Fancy pretending not to see
me! You can't help seeing me, a large, bright object like me! And what
will happen next? That's what tickles me to death, as they say on my
side of the Atlantic. Will he gradually begin to perceive us again, like
objects looming through a fog, or shall we come into view suddenly, as
if going round a corner? And you are just as funny, my dear, with your
long face, and air of depressed determination. Why be heavy, Michael? So
many people are heavy, and none of them can tell you why."
It was impossible not to feel the unfreezing effect of this. Michael
thawed to it, as he would have thawed to Francis.
"Perhaps they can't help it, Aunt Barbara," he said. "At least, I know I
can't. I really wish I could learn how to. I--I don't see the funny side
of things till it is pointed out. I thought lunch a sort of hell, you
know. Of course, it was funny, his appearing not to see either of
us. But it stands for more than that; it stands for his complete
misunderstanding of me."
Aunt Barbara had the sense to see that the real Michael was speaking.
When people were being unreal, when they were pompous or adopting
attitudes, she could attend to nothing but their absurdity, which
engrossed her altogether.
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