is of this
spiritual difficulty: and I wrote it, so she loves to say, on a
postcard, and signed it "yours truly, Rupert Ray." Her reply I could
not expect till Wednesday morning, the morning of the lesson. Of
that I was glad. For to this extent I had temporised: I would wait
till I heard from her before attempting to learn the work. If
necessary, I could cram it up on Wednesday morning. And with this
settlement I was satisfied in a sickly way.

Sec.2

While Tuesday is passing in silence and inaction, and the issue of
this crisis is in the bag of the postman, let me tell you something
of my relations with my mother. Her love for me, I have said, was of
the extravagant kind. It was ever and actively present. Though she
discharged her social duties with a peculiar grace, yet I am certain
that the thought she bestowed on them was an intruder amongst her
thoughts of me. My figure was present to her in the drawing-room,
the ball-room, or the theatre.

I fear I was not demonstrative in my affection for her. Perhaps,
when we sat alone at dinner on holiday evenings, and her dress was
one that left her arms bare, I would think that the softness of the
limbs was such as to make one wish to touch them; and I would stroke
them; or, when she laid her hand upon the table, I would rest my own
hot palm upon it. But I am certain that it was not till our stories
marched into the shadow of the Great War that I became at all
demonstrative.

Enough of that, then--the postman's feet are on the steps of
Bramhall House. May I just ask you to think of my mother as a very
gracious lady, gracious in form and feature and character?

Sec.3

When breakfast was over on Wednesday morning, I repaired to the
Steward's Room, where letters had to be sought. I was attacked by a
feverish nervousness, which increased as I passed other boys
returning with letters in their hands. Anxiety seemed to be a
physical thing deflating my breast and loins. My heart, too, was
affected when I asked the Steward with feigned unconcern if there
were any letters for Ray. It beat rapidly as I awaited the reply.

None. I was stupefied: but soon stupefaction became anger; anger
hardened into sulkiness; and, as more sinister feelings grew,
sulkiness lost itself in guilty belief. Now I knew what course I
would take--I would go on cheating.

I turned to go out. Since that afternoon when the choice between
good and evil came so plainly before me, I had been dilly-dal