it. But if you were of another class and another race it wouldn't do; there
was no fun merely holding your own, and feeling you belonged to the ruling
class. What was the point, when even the smartest aristocrats had really
nothing positive of their own to hold, and their rule was really a farce,
not rule at all? What was the point? It was all cold nonsense.
A sense of rebellion smouldered in Connie. What was the good of it all?
What was the good of her sacrifice, her devoting her life to Clifford? What
was she serving, after all? A cold spirit of vanity, that had no warm human
contacts, and that was as corrupt as any low-born Jew, in craving for
prostitution to the bitch-goddess, Success. Even Clifford's cool and
contactless assurance that he belonged to the ruling class didn't prevent
his tongue lolling out of his mouth, as he panted after the bitch-goddess.
After all, Michaelis was really more dignified in the matter, and far, far
more successful. Really, if you looked closely at Clifford, he was a
buffoon, and a buffoon is more humiliating than a bounder.
As between the two men, Michaelis really had far more use for her than
Clifford had. He had even more need of her. Any good nurse can attend to
crippled legs! And as for the heroic effort, Michaelis was a heroic rat, and
Clifford was very much of a poodle showing off.
There were people staying in the house, among them Clifford's Aunt Eva,
Lady Bennerley. She was a thin woman of sixty, with a red nose, a widow, and
still something of a grande dame. She belonged to one of the best families,
and had the character to carry it off. Connie liked her, she was so
perfectly simple and [rank, as far as she intended to be frank, and
superficially kind. Inside herself she was a past-mistress in holding her
own, and holding other people a little lower. She was not at all a snob: far
too sure of herself. She was perfect at the social sport of coolly holding
her own, and making other people defer to her.
She was kind to Connie, and tried to worm into her woman's soul with
the sharp gimlet of her well-born observations.
`You're quite wonderful, in my opinion,' she said to Connie. `You've
done wonders for Clifford. I never saw any budding genius myself, and there
he is, all the rage.' Aunt Eva was quite complacently proud of Clifford's
success. Another feather in the family cap! She didn't care a straw about
his books, but why should she?
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