Francesca’s husband had insisted on giving the boy that strange Pagan
name, and had not lived long enough to judge as to the appropriateness,
or otherwise, of its significance. In seventeen years and some odd
months Francesca had had ample opportunity for forming an opinion
concerning her son’s characteristics. The spirit of mirthfulness which
one associates with the name certainly ran riot in the boy, but it was a
twisted wayward sort of mirth of which Francesca herself could seldom see
the humorous side. In her brother Henry, who sat eating small cress
sandwiches as solemnly as though they had been ordained in some
immemorial Book of Observances, fate had been undisguisedly kind to her.
He might so easily have married some pretty helpless little woman, and
lived at Notting Hill Gate, and been the father of a long string of pale,
clever useless children, who would have had birthdays and the sort of
illnesses that one is expected to send grapes to, and who would have
painted fatuous objects in a South Kensington manner as Christmas
offerings to an aunt whose cubic space for lumber was limited. Instead
of committing these unbrotherly actions, which are so frequent in family
life that they might almost be called brotherly, Henry had married a
woman who had both money and a sense of repose, and their one child had
the brilliant virtue of never saying anything which even its parents
could consider worth repeating. Then he had gone into Parliament,
possibly with the idea of making his home life seem less dull; at any
rate it redeemed his career from insignificance, for no man whose death
can produce the item “another by-election” on the news posters can be
wholly a nonentity. Henry, in short, who might have been an
embarrassment and a handicap, had chosen rather to be a friend and
counsellor, at times even an emergency bank balance; Francesca on her
part, with the partiality which a clever and lazily-inclined woman often
feels for a reliable fool, not only sought his counsel but frequently
followed it. When convenient, moreover, she repaid his loans.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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