Children -- Fiction; England -- Fiction; Ghost stories; Governesses -- Fiction; Psychological fiction
The person it appeared least to concern proved to be, till dinner,
little Miles himself. My perambulations had given me, meanwhile, no
glimpse of him, but they had tended to make more public the change
taking place in our relation as a consequence of his having at the
piano, the day before, kept me, in Flora’s interest, so beguiled and
befooled. The stamp of publicity had of course been fully given by her
confinement and departure, and the change itself was now ushered in by
our nonobservance of the regular custom of the schoolroom. He had
already disappeared when, on my way down, I pushed open his door, and I
learned below that he had breakfasted—in the presence of a couple of
the maids—with Mrs. Grose and his sister. He had then gone out, as he
said, for a stroll; than which nothing, I reflected, could better have
expressed his frank view of the abrupt transformation of my office.
What he would not permit this office to consist of was yet to be
settled: there was a queer relief, at all events—I mean for myself in
especial—in the renouncement of one pretension. If so much had sprung
to the surface, I scarce put it too strongly in saying that what had
perhaps sprung highest was the absurdity of our prolonging the fiction
that I had anything more to teach him. It sufficiently stuck out that,
by tacit little tricks in which even more than myself he carried out
the care for my dignity, I had had to appeal to him to let me off
straining to meet him on the ground of his true capacity. He had at any
rate his freedom now; I was never to touch it again; as I had amply
shown, moreover, when, on his joining me in the schoolroom the previous
night, I had uttered, on the subject of the interval just concluded,
neither challenge nor hint. I had too much, from this moment, my other
ideas. Yet when he at last arrived, the difficulty of applying them,
the accumulations of my problem, were brought straight home to me by
the beautiful little presence on which what had occurred had as yet,
for the eye, dropped neither stain nor shadow.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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