If no one knowsbut me," thought Colin, "it'll be all right."
He had a horrible feeling that it would be naughty to saynothing about the cable, and yet he felt that they would all blamehim if he told about it and stopped the party. Nothing mattered,really, except the party. They had thought he didn't understandwhat a great event it was because he couldn't get excited like theothers, but at least he could see how very important they allthought it.
Presently he stuffed the cable into the pocket of his breeches,rose slowly and carefully to his feet, and went into the schoolroomagain.
The brilliant, successful party was over, the gilt chairs werestacked together, seat upon seat, ready to be taken away again, andthe children—each one with a beautiful present—had alllong since gone home.
Cynthia and Jeremy and Colin and Diana had been put to bed.Jeremy had said, "Thank you, you darling, beautiful Mummie, forsuch a lovely,glittering party."
His choice of words was always fantastic and charming.
Even Colin had hugged his aunt with unusual enthusiasm and saidhe'd never enjoyed any party so much.
"No wonder," said Mademoiselle to Nurse, with whom she was onfriendly terms.
"That conjuror was good, wasn't he?" said Nurse. "The best inLondon, they say. I never saw anything like him, myself.Why,I couldn't have told how he got those toys into the boxwith the flags."
"If you please, Nurse," said the under-nurse, entering with herhands full of little garments, "I found this in Master Colin'spocket."
She put the crumpled telegram, in its torn envelope, intoNurse's hands.
Nurse put on her spectacles and read it and said, "What in thename of gracious—" and handed the telegram toMademoiselle.
There was a knock at the door and the housemaid came in.
"If you please, Nurse, her Ladyship wishes to see you in theboudoir at once."
"Take this," said Mademoiselle, with presence of mind and gaveback the telegram.
In the boudoir Lady Verulam sat with another telegram open infront of her. Her pretty face was pale and tearstained.
"Nurse, I'm afraid there's bad news from India. MasterColin—poor little boy—his father is very ill, I'mafraid. I don't quite understand, but we think—"
"I beg your pardon, my lady. Is it anything to do with this?Florence found it, opened like that, in the pocket of MasterColin's every-day pair of knickerbockers."
Lady Verulam read the cable, read it again, compared it with theone she held, and turned bewildered, almost frightened eyes uponthe nurse.
"But this one must have come before the other one—the oneI've got," she said. "Who opened it?"
"Master Colin must have done it, my lady. And never said aword—"
"He couldn't have understood."
"Is the news in the second telegram worse, my lady?"
"It says that Major Verulam is getting weaker and we mustexpect—" she chocked a little. "We didn't understand and SirFrederick is telephoning now to Whitehall, to see if they can giveus any further particulars. But Ican'tunderstand—"
She looked at the crumpled telegram again and again.
"This must have come hours ago—before the party.Howcould he have got hold of it?"
"The children were all over the place, my lady—up and downstairs, watching the men getting things ready. Master Colin mighthave got to the door and opened it just when the telegram wasdelivered."
"But it was addressed—oh, oh, poor little boy! It was onlyaddressed to Verulam. He must have thought it was a cable for hisbirthday—I see—that's what happened—that's why heopened it."
"But, excuse me, my lady, why didn't he say anything to anybody?He's quite old enough to understand."
Nurse was respectfully indignant, but Lady Verulam was onlytearful and unspeakably bewildered.
"I must go up to him—"
"I beg your pardon, my lady, he's asleep. They all are now, evenMiss Diana, but Master Colin was asleep before any of them, thoughnot being so excitable as the others."
"Then I can't wake him," said Lady Verulam irresolutely. "Itwould only upset him. And there may be news in themorning—one way or the other."
There was no more news in the morning, however, and Lady Verulamwas obliged to send for Colin. She wasn't angry with him—evenif his father hadn't been dying, it was against her principles tobe angry with any child—but her gentleness met with verylittle response.
He didn't seem to understand that his father, whom he scarcelyremembered, was very ill and might be going to die. His lack ofimagination was absolute.
"But why didn't you bring the telegram to me, darling? I quiteunderstand that you opened it by mistake, but you must have knownit was important and that you ought to tell about it."
Colin began to cry.
She reasoned with him, and petted him, and even spoke severelyto him, but he was sulky and frightened and would not say a word.At last, in despair, she sent him upstairs again.
Ten minutes later Cynthia came flying down to her mother's room,her lovely mop of hair disordered, her brilliant little faceglowing. "Mummie, may I tell you what I think about Colin? Nursedoesn't understand—nor Mademoiselle, nor any ofthem—but I think I do."
"Tell me, precious," said Lady Verulam. She had great faith inthe intuition of this sensitive, intelligent little daughter ofhers.
Cynthia put her arms round her mother's neck and whisperedearnestly.
"I think Colin opened the telegram about poor Uncle Vivian justbefore the party, and he did understand what it was, and he thoughtit would spoil the party and p'raps—p'raps put it offaltogether, and that's why he wouldn't say anything. He didn't wantall of us to be unhappy—he knew we were looking forward so tothe party."
"My darling! What makes you think that?"
"It's what I'd have done," said Cynthia, her eyes shining. "Iwould, truly, Mummie, if my heart had been breaking—I'd havekept that dreadful telegram all to myself and let all the othersenjoy the party and even have pretended that I was enjoying ittoo."
"My sweet—I believe you would. But if that was it, whydidn't poor little Colin come to me as soon as the party wasover?"
"Mummie, you know you were with the grown-ups who stayed afterwe'd gone to bed, and I'm sure he was waiting till you came to saygood-night. And you never did."
"Nurse said you were all asleep—Colin must have gonequickly off to sleep, after all."
"But, Mummie," said Cynthia quickly, "he's very little, and onecan't always keep awake, even if it's most important, and Colinespecially, he's always such a sleepy head—"
"I know," said Lady Verulam.
She thought, although she did not say so, that Colin'sinsensitiveness had always been rather remarkable, and that whereCynthia might, as she had just said, have felt her heart to be"breaking," Colin was quite capable of falling asleep in merereaction from an unwonted emotional strain.
She was touched at Cynthia's generous understanding and inclinedto accept her interpretation.
"Poor little Colin!" she said softly. "It was brave andunselfish of him to want everyone else to enjoy the partyfirst...although it was a mistake, and I still don't understand whyhe couldn't explain to me this morning."
"Mummie, you know Colin never can explain anything," saidCynthia reproachfully.
That was perfectly true. How clever she was! Lady Verulam kissedCynthia in silence. In her heart of hearts she couldn't helpfeeling that, dreadful though it was to have been entertaining onsuch a scale while her brother-in-law was dying, it would have beenvery, very difficult to know what to do if the bad news had reachedher when it should have reached her, just as the preparations forthe party were being completed.
"You do understand about Colin, don't you, Mummie? BecauseMademoiselle isn't being a bit nice to him, and she says he has noheart and that he didn't show the telegram because he didn't wantthe party to be stopped, and then afterwards he was afraid totell."
"I'll speak to her," said Lady Verulam. Mademoiselle was alwaysinclined to be hard on Colin. She couldn't bear what she called hisphleqme britannique. Lady Verulam did not for a momentbelieve her interpretation to be the true one. She would soonertrust to Cynthia's quick sympathies.
According to Cynthia, little Colin had really been ratherheroic. He must have had a dreadful weight on his little mind, allthrough the festivities...
Tender-hearted Lady Verulam found the tears rising into her eyesat the thought of it. She felt as though she had always been unjustto Colin, who had so little imagination, and couldn't expresshimself with fire and poetry and clearness like her own children.And now perhaps she had alienated him by not understanding orappreciating his self-sacrifice, and he would be less willing thanever to talk to her.
Before she saw Colin again a third cable had arrived.
Major Vivian Verulam was not going to die. He had turned thecorner.
The joy and relief of the good news pervaded the house, and evenMademoiselle kissed Colin—who rubbed his cheek vigorouslyafter the salute—and said nothing more about his having noheart. But Lady Verulam, who, like her children, was highly strung,had worked herself up on Colin's behalf, and she told Mademoiselleand Nurse as well that they had all of them misunderstood Colin,and that there were unsuspected depths of bravery and unselfishnessin his childish heart.
There came, gradually, to be a feeling throughout the bighousehold in Lowndes Square that this was so. Colin might be lesswonderful than were Cynthia and Jeremy and Diana, but he, too, hadhad his moment—his exalted and inspired moment.
Three months later Major Verulam came home on sick leave.
He made friends with his son—an enduring friendship. Theyresembled each other in many ways, and he never seemed to expect orto desire from Colin enthusiasms and demonstrations that would havebeen equally alien to them both.
He was, indeed, the only person who ever heard Colin's ownversion of his behavior on the day of the party.
"You see, Daddy, I opened the telegram because I thought it wasfrom you, for me on my birthday, like the year before, and when Isaw it said you were ill I did think it would mean stopping theparty, and that would have been dreadful."
"Were you so frightfully keen about the party?"
"It wasn't so much that, but there'd have been such a lot offuss about it, and they—all the others—had been soexcited—and everything was ready—men had come all onpurpose to bring the little gold chairs, Daddy, and to arrange theflowers and things—It would have been so dreadful, to stop itall."
"I see what you mean. And certainly it wouldn't havedoneme any good, as far as that went. But why didn't youtell them afterwards, old man? Aunt Doreen wouldn't have been angrywith you, would she?"
"Oh, no, she's never angry."
"Well, then—"
Colin colored faintly.
"You see, Daddy, I didn't know you as well then as I do now, didI? And the party was fun, and the conjuror such a very, very cleverone."
He gazed up at his father with solemn, trustful eyes.
"I quite and completely forgot all about the telegram till Iwoke up next morning," said Colin.
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