Bland Beginning Read Free Page B

things.”
    “Yes, indeed,” said Mr Shelton enthusiastically, and the interview was over.
    Vicky thought the old man very ridiculous, but rather sweet. “As though things could ever change for us, darling, when we’re both interested in the same things.” She looked thoughtful. “I’d quite like to get married this week.”
    Anthony’s gasp was a mixture of admiration and horror. “But what about father?”
    “What about him? We don’t want to be tied to anybody’s purse strings, do we?”
    “Of course not,” he said uncertainly. “But – if he cut off my allowance – I don’t know what we should do. I suppose I could get a job,” he said despairingly.
    “We’d manage,” said Vicky, and then: “But of course we don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
    Anthony’s face brightened. “No; I shouldn’t like to hurt his feelings.”
    So the two young people were engaged, although Vicky showed her emancipation from convention by saying that she did not want Anthony to buy her a ring. An intellectual gift, Anthony understood, would be acceptable – or no gift at all, for such things were irrelevant to the marriage of true minds. He visited museums and art galleries, and expressed his appreciation of what he saw there; and if he did not familiarise himself with modern poetry, he took his father’s advice as far as reading the article about Martin Rawlings in the Biographical Dictionary. Opinion was divided about this move of old Mr Shelton’s. Some people said that the best way of killing a cat was by choking it with cream, and that the old man was a very deep one, while others saw in it a reluctant acceptance of the changes that had come over the world in this post-war February of 1924, when the Prince of Wales was signalising his recognition of the existence of a Labour Government by giving its Prime Minister lunch; and Mr Howard Carter was distressing the Egyptian authorities by opening the sarcophagus in the innermost shrine of Tutankhamen’s tomb; and a Hammersmith woman and her two young children were killed by falling from the campanile of Westminster Cathedral; and the Oxford Union, at its centenary, was debating “That Civilisation has advanced since the Society first met”.
     
II
    Three months later Anthony came down late to breakfast, and noticed with some irritation that his father had The Times open at the cricket page. Anthony turned to the sports page of the Daily Mail. Not only was Southshire doing badly, but the report of the day’s play was quite inadequate. He sipped his tea, and then rang the bell with unnecessary violence. “Janet,” he said, “this tea’s cold.”
    Janet was a tall, thin woman with a drooping nose. “If you’d come down at the right time it would have been hot enough,” she said. “Ten o’clock’s no time for breakfast, is it, Mr Shelton?”
    Anthony’s father lowered his Times a little. “Don’t be severe, Janet. My son is much disturbed by the political situation.”
    “I should think so too,” said Janet. “With this Labour Government ready to murder people in their beds.”
    “Last night the Government was saved from defeat by the Liberals,” said Mr Shelton. “A fact that I am sure you deplore as much as I do.”
    Janet had her hand on the teapot. “And the tea’s not cold,” she said accusingly.
    “Nevertheless, you heard Mr Anthony say that he would like to have a fresh pot.” His smile robbed the words of sting. When she had gone out of the room there was silence while the old man and the young man read their papers. Then Mr Shelton said, “A bad start for Southshire. Beaten by Worcester in their first match, and now Leicestershire have scored four hundred and twenty for five against them.” Anthony stuffed scrambled egg into his mouth and made no reply. “Your absence is lamented in The Times report. Listen. ‘Astill and King scored very freely and treated Travers, MacNaughton, and the other Southshire bowlers with a contempt