Perhaps he takes notice of what his friends say about people. My father’s
opinion of you might be high enough for someone to want to have
you.”
“But is he such a close friend of your father?”
“I never heard his name mentioned before, but that doesn’t mean anything.
My father knows so many people everywhere. He meets them once and then
they’re on his list of—well, I suppose you could call them distant friends.”
“Very remarkable.”
“My father is remarkable.”
“So’s your mother—in a different way.”
“Oh, she’s a darling.”
“I’d guess she’s a good bit younger.”
“Than my father?… Twenty years.”
“As much as that?”
“Your surprise doesn’t flatter her. Or perhaps it flatters him.”
He thought that out. I added: “I don’t think years matter much,
anyway— especially as you grow older.”
“That’s true. It’s when you’re younger that the difference counts.”
I wondered if he was thinking of the difference between his age and mine.
Then he went on: “Not that I feel she’s any older than I am.”
“She is, though. Nearly twice as old.”
“Oh no, that can’t be. I’m twenty-four.”
“And she’s thirty-eight.”
“Well, that’s not twice….”
“I said nearly twice.”
“You also said years don’t matter much.”
“And you said they did , when people are younger.”
“I think we’re getting tied up in this argument. Let’s have some
lunch.”
That was a novelty, and a further one when we didn’t go to an A.B.C., but
to an Italian place near the Tottenham Court Road. We had minestrone and
chicken cacciatora , meanwhile talking about Framm; or rather, he did
most of the talking—I could see him building up a vision and I hoped he
wouldn’t expect too much. After all, my father’s influence had its limits.
But apparently it was only an already existing vision in a new form—a
sort of frozen white-hot passion for whatever it was that couldn’t be
satisfactorily explained to a first-year history student. I let him
rhapsodize all the way back to the College.
There was grand opera at Covent Garden that evening and someone had lent
my parents a box. We went to dine at Boulestin’s first. I don’t care for
opera and all afternoon as I thought of it I grew more and more out of humor.
Then when I got home I found my mother still lingering over tea. “I asked
Brad to come,” she greeted me, “but I don’t suppose he will.” She overdid the
casualness and as soon as I looked at her she began to look at me in what I
think, she thought was the same way.
“I shouldn’t imagine so,” I answered. “He was here only last night and
it’s quite a trip for a cup of tea.”
“You like him, don’t you, Jane?”
“Yes. He’d be rather hard to dislike.”
“I shall miss the lectures when he goes to Vienna.”
“ If he goes. Or is it settled yet?”
“I think your father’s written to somebody. I hope it works out all
right…. I can’t help wondering if he really wants to go there. He always
talked to me about the Cavendish.”
“To me too, but at present I think he’s quite set on Vienna—on
account of this man Framm.”
“I wish I’d had a chance to help him more—not as Framm can, of
course, but that’s not all the help he needs. I’d like to have made
him—well, a bit more at home with life. More … sophisticated …
easy- mannered….”
“Worldly?”
“Oh no, no, Jane, not that. He’s naive, but I love it and I hated the way
Julian talked the other night. I don’t know what possessed him—he
seemed to be trying to break down every ideal the boy had…. No, let him
keep his ideals— he doesn’t even have to be a worldly success if he
doesn’t want—but he ought to learn to get some fun out of life, that’s
my point. Worldly success has nothing to do with having fun.”
“It has just a bit, Mother.”
“Oh, just a little bit, perhaps—one must have some
opinion of you might be high enough for someone to want to have
you.”
“But is he such a close friend of your father?”
“I never heard his name mentioned before, but that doesn’t mean anything.
My father knows so many people everywhere. He meets them once and then
they’re on his list of—well, I suppose you could call them distant friends.”
“Very remarkable.”
“My father is remarkable.”
“So’s your mother—in a different way.”
“Oh, she’s a darling.”
“I’d guess she’s a good bit younger.”
“Than my father?… Twenty years.”
“As much as that?”
“Your surprise doesn’t flatter her. Or perhaps it flatters him.”
He thought that out. I added: “I don’t think years matter much,
anyway— especially as you grow older.”
“That’s true. It’s when you’re younger that the difference counts.”
I wondered if he was thinking of the difference between his age and mine.
Then he went on: “Not that I feel she’s any older than I am.”
“She is, though. Nearly twice as old.”
“Oh no, that can’t be. I’m twenty-four.”
“And she’s thirty-eight.”
“Well, that’s not twice….”
“I said nearly twice.”
“You also said years don’t matter much.”
“And you said they did , when people are younger.”
“I think we’re getting tied up in this argument. Let’s have some
lunch.”
That was a novelty, and a further one when we didn’t go to an A.B.C., but
to an Italian place near the Tottenham Court Road. We had minestrone and
chicken cacciatora , meanwhile talking about Framm; or rather, he did
most of the talking—I could see him building up a vision and I hoped he
wouldn’t expect too much. After all, my father’s influence had its limits.
But apparently it was only an already existing vision in a new form—a
sort of frozen white-hot passion for whatever it was that couldn’t be
satisfactorily explained to a first-year history student. I let him
rhapsodize all the way back to the College.
There was grand opera at Covent Garden that evening and someone had lent
my parents a box. We went to dine at Boulestin’s first. I don’t care for
opera and all afternoon as I thought of it I grew more and more out of humor.
Then when I got home I found my mother still lingering over tea. “I asked
Brad to come,” she greeted me, “but I don’t suppose he will.” She overdid the
casualness and as soon as I looked at her she began to look at me in what I
think, she thought was the same way.
“I shouldn’t imagine so,” I answered. “He was here only last night and
it’s quite a trip for a cup of tea.”
“You like him, don’t you, Jane?”
“Yes. He’d be rather hard to dislike.”
“I shall miss the lectures when he goes to Vienna.”
“ If he goes. Or is it settled yet?”
“I think your father’s written to somebody. I hope it works out all
right…. I can’t help wondering if he really wants to go there. He always
talked to me about the Cavendish.”
“To me too, but at present I think he’s quite set on Vienna—on
account of this man Framm.”
“I wish I’d had a chance to help him more—not as Framm can, of
course, but that’s not all the help he needs. I’d like to have made
him—well, a bit more at home with life. More … sophisticated …
easy- mannered….”
“Worldly?”
“Oh no, no, Jane, not that. He’s naive, but I love it and I hated the way
Julian talked the other night. I don’t know what possessed him—he
seemed to be trying to break down every ideal the boy had…. No, let him
keep his ideals— he doesn’t even have to be a worldly success if he
doesn’t want—but he ought to learn to get some fun out of life, that’s
my point. Worldly success has nothing to do with having fun.”
“It has just a bit, Mother.”
“Oh, just a little bit, perhaps—one must have some
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