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Updated: June 22, 2025
Her own words touched her suddenly, made her understand how Claude had sacrificed himself to his work, and so to her ambition. She got up and turned away. "Old Jernington shall go by the Maréchal Bugeaud," she said, in a voice that slightly shook. And by the Maréchal Bugeaud old Jernington did go.
Jernington, much impressed for Charmian's despair had been very definite indeed, "oleographic in type," as she acknowledged to herself did notice, did see for himself, and inquired innocently of Charmian what was to be done. "I leave that to you," she answered, fixing her eyes almost hypnotically upon him. Secretly she was willing him to go. She was saying in her mind: "Go! Go!
Old Jernington was strolling in the garden smoking a very German pipe after having been "at it" for many hours. "Jernington?" "Yes, old Jernington." "Of course he's an excellent fellow. What about him?" She sat down delicately. She was looking very calm, and her movement was very quiet. "Well, I'm beginning almost to hate him!" she remarked quietly. "What do you mean, Charmian?"
"In my idea Berlioz was not really the founder of modern orchestration as some have asserted. Your husband and I " She could not stop him. She began to feel almost as if she hated the delicious orchestral family. Jernington had a special passion for the oboe.
Charmian felt desperate. She resolved to tackle Claude on the matter. Old Jernington would never understand unless she said to him, "Go! For Heaven's sake, go!" And even then he would probably think that she was saying the reverse of what she meant, in an effort after that type of playful humor which, for all she knew, perhaps still prevailed in his native Suffolk.
Jernington was more than shocked. His gratification had vanished. A piteous, almost a guilty expression, came into his large fair face. "Ach!" he exclaimed. "What have I done?" "Oh, it's not your fault. But Claude almost worships you. He thinks there is no one like you. He's afraid to lose a moment of time while you are with him. Your learning, your enthusiasm excite him till he's beside himself.
She smiled now when she thought of that. Presently she felt that some one was approaching her. She looked up and saw Jernington coming down the path, wiping his pale forehead with a silk handkerchief in which various colors seemed fortuitously combined. "Is the work over?" she cried out to him. He threw up one square-nailed white hand. "No. But for once he has got a passage all wrong.
She had bent Claude to her purposes before. She must bend him to her purpose now. "Claudie," she said, "you know what an old dear I think Jernington, don't you?" Claude looked up at her with rather searching eyes. She had come into his workroom at sunset. All day she had been considering what would be the best thing to do.
He had an extraordinary faculty for carrying things through; and Crayford was fond of him. Crayford had been kind, generous to the boy, and loved him as a man may love his own good action. Lake, as he had said in private to Charmian, could "do a lot with dear old Crayford." He would certainly bring Crayford to Mustapha. Old Jernington must go. The 31st of August dawned and began to fade.
I have left him to correct it. He kicked me out, in fact!" Jernington threw back his head and laughed gutturally. His laugh always contradicted his eyes. They were romantic, but his laugh was prosaic. He sat down by Charmian and put his hands on his knees. One still grasped the handkerchief. "Dear Mr. Jernington, tell me!" she said. "You know so much. Claude says your knowledge is extraordinary.
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