Mary suffered agonies when,as sometimes happened,Jeremy sat with his arm round Helen's neck and his cheek up against hers.She suffered when,in a mood of tempestuous affection to the whole world,he kissed Miss Jones.She even suffered when he sat at his mother's feet whilst she read "The Dove in the Eagle's Nest,"or "Engel the Fearless."Most of all,however,she suffered over Hamlet.She knew that at this present time Hamlet was the one creature for whom Jeremy passionately cared.He loved his mother,but with the love that custom and habit has tamed and modified,although since Mrs.Cole's illness in the early summer he had cared for her in a manner more demonstrative and openly affectionate.Nevertheless,it was Hamlet who commanded Jeremy's heart,and Mary knew it.Matters were made worse by the undoubted truth that Hamlet did not care very much for Mary--that is,he never gave any signs of caring,and very often walked out of the room when she came into it.Mary could have cared for the dog as enthusiastically as Jeremy--she was always sentimental about animals--but now she was shut out from their alliance,and she knew that when she came up to them and began to pat or stroke Hamlet,Jeremy was annoyed and Hamlet's skin wriggled in a kind of retreating fashion under her fingers.Wise people will say that it is impossible for this to be a serious trouble to a child.It was increasingly serious to Mary.
Jeremy was not,perhaps,so tactful as he might have been."Oh bother,Mary!"he would say."You've gone and waked Hamlet up!"or "Don't stroke Hamlet that way,Mary;he hates it!"or "No,I'm going for a walk with Hamlet;we don't want anyone!"Or Hamlet himself would suddenly bark at her as though he hated her,or would bare his teeth and grin at her in a mocking,sarcastic way that he had.At first,as an answer to this,she had the ridiculous idea of herself adopting an animal,and she selected,for this purpose,the kitchen cat,a dull,somnolent beast,whose sleek black hair was furtive,and green,crooked eyes malignant.The cat showed no signs of affection for Mary,nor could she herself honestly care for it.When she brought it with her into the schoolroom,Hamlet treated it in a scornful,sarcastic fashion that was worse than outrageous attack.
The cat was uncleanly,and was speedily banished back into the kitchen.Mary's jealousy of Hamlet then grew apace,and with that jealousy,unfortunately,her secret appreciation of his splendours.
She could not help admitting to herself that he was the most attractive dog in the world.She would look at him from under her spectacles when she was supposed to be reading and watch him as he rolled,kicking his legs in the air,or lay stretched out,his black wet nose against his paws,his eyes gleaming,his gaze fixed like the point of a dagger raised to strike,upon some trophy,or enemy,or spoil,or sat,solemn and pompous,like the Lord Mayor holding a meeting,as Jeremy said,up against his master's leg,square and solid as though he were cut out of wood,his peaked beard supercilious,his very ears at a patronising angle;or,as Mary loved best of all to see him,when he was simply childish,playing,as though he was still a new-found puppy,with pieces of paper or balls of string,rolling and choking,growling,purring,staggering and tumbling.At such times,again and again,her impulse would be to go forward and applaud him,and then,the instinct that she would be checked by Jeremy stayed her.
She knew very well that Jeremy realised nothing of this.Jeremy was not given to the consideration of other people's motives--his own independence saved him from anxiety about others.He had the English characteristic of fancying that others must like and dislike as he himself liked and disliked.Of sentiment he had no knowledge whatever.
As this year grew towards summer Mary had the feeling that Jeremy was slipping away from her.She did not know what had happened to him.In the old days he had asked her opinion about many things;he had scorned to enjoy the long stories that she had told him--at any rate,he had listened to them very politely--and he had asked her to suggest games or to play with his toys.Now as the summer drew near,he did none of these things.He was frankly impatient with her stories,never asked her advice about anything,and never played with her.Was he growing very conceited?Was it because he was going to school,and thought himself too old for his sisters?No,he did not seem to be conceited--he had always been proud,but never conceited.It was rather as though he had lately had thoughts of his own,almost against his will,and that these had shut him off from the people round him.
Then,when their mother was so ill and Barbara made her startling appearance Jeremy kept more to himself.He never talked about his mother's illness,as did the others,and yet Mary knew that he had been more deeply concerned than any of them.She had been miserable,of course,but to Jeremy it had been as though he had been led into a new world altogether;Helen and she were still in their old places,and Jeremy had left them.
At last just before they all moved to Cow Farm Mary made a silly scene.She had not intended to make a scene.Scenes seemed to come upon her,like evil birds,straight out of the air,to seize her before she knew where she was,to envelop and carry her up with them;at last,when all the mischief was done,to set her on her feet again,battered,torn and bitterly ashamed.One evening she was sitting deep in "Charlotte Mary,"and Hamlet,bunched up against his master's leg,stared at her.She had long ago told herself that it was ridiculous to mind what Hamlet did,that he was not looking at her,and,in any case,he was only a,dog--and so on.
