British -- India -- Fiction; India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
“You are always asking me to make acknowledgments—you want almost too
many; but since it amuses you, I don’t mind.” Rhoda noted the little
gleam in his eyes that contradicted this. “Sanscrit is to me now exactly
what Greek was at Oxford—a stepping-stone, and nothing more. One must do
something to distinguish oneself from the herd; and in India, thank
fortune, it’s easy enough. There’s an enormous field, and next to nobody
to beat. Bless you, a Commissariat Colonel can give himself an aureole
of scientific discovery out here if he cares to try! If I hadn’t taken
up Sanscrit and Hinduism, I should have gone in for palæontology, or
conchology, or folk-lore, or ferns. Anything does: only the less other
people know about it the better; so I took Sanscrit.” A combined
suggestion of humour and candour gradually accumulated in Mr. Ancram’s
sentences, which came to a climax when he added, “You don’t think it
very original to discover that!”
“And the result of being distinguished from the herd?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, they don’t send one to administer the
Andamans or Lower Burmah,” he said. “They conserve one’s intellectual
achievements to adorn social centres of some importance, which is more
agreeable. And then, if a valuable post falls vacant, one is not
considered disqualified for it by being a little wiser than other
people. Come now—there’s a very big confession for you! But you mustn’t
tell. We scientists must take ourselves with awful seriousness if we
want to be impressive. That’s the part that bores one.”
Mr. Ancram smiled down at his betrothed with distinct good-humour. He
was under the impression that he had spontaneously given his soul an
airing—an impression he was fond of. She listened, amused that she could
evoke so much, and returned to the thing he had evaded.
“Between the Vedic Books and Mrs. Church,” she said, “our future seems
assured.”
Ancram’s soul retired again, and shut the door with a click.
“That is quite a false note,” he said coolly: “Mrs. Church will have
nothing to do with it.”
CHAPTER III.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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