The Last and the First by Ivy Compton-Burnett Page B

permit.”
    â€œAh, the powers will grow,” said Miss Murdoch. “They will grow as she does, with her, in her, within her range. We are not afraid there will not be growth. It does not fail us.”
    â€œIt would not do so often. And it does its work without help,” said Jocasta, keeping all expression out of her tone.
    â€œAh, I have said the simple thing. But we do not reject the simple. It is where the truth may lie, and we do not reject the truth.”
    â€œAt the risk of being simple myself,” said Hamilton, as if this was a graver hazard, “I will voice a passing thought. What a pleasure to see the young in holiday garb and mood!”
    â€œAh, fine feathers do their work. And why should they not? It is what they have to do. The reality is underneath. We get to know the reality.”
    â€œAnd it is a chance to show the feathers,” said Jocasta. “Amy was quite moved by seeing her dress brought out. She had thought and felt about it. And she does not usually care about her clothes.”
    Amy looked aside as if she did not hear, and almost succeeded in not allowing herself to do so.
    â€œAh, but we should care about everything. It all has its interest, and should all be given it. Indifference is not one of the good things. It must not go through her life.”
    Amy did not reflect that it need only go through her grandmother’s, as the end of the latter receded with every thought of it.
    â€œBut the interest will come with time and growth, and the power of choice. This is the stage for simple needs and the simple means to meet them.”
    â€œYes, Amy’s needs are of the simplest,” said Jocasta, meaning to utter an ordinary word, and actually uttering an innocent one. “She has never had any money of her own. She would not understand what to do with it. She hardly knows there is such a thing.”
    Amy looked down and rubbed one foot against theother, using the appearance of a minor discomfort to cover a greater one.
    â€œYou might bring your friends to talk to me, Amy. It seems I ought to know them. I never understand why I don’t,” said Jocasta, unable to feel the matter had been explained to her.
    â€œOh, they are busy to-day, Grannie. They all have relations here.”
    â€œWell, so have you. And they are not tied to them any more than you are.”
    â€œWell, some of them seem to be,” said Amy, with a shrug and a sigh.
    â€œI might seek an introduction myself in my avuncular character,” said Hamilton, unaware that it was his no longer.
    â€œGrannie, Miss Murdoch and Miss Heriot are moving away. Do you want to say any more to them?”
    â€œYou must be glad of each other’s support,” said Jocasta, turning to the partners. “There is a great deal to discuss and decide at a time of change like this.”
    â€œWhat was it that someone said?” said Miss Murdoch. “Someone who had a right to say it. ‘There is something a wise man knows. Change is never for the better.’”
    â€œA wiser man would know more,” said Hermia. “What of the reforms of the past? We can’t say they were anything but what they were. Conscious change is seldom for the worse. There would be no reason for making it. Its object is the bettering of things.”
    â€œAh, what is better? There is the rub, the question that is not answered, the uncertain thing. Is it what seems good to ourselves, perhaps does good? That is what it is?”
    â€œIt may be at times. We must judge as we can. It is anyhow better than what seems harmful to ourselves and perhaps does harm.”
    â€œI say nothing myself,” said Hamilton. “I should not dare to enter the lists with two such able contestants. I will leave my mother in the field.”
    â€œChange has to come,” said Jocasta. “Though I may be too old to judge of it. This may be the place for it. It is for youth and a school is for