His indolence was
plainly exposed to her criticism on a gentle green slope. Mrs. Fyne
wondered at it; she was disgusted too. But having just then 'commenced
author,' as you know, she could not tear herself away from the
fascinating novelty. She let him wallow in his vice. I imagine Captain
Anthony must have had a rather pleasant time in a quiet way. It was, I
remember, a hot dry summer, favourable to contemplative life out of
doors. And Mrs. Fyne was scandalized. Women don't understand the force
of a contemplative temperament. It simply shocks them. They feel
instinctively that it is the one which escapes best the domination of
feminine influences. The dear girls were exchanging jeering remarks
about "lazy uncle Roderick" openly, in her indulgent hearing. And it was
so strange, she told me, because as a boy he was anything but indolent.
On the contrary. Always active.
I remarked that a man of thirty-five was no longer a boy. It was an
obvious remark but she received it without favour. She told me
positively that the best, the nicest men remained boys all their lives.
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