George has had an unhappy life of it from the beginning…. His father died a raving madman, there’s been insanity in his family for generations back, his mother was a horrible woman who deserted him when he was a child and ran off with a man, and he was brought up by an aunt—his father’s sister—who was half cracked herself…. Now he lives all alone on this big place that he’s inherited—he has one brother, Dick, who is two years older than he is—and he has spent practically his whole life in looking after Dick.”
“Looking after him?”
“Yes,” the girl said quietly, “—Dick is insane too—a raving maniac; they have guards for him, they have to watch him every minute of the time—when George comes to see him, Dick tries to kill him…. And George loves him, he’d give his life for him, he does everything he can to make Dick happy—and Dick hates him so that he’d kill him if he could…. And George has this thing hanging over him all the time, he can’t forget about it for a moment, it’s made his whole life wretched, and yet you’d never know it when you talk to him: he never mentions it, he’s always the same to people, —always kind and good and gentle, never thinking of himself.”
“I see. And is that the reason why he studies all these different philosophies—Christ and Socrates and Confucius?—”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “—And Buddha. I think so…. He would never admit it… he has never said so… and of course no one could ask him…. But I think that’s the reason…. There’s something… something desperate… lost… in his eyes sometimes,” she said slowly, after a pause. “… It’s… it’s not good to look at… it’s… I imagine it’s like the look you would see in the eyes of a drowning man.”
“And you think that he may be afraid of… of insanity?”
She was silent for a moment, and did not answer him directly.
“He’s been studying Buddhism for the last two years,” she said. “He’s had all kinds of people at the house to teach him…. Hindus, mystics, scholars—learned people… he’s… he’s become more and more… I don’t know,” she said in a puzzled tone. “—I don’t know what you’d call it—sort of mystical.” Again she was silent, and presently added matter-of-factly: “He’s going to India next year.”
“To study?”
“Yes, I think so,” the girl said, and again was silent. “Somehow—it’s a dreadful thought, isn’t it?” she said in a low tone after a moment—“
