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Forster + + + + +One may as well begin with Helen's letters to her sister. + + "Howards End, + "Tuesday. +"Dearest Meg, + +"It isn't going to be what we expected. It is old and little, and +altogether delightful--red brick. We can scarcely pack in as it +is, and the dear knows what will happen when Paul (younger son) +arrives to-morrow. From hall you go right or left into +dining-room or drawing-room. Hall itself is practically a room. +You open another door in it, and there are the stairs going up in +a sort of tunnel to the first-floor. Three bed-rooms in a row +there, and three attics in a row above. That isn't all the house +really, but it's all that one notices--nine windows as you look +up from the front garden. + +"Then there's a very big wych-elm--to the left as you look +up--leaning a little over the house, and standing on the boundary +between the garden and meadow. I quite love that tree already. +Also ordinary elms, oaks--no nastier than ordinary oaks-- +pear-trees, apple-trees, and a vine. No silver birches, though. +However, I must get on to my host and hostess. I only wanted to +show that it isn't the least what we expected. Why did we settle +that their house would be all gables and wiggles, and their +garden all gamboge-coloured paths? I believe simply because we +associate them with expensive hotels--Mrs. Wilcox trailing in +beautiful dresses down long corridors, Mr. Wilcox bullying +porters, etc. We females are that unjust. + +"I shall be back Saturday; will let you know train later. They +are as angry as I am that you did not come too; really Tibby is +too tiresome, he starts a new mortal disease every month. How +could he have got hay fever in London? and even if he could, it +seems hard that you should give up a visit to hear a schoolboy +sneeze. Tell him that Charles Wilcox (the son who is here) has +hay fever too, but he's brave, and gets quite cross when we +inquire after it. Men like the Wilcoxes would do Tibby a power of +good. But you won't agree, and I'd better change the subject. + +"This long letter is because I'm writing before breakfast. Oh, +the beautiful vine leaves! The house is covered with a vine. I +looked out earlier, and Mrs. Wilcox was already in the garden. +She evidently loves it. No wonder she sometimes looks tired. She +was watching the large red poppies come out. Then she walked off +the lawn to the meadow, whose corner to the right I can just see. +Trail, trail, went her long dress over the sopping grass, and she +came back with her hands full of the hay that was cut yesterday-- +I suppose for rabbits or something, as she kept on smelling it. +The air here is delicious. Later on I heard the noise of croquet +balls, and looked out again, and it was Charles Wilcox +practising; they are keen on all games. Presently he started +sneezing and had to stop. Then I hear more clicketing, and it +is Mr. Wilcox practising, and then, 'a-tissue, a-tissue': he +has to stop too. Then Evie comes out, and does some calisthenic +exercises on a machine that is tacked on to a green-gage-tree-- +they put everything to use--and then she says 'a-tissue,' and in +she goes. And finally Mrs. Wilcox reappears, trail, trail, still +smelling hay and looking at the flowers. I inflict all this on +you because once you said that life is sometimes life and +sometimes only a drama, and one must learn to distinguish +tother from which, and up to now I have always put that down as +'Meg's clever nonsense.' But this morning, it really does seem +not life but a play, and it did amuse me enormously to watch the +W's. Now Mrs. Wilcox has come in. + +"I am going to wear [omission]. Last night Mrs. Wilcox wore an +[omission], and Evie [omission]. So it isn't exactly a +go-as-you-please place, and if you shut your eyes it still seems +the wiggly hotel that we expected. Not if you open them. The +dog-roses are too sweet. There is a great hedge of them over the +lawn--magnificently tall, so that they fall down in garlands, and +nice and thin at the bottom, so that you can see ducks through it +and a cow. These belong to the farm, which is the only house near +us. There goes the breakfast gong. Much love. Modified love to +Tibby. Love to Aunt Juley; how good of her to come and keep you +company, but what a bore. Burn this. Will write again Thursday. + + "HELEN." + + Howards End + Friday + +"Dearest Meg, + +"I am having a glorious time. I like them all. Mrs. Wilcox, if +quieter than in Germany, is sweeter than ever, and I never saw +anything like her steady unselfishness, and the best of it is +that the others do not take advantage of her. They are the very +happiest, jolliest family that you can imagine. I do really feel +that we are making friends. The fun of it is that they think me a +noodle, and say so--at least, Mr. Wilcox does--and when that +happens, and one doesn't mind, it's a pretty sure test, isn't +it? He says the most horrid things about woman's suffrage so +nicely, and when I said I believed in equality he just folded his +arms and gave me such a setting down as I've never had. Meg, +shall we ever learn to talk less? I never felt so ashamed of +myself in my life. I couldn't point to a time when men had been +equal, nor even to a time when the wish to be equal had made them +happier in other ways. I couldn't say a word. I had just picked +up the notion that equality is good from some book--probably from +poetry, or you. Anyhow, it's been knocked into pieces, and, like +all people who are really strong, Mr. Wilcox did it without +hurting me. On the other hand, I laugh at them for catching hay +fever. We live like fighting-cocks, and Charles takes us out +every day in the motor--a tomb with trees in it, a hermit's +house, a wonderful road that was made by the Kings of Mercia-- +tennis--a cricket match--bridge and at night we squeeze up in +this lovely house. The whole clan's here now--it's like a rabbit +warren. Evie is a dear. They want me to stop over Sunday--I +suppose it won't matter if I do. Marvellous weather and the views +marvellous--views westward to the high ground. Thank you for your +letter. Burn this. + + "Your affectionate + "HELEN." + + + "Howards End, + "Sunday. + +"Dearest, dearest Meg,--I do not know what you will say: Paul and +I are in love--the younger son who only came here Wednesday." + + + +CHAPTER II + +Margaret glanced at her sister's note and pushed it over the +breakfast-table to her aunt. There was a moment's hush, and then +the flood-gates opened. + +"I can tell you nothing, Aunt Juley. I know no more than you do. +We met--we only met the father and mother abroad last spring. I +know so little that I didn't even know their son's name. It's all +so--" She waved her hand and laughed a little. + +"In that case it is far too sudden." + +"Who knows, Aunt Juley, who knows?" + +"But, Margaret, dear, I mean, we mustn't be unpractical now that +we've come to facts. It is too sudden, surely." + +"Who knows!" + +"But, Margaret, dear--" + +"I'll go for her other letters," said Margaret. "No, I won't, +I'll finish my breakfast. In fact, I haven't them. We met the +Wilcoxes on an awful expedition that we made from Heidelberg to +Speyer. Helen and I had got it into our heads that there was a +grand old cathedral at Speyer--the Archbishop of Speyer was one +of the seven electors--you know--'Speyer, Maintz, and +Koln.' Those three sees once commanded the Rhine Valley and got +it the name of Priest Street." + +"I still feel quite uneasy about this business, Margaret." + +"The train crossed by a bridge of boats, and at first sight it +looked quite fine. But oh, in five minutes we had seen the whole +thing. The cathedral had been ruined, absolutely ruined, by +restoration; not an inch left of the original structure. We +wasted a whole day, and came across the Wilcoxes as we were +eating our sandwiches in the public gardens. They too, poor +things, had been taken in--they were actually stopping at +Speyer--and they rather liked Helen's insisting that they must +fly with us to Heidelberg. As a matter of fact, they did come on +next day. We all took some drives together. They knew us well +enough to ask Helen to come and see them--at least, I was asked +too, but Tibby's illness prevented me, so last Monday she went +alone. That's all. You know as much as I do now. It's a young man +out of the unknown. She was to have come back Saturday, but put +off till Monday, perhaps on account of--I don't know." + +She broke off, and listened to the sounds of a London morning. +Their house was in Wickham Place, and fairly quiet, for a lofty +promontory of buildings separated it from the main thoroughfare. +One had the sense of a backwater, or rather of an estuary, whose +waters flowed in from the invisible sea, and ebbed into a +profound silence while the waves without were still beating. +Though the promontory consisted of flats--expensive, with +cavernous entrance halls, full of concierges and palms--it +fulfilled its purpose, and gained for the older houses opposite a +certain measure of peace. + +These, too, would be swept away in time, and another +promontory would arise upon their site, as humanity piled itself +higher and higher on the precious soil of London. + +Mrs. Munt had her own method of interpreting her nieces. She +decided that Margaret was a little hysterical, and was trying to +gain time by a torrent of talk. Feeling very diplomatic, she +lamented the fate of Speyer, and declared that never, never +should she be so misguided as to visit it, and added of her own +accord that the principles of restoration were ill understood in +Germany. "The Germans," she said, "are too thorough, and this is +all very well sometimes, but at other times it does not do." + +"Exactly," said Margaret; "Germans are too thorough." And her +eyes began to shine. + +"Of course I regard you Schlegels as English," said Mrs. Munt +hastily--"English to the backbone." + +Margaret leaned forward and stroked her hand. + +"And that reminds me--Helen's letter." + +"Oh yes, Aunt Juley, I am thinking all right about Helen's +letter. I know--I must go down and see her. I am thinking about +her all right. I am meaning to go down." + +"But go with some plan," said Mrs. Munt, admitting into her +kindly voice a note of exasperation. "Margaret, if I may +interfere, don't be taken by surprise. What do you think of the +Wilcoxes? Are they our sort? Are they likely people? Could they +appreciate Helen, who is to my mind a very special sort of +person? Do they care about Literature and Art? That is most +important when you come to think of it. Literature and Art. Most +important. How old would the son be? She says 'younger son.' +Would he be in a position to marry? Is he likely to make Helen +happy? Did you gather--" + +"I gathered nothing." + +They began to talk at once. + +"Then in that case--" + +"In that case I can make no plans, don't you see." + +"On the contrary--" + +"I hate plans. I hate lines of action. Helen isn't a baby." + +"Then in that case, my dear, why go down?" + +Margaret was silent. If her aunt could not see why she must go +down, she was not going to tell her. She was not going to say, "I +love my dear sister; I must be near her at this crisis of her +life." The affections are more reticent than the passions, and +their expression more subtle. If she herself should ever fall in +love with a man, she, like Helen, would proclaim it from the +housetops, but as she loved only a sister she used the voiceless +language of sympathy. + +"I consider you odd girls," continued Mrs. Munt, "and very +wonderful girls, and in many ways far older than your years. +But--you won't be offended? frankly, I feel you are not up to +this business. It requires an older person. Dear, I have nothing +to +call me back to Swanage." She spread out her plump arms. "I am +all at your disposal. Let me go down to this house whose name I +forget instead of you." + +"Aunt Juley"--she jumped up and kissed her--"I must, must go +to Howards End myself. You don't exactly understand, though +I can never thank you properly for offering." + +"I do understand," retorted Mrs. Munt, with immense confidence. +"I go down in no spirit of interference, but to make inquiries. +Inquiries are necessary. Now, I am going to be rude. You would +say the wrong thing; to a certainty you would. In your anxiety +for Helen's happiness you would offend the whole of these +Wilcoxes by asking one of your impetuous questions--not that one +minds offending them." + +"I shall ask no questions. I have it in Helen's writing that she +and a man are in love. There is no question to ask as long as she +keeps to that. All the rest isn't worth a straw. A long +engagement if you like, but inquiries, questions, plans, lines of +action--no, Aunt Juley, no." + +Away she hurried, not beautiful, not supremely brilliant, but +filled with something that took the place of both qualities-- +something best described as a profound vivacity, a continual and +sincere response to all that she encountered in her path through +life. + +"If Helen had written the same to me about a shop assistant or a +penniless clerk--" + +"Dear Margaret, do come into the library and shut the door. Your +good maids are dusting the banisters." + +"--or if she had wanted to marry the man who calls for Carter +Paterson, I should have said the same." Then, with one of those +turns that convinced her aunt that she was not mad really, and +convinced observers of another type that she was not a barren +theorist, she added: "Though in the case of Carter Paterson I +should want it to be a very long engagement indeed, I must say." + +"I should think so," said Mrs. Munt; "and, indeed, I can scarcely +follow you. Now, just imagine if you said anything of that sort +to the Wilcoxes. I understand it, but most good people would +think you mad. Imagine how disconcerting for Helen! What is +wanted is a person who will go slowly, slowly in this business, +and see how things are and where they are likely to lead to." + +Margaret was down on this. + +"But you implied just now that the engagement must be broken +off." + +"I think probably it must; but slowly." + +"Can you break an engagement off slowly?" Her eyes lit up. +"What's an engagement made of, do you suppose? I think it's made +of some hard stuff that may snap, but can't break. It is +different +to the other ties of life. They stretch or bend. They admit of +degree. They're different." + +"Exactly so. But won't you let me just run down to Howards House, +and save you all the discomfort? I will really not interfere, but +I do so thoroughly understand the kind of thing you Schlegels +want that one quiet look round will be enough for me." + +Margaret again thanked her, again kissed her, and then ran +upstairs to see her brother. + +He was not so well. + +The hay fever had worried him a good deal all night. His head +ached, his eyes were wet, his mucous membrane, he informed her, +in a most unsatisfactory condition. The only thing that made life +worth living was the thought of Walter Savage Landor, from whose +Imaginary Conversations she had promised to read at frequent +intervals during the day. + +It was rather difficult. Something must be done about Helen. She +must be assured that it is not a criminal offence to love at +first sight. A telegram to this effect would be cold and cryptic, +a personal visit seemed each moment more impossible. Now the +doctor arrived, and said that Tibby was quite bad. Might it +really be best to accept Aunt Juley's kind offer, and to send her +down to Howards End with a note? + +Certainly Margaret was impulsive. She did swing rapidly from one +decision to another. Running downstairs into the library, she +cried: "Yes, I have changed my mind; I do wish that you would +go." + +There was a train from King's Cross at eleven. At half-past ten +Tibby, with rare self-effacement, fell asleep, and Margaret was +able to drive her aunt to the station. + +"You will remember, Aunt Juley, not to be drawn into discussing +the engagement. Give my letter to Helen, and say whatever you +feel yourself, but do keep clear of the relatives. We have +scarcely got their names straight yet, and, besides, that sort of +thing is so uncivilised and wrong." + +"So uncivilised?" queried Mrs. Munt, fearing that she was losing +the point of some brilliant remark. + +"Oh, I used an affected word. I only meant would you please talk +the thing over only with Helen." + +"Only with Helen." + +"Because--" But it was no moment to expound the personal nature +of love. Even Margaret shrank from it, and contented herself with +stroking her good aunt's hand, and with meditating, half sensibly +and half poetically, on the journey that was about to begin from +King's Cross. + +Like many others who have lived long in a great capital, she had +strong feelings about the various railway termini. They are our +gates to the glorious and the unknown. Through them we pass out +into adventure and sunshine, to them, alas! we return. In +Paddington all Cornwall is latent and the remoter west; down the +inclines of Liverpool Street lie fenlands and the illimitable +Broads; Scotland is through the pylons of Euston; Wessex behind +the poised chaos of Waterloo. Italians realise this, as is +natural; those of them who are so unfortunate as to serve as +waiters in Berlin call the Anhalt Bahnhof the Stazione d'Italia, +because by it they must return to their homes. And he is a chilly +Londoner who does not endow his stations with some personality, +and extend to them, however shyly, the emotions of fear and love. + +To Margaret--I hope that it will not set the reader against her-- +the station of King's Cross had always suggested Infinity. Its +very situation--withdrawn a little behind the facile splendours +of St. Pancras--implied a comment on the materialism of life. +Those two great arches, colourless, indifferent, shouldering +between them an unlovely clock, were fit portals for some eternal +adventure, whose issue might be prosperous, but would certainly +not be expressed in the ordinary language of prosperity. If you +think this ridiculous, remember that it is not Margaret who is +telling you about it; and let me hasten to add that they were in +plenty of time for the train; that Mrs. Munt, though she took a +second-class ticket, was put by the guard into a first (only two +"seconds" on the train, one smoking and the other babies--one +cannot be expected to travel with babies); and that Margaret, on +her return to Wickham Place, was confronted with the following +telegram: + +"All over. Wish I had never written. Tell no one--, HELEN." + +But Aunt Juley was gone--gone irrevocably, and no power on earth +could stop her. + + + +CHAPTER III + +Most complacently did Mrs. Munt rehearse her mission. Her nieces +were independent young women, and it was not often that she was +able to help them. Emily's daughters had never been quite like +other girls. They had been left motherless when Tibby was born, +when Helen was five and Margaret herself but thirteen. It was +before the passing of the Deceased Wife's Sister Bill, so Mrs. +Munt could without impropriety offer to go and keep house at +Wickham Place. But her brother-in-law, who was peculiar and a +German, had referred the question to Margaret, who with the +crudity of youth had answered, "No, they could manage much better +alone." Five years later Mr. Schlegel had died too, and Mrs. Munt +had repeated her offer. Margaret, crude no longer, had been +grateful and extremely nice, but the substance of her answer had +been the same. "I must not interfere a third time," thought Mrs. +Munt. However, of course she did. She learnt, to her horror, that +Margaret, now of age, was taking her money out of the old safe +investments and putting it into Foreign Things, which always +smash. Silence would have been criminal. Her own fortune was +invested in Home Rails, and most ardently did she beg her niece +to imitate her. "Then we should be together, dear." Margaret, out +of politeness, invested a few hundreds in the Nottingham and +Derby Railway, and though the Foreign Things did admirably and +the Nottingham and Derby declined with the steady dignity of +which only Home Rails are capable, Mrs. Munt never ceased to +rejoice, and to say, "I did manage that, at all events. When the +smash comes poor Margaret will have a nest-egg to fall back +upon." This year Helen came of age, and exactly the same thing +happened in Helen's case; she also would shift her money out of +Consols, but she, too, almost without being pressed, consecrated +a fraction of it to the Nottingham and Derby Railway. So far so +good, but in social matters their aunt had accomplished nothing. +Sooner or later the girls would enter on the process known as +throwing themselves away, and if they had delayed hitherto, it +was only that they might throw themselves more vehemently in the +future. They saw too many people at Wickham Place--unshaven +musicians, an actress even, German cousins (one knows what +foreigners are), acquaintances picked up at Continental hotels +(one knows what they are too). It was interesting, and down at +Swanage no one appreciated culture more than Mrs. Munt; but it +was dangerous, and disaster was bound to come. How right she was, +and how lucky to be on the spot when the disaster came! + +The train sped northward, under innumerable tunnels. It was only +an hour's journey, but Mrs. Munt had to raise and lower the +window again and again. She passed through the South Welwyn +Tunnel, saw light for a moment, and entered the North Welwyn +Tunnel, of tragic fame. She traversed the immense viaduct, whose +arches span untroubled meadows and the dreamy flow of Tewin +Water. She skirted the parks of politicians. At times the Great +North Road accompanied her, more suggestive of infinity than any +railway, awakening, after a nap of a hundred years, to such life +as is conferred by the stench of motor-cars, and to such culture +as is implied by the advertisements of antibilious pills. To +history, to tragedy, to the past, to the future, Mrs. Munt +remained equally indifferent; hers but to concentrate on the end +of her journey, and to rescue poor Helen from this dreadful mess. + +The station for Howards End was at Hilton, one of the large +villages that are strung so frequently along the North Road, and +that owe their size to the traffic of coaching and pre-coaching +days. Being near London, it had not shared in the rural decay, +and its long High Street had budded out right and left into +residential estates. For about a mile a series of tiled and +slated houses passed before Mrs. Munt's inattentive eyes, a +series broken at one point by six Danish tumuli that stood +shoulder to shoulder along the highroad, tombs of soldiers. +Beyond these tumuli, habitations thickened, and the train came to +a standstill in a tangle that was almost a town. + +The station, like the scenery, like Helen's letters, struck an +indeterminate note. Into which country will it lead, England or +Suburbia? It was new, it had island platforms and a subway, and +the superficial comfort exacted by business men. But it held +hints of local life, personal intercourse, as even Mrs. Munt was +to discover. + +"I want a house," she confided to the ticket boy. "Its name is +Howards Lodge. Do you know where it is?" + +"Mr. Wilcox!" the boy called. + +A young man in front of them turned around. + +"She's wanting Howards End." + +There was nothing for it but to go forward, though Mrs. Munt was +too much agitated even to stare at the stranger. But remembering +that there were two brothers, she had the sense to say to him, +"Excuse me asking, but are you the younger Mr. Wilcox or the +elder?" + +"The younger. Can I do anything for you?" + +"Oh, well"--she controlled herself with difficulty. "Really. Are +you? I--" She moved; away from the ticket boy and lowered her +voice. "I am Miss Schlegel's aunt. I ought to introduce myself, +oughtn't I? My name is Mrs. Munt." + +She was conscious that he raised his cap and said quite coolly, +"Oh, rather; Miss Schlegel is stopping with us. Did you want to +see her?" + +"Possibly." + +"I'll call you a cab. No; wait a mo--" He thought. "Our motor's +here. I'll run you up in it." + +"That is very kind." + +"Not at all, if you'll just wait till they bring out a parcel +from the office. This way." + +"My niece is not with you by any chance?" + +"No; I came over with my father. He has gone on north in your +train. You'll see Miss Schlegel at lunch. You're coming up to +lunch, I hope?" + +"I should like to come UP," said Mrs. Munt, not committing +herself to nourishment until she had studied Helen's lover a +little more. He seemed a gentleman, but had so rattled her round +that her powers of observation were numbed. She glanced at him +stealthily. + +To a feminine eye there was nothing amiss in the sharp +depressions at the corners of his mouth, or in the rather +box-like construction of his forehead. He was dark, clean-shaven, +and seemed accustomed to command. + +"In front or behind? Which do you prefer? It may be windy in +front." + +"In front if I may; then we can talk." + +"But excuse me one moment--I can't think what they're doing with +that parcel." He strode into the booking-office, and called with +a new voice: "Hi! hi, you there! Are you going to keep me waiting +all day? Parcel for Wilcox, Howards End. Just look sharp!" + +Emerging, he said in quieter tones: "This station's abominably +organised; if I had my way, the whole lot of 'em should get the +sack. May I help you in?" + +"This is very good of you," said Mrs. Munt, as she settled +herself into a luxurious cavern of red leather, and suffered her +person to be padded with rugs and shawls. She was more civil than +she had intended, but really this young man was very kind. +Moreover, she was a little afraid of him; his self-possession was +extraordinary. "Very good indeed," she repeated, adding: "It is +just what I should have wished." + +"Very good of you to say so," he replied, with a slight look of +surprise, which, like most slight looks, escaped Mrs. Munt's +attention. "I was just tooling my father over to catch the down +train." + +"You see, we heard from Helen this morning." + +Young Wilcox was pouring in petrol, starting his engine, and +performing other actions with which this story has no concern. +The great car began to rock, and the form of Mrs. Munt, trying to +explain things, sprang agreeably up and down among the red +cushions. "The mater will be very glad to see you," he mumbled. +"Hi! I say. Parcel. Parcel for Howards End. Bring it out. Hi!" + +A bearded porter emerged with the parcel in one hand and an entry +book in the other. With the gathering whir of the motor these +ejaculations mingled: "Sign, must I? Why the--should I sign after +all this bother? Not even got a pencil on you? Remember next time +I report you to the station-master. My time's of value, though +yours mayn't be. Here"--here being a tip. + +"Extremely sorry, Mrs. Munt." + +"Not at all, Mr. Wilcox." + +"And do you object to going through the village? It is rather a +longer spin, but I have one or two commissions." + +"I should love going through the village. Naturally I am very +anxious to talk things over with you." + +As she said this she felt ashamed, for she was disobeying +Margaret's instructions. Only disobeying them in the letter, +surely. Margaret had only warned her against discussing the +incident with outsiders. Surely it was not "uncivilised or wrong" +to discuss it with the young man himself, since chance had thrown +them together. + +A reticent fellow, he made no reply. Mounting by her side, he put +on gloves and spectacles, and off they drove, the bearded porter +--life is a mysterious business--looking after them with +admiration. + +The wind was in their faces down the station road, blowing the +dust into Mrs. Munt's eyes. But as soon as they turned into the +Great North Road she opened fire. "You can well imagine," she +said, "that the news was a great shock to us." + +"What news?" + +"Mr. Wilcox," she said frankly, "Margaret has told me everything +--everything. I have seen Helen's letter." + +He could not look her in the face, as his eyes were fixed on his +work; he was travelling as quickly as he dared down the High +Street. But he inclined his head in her direction, and said: "I +beg your pardon; I didn't catch." + +"About Helen. Helen, of course. Helen is a very exceptional +person--I am sure you will let me say this, feeling towards her +as you do--indeed, all the Schlegels are exceptional. I come in +no spirit of interference, but it was a great shock." + +They drew up opposite a draper's. Without replying, he turned +round in his seat, and contemplated the cloud of dust that they +had raised in their passage through the village. It was settling +again, but not all into the road from which he had taken it. Some +of it had percolated through the open windows, some had whitened +the roses and gooseberries of the wayside gardens, while a +certain proportion had entered the lungs of the villagers. "I +wonder when they'll learn wisdom and tar the roads," was his +comment. Then a man ran out of the draper's with a roll of +oilcloth, and off they went again. + +"Margaret could not come herself, on account of poor Tibby, so I +am here to represent her and to have a good talk." + +"I'm sorry to be so dense," said the young man, again drawing up +outside a shop. "But I still haven't quite understood." + +"Helen, Mr. Wilcox--my niece and you." + +He pushed up his goggles and gazed at her, absolutely +bewildered. Horror smote her to the heart, for even she began to +suspect that they were at cross-purposes, and that she had +commenced her mission by some hideous blunder. + +"Miss Schlegel and myself?" he asked, compressing his lips. + +"I trust there has been no misunderstanding," quavered Mrs. Munt. +"Her letter certainly read that way." + +"What way?" + +"That you and she--" She paused, then drooped her eyelids. + +"I think I catch your meaning," he said stickily. "What an +extraordinary mistake!" + +"Then you didn't the least--" she stammered, getting blood-red in +the face, and wishing she had never been born. + +"Scarcely, as I am already engaged to another lady." There was a +moment's silence, and then he caught his breath and exploded +with, "Oh, good God! Don't tell me it 's some silliness of +Paul's." + +"But you are Paul." + +"I'm not." + +"Then why did you say so at the station?" + +"I said nothing of the sort." + +"I beg your pardon, you did." + +"I beg your pardon, I did not. My name is Charles." + +"Younger" may mean son as opposed to father, or second brother as +opposed to first. There is much to be said for either view, and +later on they said it. But they had other questions before them +now. + +"Do you mean to tell me that Paul--" + +But she did not like his voice. He sounded as if he was talking +to a porter, and, certain that he had deceived her at the +station, she too grew angry. + +"Do you mean to tell me that Paul and your niece--" + +Mrs. Munt--such is human nature--determined that she would +champion the lovers. She was not going to be bullied by a severe +young man. "Yes, they care for one another very much indeed," she +said. "I dare say they will tell you about it by-and-by. We +heard this morning." + +And Charles clenched his fist and cried, "The idiot, the idiot, +the little fool!" + +Mrs. Munt tried to divest herself of her rugs. "If that is your +attitude, Mr. Wilcox, I prefer to walk." + +"I beg you will do no such thing. I take you up this moment to +the house. Let me tell you the thing's impossible, and must be +stopped." + +Mrs. Munt did not often lose her temper, and when she did it was +only to protect those whom she loved. On this occasion she blazed +out. "I quite agree, sir. The thing is impossible, and I will +come up and stop it. My niece is a very exceptional person, and I +am not inclined to sit still while she throws herself away on +those who will not appreciate her." + +Charles worked his jaws. + +"Considering she has only known your brother since Wednesday, and +only met your father and mother at a stray hotel--" + +"Could you possibly lower your voice? The shopman will overhear." + +Esprit de classe--if one may coin the phrase--was strong in Mrs. +Munt. She sat quivering while a member of the lower orders +deposited a metal funnel, a saucepan, and a garden squirt beside +the roll of oilcloth. + +"Right behind?" + +"Yes, sir." And the lower orders vanished in a cloud of dust. + +"I warn you: Paul hasn't a penny; it's useless." + +"No need to warn us, Mr. Wilcox, I assure you. The warning is all +the other way. My niece has been very foolish, and I shall give +her a good scolding and take her back to London with me." + +"He has to make his way out in Nigeria. He couldn't think of +marrying for years, and when he does it must be a woman who can +stand the climate, and is in other ways-- Why hasn't he told us? +Of course he's ashamed. He knows he's been a fool. And so he has +--a downright fool." + +She grew furious. + +"Whereas Miss Schlegel has lost no time in publishing the news." + +"If I were a man, Mr. Wilcox, for that last remark I'd box your +ears. You're not fit to clean my niece's boots, to sit in the +same room with her, and you dare--you actually dare-- I decline +to argue with such a person." + +"All I know is, she's spread the thing and he hasn't, and my +father's away and I--" + +"And all that I know is--" + +"Might I finish my sentence, please?" + +"No." + +Charles clenched his teeth and sent the motor swerving all over +the lane. + +She screamed. + +So they played the game of Capping Families, a round of which is +always played when love would unite two members of our race. But +they played it with unusual vigour, stating in so many words that +Schlegels were better than Wilcoxes, Wilcoxes better than +Schlegels. They flung decency aside. The man was young, the woman +deeply stirred; in both a vein of coarseness was latent. Their +quarrel was no more surprising than are most quarrels--inevitable +at the time, incredible afterwards. But it was more than usually +futile. A few minutes, and they were enlightened. The motor drew +up at Howards End, and Helen, looking very pale, ran out to meet +her aunt. + +"Aunt Juley, I have just had a telegram from Margaret; I--I meant +to stop your coming. It isn't--it's over." + +The climax was too much for Mrs. Munt. She burst into tears. + +"Aunt Juley dear, don't. Don't let them know I've been so silly. +It wasn't anything. Do bear up for my sake." + +"Paul," cried Charles Wilcox, pulling his gloves off. + +"Don't let them know. They are never to know." + +"Oh, my darling Helen--" + +"Paul! Paul!" + +A very young man came out of the house. + +"Paul, is there any truth in this?" + +"I didn't--I don't--" + +"Yes or no, man; plain question, plain answer. Did or didn't +Miss Schlegel--" + +"Charles, dear," said a voice from the garden. "Charles, dear +Charles, one doesn't ask plain questions. There aren't such +things." + +They were all silent. It was Mrs. Wilcox. + +She approached just as Helen's letter had described her, trailing +noiselessly over the lawn, and there was actually a wisp of hay +in her hands. She seemed to belong not to the young people and +their motor, but to the house, and to the tree that overshadowed +it. One knew that she worshipped the past, and that the +instinctive wisdom the past can alone bestow had descended upon +her--that wisdom to which we give the clumsy name of aristocracy. +High born she might not be. But assuredly she cared about her +ancestors, and let them help her. When she saw Charles angry, +Paul frightened, and Mrs. Munt in tears, she heard her ancestors +say, "Separate those human beings who will hurt each other most. +The rest can wait." So she did not ask questions. Still less did +she pretend that nothing had happened, as a competent society +hostess would have done. She said: "Miss Schlegel, would you take +your aunt up to your room or to my room, whichever you think +best. Paul, do find Evie, and tell her lunch for six, but I'm not +sure whether we shall all be downstairs for it." And when they +had obeyed her, she turned to her elder son, who still stood in +the throbbing, stinking car, and smiled at him with tenderness, +and without saying a word, turned away from him towards her +flowers. + +"Mother," he called, "are you aware that Paul has been playing +the fool again?" + +"It is all right, dear. They have broken off the engagement." + +"Engagement--!" + +"They do not love any longer, if you prefer it put that way," +said Mrs. Wilcox, stooping down to smell a rose. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Helen and her aunt returned to Wickham Place in a state of +collapse, and for a little time Margaret had three invalids on +her hands. Mrs. Munt soon recovered. She possessed to a +remarkable degree the power of distorting the past, and before +many days were over she had forgotten the part played by her own +imprudence in the catastrophe. Even at the crisis she had cried, +"Thank goodness, poor Margaret is saved this!" which during the +journey to London evolved into, "It had to be gone through by +some one," which in its turn ripened into the permanent form of +"The one time I really did help Emily's girls was over the Wilcox +business." But Helen was a more serious patient. New ideas had +burst upon her like a thunderclap, and by them and by their +reverberations she had been stunned. + +The truth was that she had fallen in love, not with an +individual, but with a family. + +Before Paul arrived she had, as it were, been tuned up into his +key. The energy of the Wilcoxes had fascinated her, had created +new images of beauty in her responsive mind. To be all day with +them in the open air, to sleep at night under their roof, had +seemed the supreme joy of life, and had led to that abandonment +of personality that is a possible prelude to love. She had liked +giving in to Mr. Wilcox, or Evie, or Charles; she had liked being +told that her notions of life were sheltered or academic; that +Equality was nonsense, Votes for Women nonsense, Socialism +nonsense, Art and Literature, except when conducive to +strengthening the character, nonsense. One by one the Schlegel +fetiches had been overthrown, and, though professing to defend +them, she had rejoiced. When Mr. Wilcox said that one sound man +of business did more good to the world than a dozen of your +social reformers, she had swallowed the curious assertion without +a gasp, and had leant back luxuriously among the cushions of his +motorcar. When Charles said, "Why be so polite to servants? they +don't understand it," she had not given the Schlegel retort of, +"If they don't understand it, I do." No; she had vowed to be +less polite to servants in the future. "I am swathed in cant," +she thought, "and it is good for me to be stripped of it." And +all that she thought or did or breathed was a quiet preparation +for Paul. Paul was inevitable. Charles was taken up with another +girl, Mr. Wilcox was so old, Evie so young, Mrs. Wilcox so +different. Round the absent brother she began to throw the halo +of Romance, to irradiate him with all the splendour of those +happy days, to feel that in him she should draw nearest to the +robust ideal. He and she were about the same age, Evie said. Most +people thought Paul handsomer than his brother. He was certainly +a better shot, though not so good at golf. And when Paul +appeared, flushed with the triumph of getting through an +examination, and ready to flirt with any pretty girl, Helen met +him halfway, or more than halfway, and turned towards him on the +Sunday evening. + +He had been talking of his approaching exile in Nigeria, and he +should have continued to talk of it, and allowed their guest to +recover. But the heave of her bosom flattered him. Passion was +possible, and he became passionate. Deep down in him something +whispered, "This girl would let you kiss her; you might not have +such a chance again." + +That was "how it happened," or, rather, how Helen described it to +her sister, using words even more unsympathetic than my own. But +the poetry of that kiss, the wonder of it, the magic that there +was in life for hours after it--who can describe that? It is so +easy for an Englishman to sneer at these chance collisions of +human beings. To the insular cynic and the insular moralist they +offer an equal opportunity. It is so easy to talk of "passing +emotion," and to forget how vivid the emotion was ere it passed. +Our impulse to sneer, to forget, is at root a good one. We +recognise that emotion is not enough, and that men and women are +personalities capable of sustained relations, not mere +opportunities for an electrical discharge. Yet we rate the +impulse too highly. We do not admit that by collisions of this +trivial sort the doors of heaven may be shaken open. To Helen, at +all events, her life was to bring nothing more intense than the +embrace of this boy who played no part in it. He had drawn her +out of the house, where there was danger of surprise and light; +he had led her by a path he knew, until they stood under the +column of the vast wych-elm. A man in the darkness, he had +whispered "I love you" when she was desiring love. In time his +slender personality faded, the scene that he had evoked endured. +In all the variable years that followed she never saw the like of +it again. + +"I understand," said Margaret--s"at least, I understand as much +as ever is understood of these things. Tell me now what happened +on the Monday morning." + +"It was over at once." + +"How, Helen?" + +"I was still happy while I dressed, but as I came downstairs I +got nervous, and when I went into the dining-room I knew it was +no good. There was Evie--I can't explain--managing the tea-urn, +and Mr. Wilcox reading the Times." + +"Was Paul there?" + +"Yes; and Charles was talking to him about stocks and shares, and +he looked frightened." + +By slight indications the sisters could convey much to each +other. Margaret saw horror latent in the scene, and Helen's next +remark did not surprise her. + +"Somehow, when that kind of man looks frightened it is too awful. +It is all right for us to be frightened, or for men of another +sort--father, for instance; but for men like that! When I saw all +the others so placid, and Paul mad with terror in case I said the +wrong thing, I felt for a moment that the whole Wilcox family was +a fraud, just a wall of newspapers and motor-cars and golf-clubs, +and that if it fell I should find nothing behind it but panic +and emptiness." + +"I don't think that. The Wilcoxes struck me as being genuine +people, particularly the wife." + +"No, I don't really think that. But Paul was so broad-shouldered; +all kinds of extraordinary things made it worse, and I knew that +it would never do--never. I said to him after breakfast, when the +others were practising strokes, 'We rather lost our heads,' and +he looked better at once, though frightfully ashamed. He began a +speech about having no money to marry on, but it hurt him to make +it, and I stopped him. Then he said, 'I must beg your pardon over +this, Miss Schlegel; I can't think what came over me last night.' +And I said, 'Nor what over me; never mind.' And then we parted-- +at least, until I remembered that I had written straight off to +tell you the night before, and that frightened him again. I asked +him to send a telegram for me, for he knew you would be coming or +something; and he tried to get hold of the motor, but Charles and +Mr. Wilcox wanted it to go to the station; and Charles offered to +send the telegram for me, and then I had to say that the telegram +was of no consequence, for Paul said Charles might read it, and +though I wrote it out several times, he always said people would +suspect something. He took it himself at last, pretending that he +must walk down to get cartridges, and, what with one thing and +the other, it was not handed in at the post-office until too +late. It was the most terrible morning. Paul disliked me more and +more, and Evie talked cricket averages till I nearly screamed. I +cannot think how I stood her all the other days. At last Charles +and his father started for the station, and then came your +telegram warning me that Aunt Juley was coming by that train, and +Paul--oh, rather horrible--said that I had muddled it. But Mrs. +Wilcox knew." + +"Knew what?" + +"Everything; though we neither of us told her a word, and she had +known all along, I think." + +"Oh, she must have overheard you." + +"I suppose so, but it seemed wonderful. When Charles and Aunt +Juley drove up, calling each other names, Mrs. Wilcox stepped in +from the garden and made everything less terrible. Ugh! but it +has been a disgusting business. To think that--" She sighed. + +"To think that because you and a young man meet for a moment, +there must be all these telegrams and anger," supplied Margaret. + +Helen nodded. + +"I've often thought about it, Helen. It's one of the most +interesting things in the world. The truth is that there is a +great outer life that you and I have never touched--a life in +which telegrams and anger count. Personal relations, that we +think supreme, are not supreme there. There love means marriage +settlements, death, death duties. So far I'm clear. But here my +difficulty. This outer life, though obviously horrid; often seems +the real one--there's grit in it. It does breed character. Do +personal relations lead to sloppiness in the end?" + +"Oh, Meg--, that's what I felt, only not so clearly, when the +Wilcoxes were so competent, and seemed to have their hands on all +the ropes." + +"Don't you feel it now?" + +"I remember Paul at breakfast," said Helen quietly. "I shall +never forget him. He had nothing to fall back upon. I know that +personal relations are the real life, for ever and ever." + +"Amen!" + +So the Wilcox episode fell into the background, leaving behind it +memories of sweetness and horror that mingled, and the sisters +pursued the life that Helen had commended. They talked to each +other and to other people, they filled the tall thin house at +Wickham Place with those whom they liked or could befriend. They +even attended public meetings. In their own fashion they cared +deeply about politics, though not as politicians would have us +care; they desired that public life should mirror whatever is +good in the life within. Temperance, tolerance, and sexual +equality were intelligible cries to them; whereas they did not +follow our Forward Policy in Tibet with the keen attention that +it merits, and would at times dismiss the whole British Empire +with a puzzled, if reverent, sigh. Not out of them are the shows +of history erected: the world would be a grey, bloodless place +were it composed entirely of Miss Schlegels. But the world being +what it is, perhaps they shine out in it like stars. + +A word on their origin. They were not "English to the back-bone," +as their aunt had piously asserted. But, on the other hand, they +were not "Germans of the dreadful sort." Their father had +belonged to a type that was more prominent in Germany fifty years +ago than now. He was not the aggressive German, so dear to the +English journalist, nor the domestic German, so dear to the +English wit. If one classed him at all it would be as the +countryman of Hegel and Kant, as the idealist, inclined to be +dreamy, whose Imperialism was the Imperialism of the air. Not +that his life had been inactive. He had fought like blazes +against Denmark, Austria, France. But he had fought without +visualising the results of victory. A hint of the truth broke on +him after Sedan, when he saw the dyed moustaches of Napoleon +going grey; another when he entered Paris, and saw the smashed +windows of the Tuileries. Peace came--it was all very immense, +one had turned into an Empire--but he knew that some quality had +vanished for which not all Alsace-Lorraine could compensate him. +Germany a commercial Power, Germany a naval Power, Germany with +colonies here and a Forward Policy there, and legitimate +aspirations in the other place, might appeal to others, and be +fitly served by them; for his own part, he abstained from the +fruits of victory, and naturalised himself in England. The more +earnest members of his family never forgave him, and knew that +his children, though scarcely English of the dreadful sort, would +never be German to the back-bone. He had obtained work in one of +our provincial universities, and there married Poor Emily (or +Die Englanderin, as the case may be), and as she had money, +they proceeded to London, and came to know a good many people. +But his gaze was always fixed beyond the sea. It was his hope +that the clouds of materialism obscuring the Fatherland would +part in time, and the mild intellectual light re-emerge. "Do you +imply that we Germans are stupid, Uncle Ernst?" exclaimed a +haughty and magnificent nephew. Uncle Ernst replied, "To my mind. +You use the intellect, but you no longer care about it. That I +call stupidity." As the haughty nephew did not follow, he +continued, "You only care about the things that you can use, and +therefore arrange them in the following order: Money, supremely +useful; intellect, rather useful; imagination, of no use at all. +No"--for the other had protested--"your Pan-Germanism is no more +imaginative than is our Imperialism over here. It is the vice of +a vulgar mind to be thrilled by bigness, to think that a thousand +square miles are a thousand times more wonderful than one square +mile, and that a million square miles are almost the same as +heaven. That is not imagination. No, it kills it. When their +poets over here try to celebrate bigness they are dead at once, +and naturally. Your poets too are dying, your philosophers, your +musicians, to whom Europe has listened for two hundred years. +Gone. Gone with the little courts that nurtured them--gone with +Esterhazy and Weimar. What? What's that? Your universities? Oh +yes, you have learned men, who collect more facts than do the +learned men of England. They collect facts, and facts, and +empires of facts. But which of them will rekindle the light +within?" + +To all this Margaret listened, sitting on the haughty nephew's +knee. + +It was a unique education for the little girls. The haughty +nephew would be at Wickham Place one day, bringing with him an +even haughtier wife, both convinced that Germany was appointed by +God to govern the world. Aunt Juley would come the next day, +convinced that Great Britain had been appointed to the same post +by the same authority. Were both these loud-voiced parties right? +On one occasion they had met and Margaret with clasped hands had +implored them to argue the subject out in her presence. Whereat +they blushed, and began to talk about the weather. "Papa," she +cried--she was a most offensive child--"why will they not discuss +this most clear question?" Her father, surveying the parties +grimly, replied that he did not know. Putting her head on one +side, Margaret then remarked, "To me one of two things is very +clear; either God does not know his own mind about England and +Germany, or else these do not know the mind of God." A hateful +little girl, but at thirteen she had grasped a dilemma that most +people travel through life without perceiving. Her brain darted +up and down; it grew pliant and strong. Her conclusion was, that +any human being lies nearer to the unseen than any organisation, +and from this she never varied. + +Helen advanced along the same lines, though with a more +irresponsible tread. In character she resembled her sister, but +she was pretty, and so apt to have a more amusing time. People +gathered round her more readily, especially when they were new +acquaintances, and she did enjoy a little homage very much. When +their father died and they ruled alone at Wickham Place, she +often absorbed the whole of the company, while Margaret--both +were tremendous talkers--fell flat. Neither sister bothered about +this. Helen never apologised afterwards, Margaret did not feel +the slightest rancour. But looks have their influence upon +character. The sisters were alike as little girls, but at the +time of the Wilcox episode their methods were beginning to +diverge; the younger was rather apt to entice people, and, in +enticing them, to be herself enticed; the elder went straight +ahead, and accepted an occasional failure as part of the game. + +Little need be premised about Tibby. He was now an intelligent +man of sixteen, but dyspeptic and difficile. + + + +CHAPTER V + +It will be generally admitted that Beethoven's Fifth Symphony is +the most sublime noise that has ever penetrated into the ear of +man. All sorts and conditions are satisfied by it. Whether you +are like Mrs. Munt, and tap surreptitiously when the tunes come-- +of course, not so as to disturb the others--or like Helen, who +can see heroes and shipwrecks in the music's flood; or like +Margaret, who can only see the music; or like Tibby, who is +profoundly versed in counterpoint, and holds the full score open +on his knee; or like their cousin, Fraulein Mosebach, who +remembers all the time that Beethoven is echt Deutsch; or like +Fraulein Mosebach's young man, who can remember nothing but +Fraulein Mosebach: in any case, the passion of your life becomes +more vivid, and you are bound to admit that such a noise is cheap +at two shillings. It is cheap, even if you hear it in the Queen's +Hall, dreariest music-room in London, though not as dreary as the +Free Trade Hall, Manchester; and even if you sit on the extreme +left of that hall, so that the brass bumps at you before the +rest of the orchestra arrives, it is still cheap. + +"Whom is Margaret talking to?" said Mrs. Munt, at the conclusion +of the first movement. She was again in London on a visit to +Wickham Place. + +Helen looked down the long line of their party, and said that she +did not know. + +"Would it be some young man or other whom she takes an interest +in?" + +"I expect so," Helen replied. Music enwrapped her, and she could +not enter into the distinction that divides young men whom one +takes an interest in from young men whom one knows. + +"You girls are so wonderful in always having--Oh dear! one +mustn't talk." + +For the Andante had begun--very beautiful, but bearing a family +likeness to all the other beautiful Andantes that Beethoven had +written, and, to Helen's mind, rather disconnecting the heroes +and shipwrecks of the first movement from the heroes and goblins +of the third. She heard the tune through once, and then her +attention wandered, and she gazed at the audience, or the organ, +or the architecture. Much did she censure the attenuated Cupids +who encircle the ceiling of the Queen's Hall, inclining each to +each with vapid gesture, and clad in sallow pantaloons, on which +the October sunlight struck. "How awful to marry a man like those +Cupids!" thought Helen. Here Beethoven started decorating his +tune, so she heard him through once more, and then she smiled at +her Cousin Frieda. But Frieda, listening to Classical Music, +could not respond. Herr Liesecke, too, looked as if wild horses +could not make him inattentive; there were lines across his +forehead, his lips were parted, his pince-nez at right angles to +his nose, and he had laid a thick, white hand on either knee. And +next to her was Aunt Juley, so British, and wanting to tap. How +interesting that row of people was! What diverse influences had +gone to the making! Here Beethoven, after humming and hawing with +great sweetness, said "Heigho," and the Andante came to an end. +Applause, and a round of "wunderschoning" and pracht volleying +from the German contingent. Margaret started talking to her new +young man; Helen said to her aunt: "Now comes the wonderful +movement: first of all the goblins, and then a trio of elephants +dancing"; and Tibby implored the company generally to look out +for the transitional passage on the drum. + +"On the what, dear?" + +"On the drum, Aunt Juley." + +"No; look out for the part where you think you have done with the +goblins and they come back," breathed Helen, as the music started +with a goblin walking quietly over the universe, from end to end. +Others followed him. They were not aggressive creatures; it was +that that made them so terrible to Helen. They merely observed in +passing that there was no such thing as splendour or heroism in +the world. After the interlude of elephants dancing, they +returned and made the observation for the second time. Helen +could not contradict them, for, once at all events, she had felt +the same, and had seen the reliable walls of youth collapse. +Panic and emptiness! Panic and emptiness! The goblins were right. +Her brother raised his finger; it was the transitional passage on +the drum. + +For, as if things were going too far, Beethoven took hold of the +goblins and made them do what he wanted. He appeared in person. +He gave them a little push, and they began to walk in a major key +instead of in a minor, and then--he blew with his mouth and they +were scattered! Gusts of splendour, gods and demigods contending +with vast swords, colour and fragrance broadcast on the field of +battle, magnificent victory, magnificent death! Oh, it all burst +before the girl, and she even stretched out her gloved hands as +if it was tangible. Any fate was titanic; any contest desirable; +conqueror and conquered would alike be applauded by the angels of +the utmost stars. + +And the goblins--they had not really been there at all? They were +only the phantoms of cowardice and unbelief? One healthy human +impulse would dispel them? Men like the Wilcoxes, or ex-President +Roosevelt, would say yes. Beethoven knew better. The goblins +really had been there. They might return--and they did. It was as +if the splendour of life might boil over and waste to steam and +froth. In its dissolution one heard the terrible, ominous note, +and a goblin, with increased malignity, walked quietly over the +universe from end to end. Panic and emptiness! Panic and +emptiness! Even the flaming ramparts of the world might fall. +Beethoven chose to make all right in the end. He built the +ramparts up. He blew with his mouth for the second time, and +again the goblins were scattered. He brought back the gusts of +splendour, the heroism, the youth, the magnificence of life and +of death, and, amid vast roarings of a superhuman joy, he led his +Fifth Symphony to its conclusion. But the goblins were there. +They could return. He had said so bravely, and that is why one +can trust Beethoven when he says other things. + +Helen pushed her way out during the applause. She desired to be +alone. The music had summed up to her all that had happened or +could happen in her career. + +She read it as a tangible statement, which could never be +superseded. The notes meant this and that to her, and they could +have no other meaning, and life could have no other meaning. She +pushed right out of the building and walked slowly down the +outside staircase, breathing the autumnal air, and then she +strolled home. + +"Margaret," called Mrs. Munt, "is Helen all right?" + +"Oh yes." + +"She is always going away in the middle of a programme," said +Tibby. + +"The music has evidently moved her deeply," said Fraulein +Mosebach. + +"Excuse me," said Margaret's young man, who had for some time +been preparing a sentence, "but that lady has, quite +inadvertently, taken my umbrella." + +"Oh, good gracious me!--I am so sorry. Tibby, run after Helen." + +"I shall miss the Four Serious Songs if I do." + +"Tibby, love, you must go." + +"It isn't of any consequence," said the young man, in truth a +little uneasy about his umbrella. + +"But of course it is. Tibby! Tibby!" + +Tibby rose to his feet, and wilfully caught his person on the +backs of the chairs. By the time he had tipped up the seat and +had found his hat, and had deposited his full score in safety, it +was "too late" to go after Helen. The Four Serious Songs had +begun, and one could not move during their performance. + +"My sister is so careless," whispered Margaret. + +"Not at all," replied the young man; but his voice was dead and +cold. + +"If you would give me your address--" + +"Oh, not at all, not at all;" and he wrapped his greatcoat over +his knees. + +Then the Four Serious Songs rang shallow in Margaret's ears. +Brahms, for all his grumbling and grizzling, had never guessed +what it felt like to be suspected of stealing an umbrella. For +this fool of a young man thought that she and Helen and Tibby had +been playing the confidence trick on him, and that if he gave his +address they would break into his rooms some midnight or other +and steal his walking-stick too. Most ladies would have laughed, +but Margaret really minded, for it gave her a glimpse into +squalor. To trust people is a luxury in which only the wealthy +can indulge; the poor cannot afford it. As soon as Brahms had +grunted himself out, she gave him her card and said, "That is +where we live; if you preferred, you could call for the umbrella +after the concert, but I didn't like to trouble you when it has +all been our fault." + +His face brightened a little when he saw that Wickham Place was +W. It was sad to see him corroded with suspicion, and yet not +daring to be impolite, in case these well-dressed people were +honest after all. She took it as a good sign that he said to her, +"It's a fine programme this afternoon, is it not?" for this was +the remark with which he had originally opened, before the +umbrella intervened. + +"The Beethoven's fine," said Margaret, who was not a female of +the encouraging type. "I don't like the Brahms, though, nor the +Mendelssohn that came first and ugh! I don't like this Elgar +that's coming." + +"What, what?" called Herr Liesecke, overhearing. "The 'Pomp and +Circumstance' will not be fine?" + +"Oh, Margaret, you tiresome girl!" cried her aunt. + +"Here have I been persuading Herr Liesecke to stop for 'Pomp and +Circumstance,' and you are undoing all my work. I am so anxious +for him to hear what WE are doing in music. Oh,--you musn't run +down our English composers, Margaret." + +"For my part, I have heard the composition at Stettin," said +Fraulein Mosebach, "on two occasions. It is dramatic, a little." + +"Frieda, you despise English music. You know you do. And English +art. And English literature, except Shakespeare, and he's a +German. Very well, Frieda, you may go." + +The lovers laughed and glanced at each other. Moved by a common +impulse, they rose to their feet and fled from "Pomp and +Circumstance." + +"We have this call to pay in Finsbury Circus, it is true," said +Herr Liesecke, as he edged past her and reached the gangway just +as the music started. + +"Margaret--" loudly whispered by Aunt Juley. + +"Margaret, Margaret! Fraulein Mosebach has left her beautiful +little bag behind her on the seat." + +Sure enough, there was Frieda's reticule, containing her address +book, her pocket dictionary, her map of London, and her money. + +"Oh, what a bother--what a family we are! Fr--frieda!" + +"Hush!" said all those who thought the music fine. + +"But it's the number they want in Finsbury Circus." + +"Might I--couldn't I--" said the suspicious young man, and got +very red. + +"Oh, I would be so grateful." + +He took the bag--money clinking inside it--and slipped up the +gangway with it. He was just in time to catch them at the +swing-door, and he received a pretty smile from the German girl +and a fine bow from her cavalier. He returned to his seat +upsides with the world. The trust that they had reposed in him +was trivial, but he felt that it cancelled his mistrust for them, +and that probably he would not be "had" over his umbrella. This +young man had been "had" in the past badly, perhaps +overwhelmingly--and now most of his energies went in defending +himself against the unknown. But this afternoon--perhaps on +account of music--he perceived that one must slack off +occasionally or what is the good of being alive? Wickham Place, +W., though a risk, was as safe as most things, and he would risk +it. + +So when the concert was over and Margaret said, "We live quite +near; I am going there now. Could you walk round with me, and +we'll find your umbrella?" he said, "Thank you," peaceably, and +followed her out of the Queen's Hall. She wished that he was not +so anxious to hand a lady downstairs, or to carry a lady's +programme for her--his class was near enough her own for its +manners to vex her. But she found him interesting on the whole-- +every one interested the Schlegels on the whole at that time--and +while her lips talked culture, her heart was planning to invite +him to tea. + +"How tired one gets after music!" she began. + +"Do you find the atmosphere of Queen's Hall oppressive?" + +"Yes, horribly." + +"But surely the atmosphere of Covent Garden is even more +oppressive." + +"Do you go there much?" + +"When my work permits, I attend the gallery for the Royal Opera." + +Helen would have exclaimed, "So do I. I love the gallery," and +thus have endeared herself to the young man. Helen could do these +things. But Margaret had an almost morbid horror of "drawing +people out," of "making things go." She had been to the gallery +at Covent Garden, but she did not "attend" it, preferring the +more expensive seats; still less did she love it. So she made no +reply. + +"This year I have been three times--to 'Faust,' 'Tosca,' and--" +Was it "Tannhouser" or "Tannhoyser"? Better not risk the word. + +Margaret disliked "Tosca" and "Faust." And so, for one reason and +another, they walked on in silence, chaperoned by the voice of +Mrs. Munt, who was getting into difficulties with her nephew. + +"I do in a WAY remember the passage, Tibby, but when every +instrument is so beautiful, it is difficult to pick out one thing +rather than another. I am sure that you and Helen take me to the +very nicest concerts. Not a dull note from beginning to end. I +only wish that our German friends had stayed till it finished." + +"But surely you haven't forgotten the drum steadily beating on +the low C, Aunt Juley?" came Tibby's voice. "No one could. It's +unmistakable." + +"A specially loud part?" hazarded Mrs. Munt. "Of course I do not +go in for being musical," she added, the shot failing. "I only +care for music--a very different thing. But still I will say this +for myself--I do know when I like a thing and when I don't. Some +people are the same about pictures. They can go into a picture +gallery--Miss Conder can--and say straight off what they feel, +all round the wall. I never could do that. But music is so +different from pictures, to my mind. When it comes to music I am +as safe as houses, and I assure you, Tibby, I am by no means +pleased by everything. There was a thing--something about a faun +in French--which Helen went into ecstasies over, but I thought it +most tinkling and superficial, and said so, and I held to my +opinion too." + +"Do you agree?" asked Margaret. "Do you think music is so +different from pictures?" + +"I--I should have thought so, kind of," he said. + +"So should I. Now, my sister declares they're just the same. We +have great arguments over it. She says I'm dense; I say she's +sloppy." Getting under way, she cried: "Now, doesn't it seem +absurd to you? What is the good of the Arts if they 're +interchangeable? What is the good of the ear if it tells you the +same as the eye? Helen's one aim is to translate tunes into the +language of painting, and pictures into the language of music. +It's very ingenious, and she says several pretty things in the +process, but what's gained, I'd like to know? Oh, it's all +rubbish, radically false. If Monet's really Debussy, and +Debussy's really Monet, neither gentleman is worth his salt-- +that's my opinion." + +Evidently these sisters quarrelled. + +"Now, this very symphony that we've just been having--she won't +let it alone. She labels it with meanings from start to finish; +turns it into literature. I wonder if the day will ever return +when music will be treated as music. Yet I don't know. There's my +brother--behind us. He treats music as music, and oh, my +goodness! +He makes me angrier than any one, simply furious. With him I +daren't even argue." + +An unhappy family, if talented. + +"But, of course, the real villain is Wagner. He has done more +than any man in the nineteenth century towards the muddling of +the arts. I do feel that music is in a very serious state just +now, though extraordinarily interesting. Every now and then in +history there do come these terrible geniuses, like Wagner, who +stir up all the wells of thought at once. For a moment it's +splendid. Such a splash as never was. But afterwards--such a lot +of mud; and the wells--as it were, they communicate with each +other too easily now, and not one of them will run quite clear. +That's what Wagner's done." + +Her speeches fluttered away from the young man like birds. If +only he could talk like this, he would have caught the world. Oh, +to acquire culture! Oh, to pronounce foreign names correctly! Oh, +to be well informed, discoursing at ease on every subject that a +lady started! But it would take one years. With an hour at lunch +and a few shattered hours in the evening, how was it possible to +catch up with leisured women, who had been reading steadily from +childhood? His brain might be full of names, he might have even +heard of Monet and Debussy; the trouble was that he could not +string them together into a sentence, he could not make them +"tell," he could not quite forget about his stolen umbrella. Yes, +the umbrella was the real trouble. Behind Monet and Debussy the +umbrella persisted, with the steady beat of a drum. "I suppose my +umbrella will be all right," he was thinking. "I don't really +mind about it. I will think about music instead. I suppose my +umbrella will be all right." Earlier in the afternoon he had +worried about seats. Ought he to have paid as much as two +shillings? Earlier still he had wondered, "Shall I try to do +without a programme?" There had always been something to worry +him ever since he could remember, always something that +distracted him in the pursuit of beauty. For he did pursue +beauty, and, therefore, Margaret's speeches did flutter away from +him like birds. + +Margaret talked ahead, occasionally saying, "Don't you think so? +don't you feel the same?" And once she stopped, and said, "Oh, do +interrupt me!" which terrified him. She did not attract him, +though she filled him with awe. Her figure was meagre, her face +seemed all teeth and eyes, her references to her sister and her +brother were uncharitable. For all her cleverness and culture, +she was probably one of those soulless, atheistical women who +have been so shown up by Miss Corelli. It was surprising (and +alarming) that she should suddenly say, "I do hope that you'll +come in and have some tea. We should be so glad. I have dragged +you so far out of your way." + +They had arrived at Wickham Place. The sun had set, and the +backwater, in deep shadow, was filling with a gentle haze. To the +right the fantastic sky-line of the flats towered black against +the hues of evening; to the left the older houses raised a +square-cut, irregular parapet against the grey. Margaret fumbled +for her latch-key. Of course she had forgotten it. So, grasping +her umbrella by its ferrule, she leant over the area and tapped +at the dining-room window. + +"Helen! Let us in!" + +"All right," said a voice. + +"You've been taking this gentleman's umbrella." + +"Taken a what?" said Helen, opening the door. "Oh, what's that? +Do come in! How do you do?" + +"Helen, you must not be so ramshackly. You took this gentleman's +umbrella away from Queen's Hall, and he has had the trouble of +coming round for it." + +"Oh, I am so sorry!" cried Helen, all her hair flying. She had +pulled off her hat as soon as she returned, and had flung herself +into the big dining-room chair. "I do nothing but steal +umbrellas. I am so very sorry! Do come in and choose one. Is yours +a hooky or a nobbly? Mine's a nobbly--at least, I THINK it is." + +The light was turned on, and they began to search the hall, +Helen, who had abruptly parted with the Fifth Symphony, +commenting with shrill little cries. + +"Don't you talk, Meg,! You stole an old gentleman's silk top-hat. +Yes, she did, Aunt Juley. It is a positive fact. She thought it +was a muff. Oh, heavens! I've knocked the In-and-Out card down. +Where's Frieda? Tibby, why don't you ever-- No, I can't remember +what I was going to say. That wasn't it, but do tell the maids to +hurry tea up. What about this umbrella? " She opened it. "No, +it's all gone along the seams. It's an appalling umbrella. It +must be mine." + +But it was not. + +He took it from her, murmured a few words of thanks, and then +fled, with the lilting step of the clerk. + +"But if you will stop--" cried Margaret. "Now, Helen, how stupid +you've been!" + +"Whatever have I done?" + +"Don't you see that you've frightened him away? I meant him to +stop to tea. You oughtn't to talk about stealing or holes in an +umbrella. I saw his nice eyes getting so miserable. No, it's not +a bit of good now." For Helen had darted out into the street, +shouting, "Oh, do stop!" + +"I dare say it is all for the best," opined Mrs. Munt. "We know +nothing about the young man, Margaret, and your drawing-room is +full of very tempting little things." + +But Helen cried: "Aunt Juley, how can you! You make me more and +more ashamed. I'd rather he had been a thief and taken all the +apostle spoons than that I-- Well, I must shut the front-door, I +suppose. One more failure for Helen." + +"Yes, I think the apostle spoons could have gone as rent," said +Margaret. Seeing that her aunt did not understand, she added: +"You remember 'rent'? It was one of father's words-- Rent to the +ideal, to his own faith in human nature. You remember how he +would trust strangers, and if they fooled him he would say, +'It's better to be fooled than to be suspicious'--that the +confidence trick is the work of man, but the want-of-confidence +trick is the work of the devil." + +"I remember something of the sort now," said Mrs. Munt, rather +tartly, for she longed to add, "It was lucky that your father +married a wife with money." But this was unkind, and she +contented herself with, "Why, he might have stolen the little +Ricketts picture as well." + +"Better that he had," said Helen stoutly. + +"No, I agree with Aunt Juley," said Margaret. "I'd rather +mistrust people than lose my little Ricketts. There are limits." + +Their brother, finding the incident commonplace, had stolen +upstairs to see whether there were scones for tea. He warmed the +teapot--almost too deftly--rejected the orange pekoe that the +parlour-maid had provided, poured in five spoonfuls of a superior +blend, filled up with really boiling water, and now called to the +ladies to be quick or they would lose the aroma. + +"All right, Auntie Tibby," called Heien, while Margaret, +thoughtful again, said: "In a way, I wish we had a real boy in +the house--the kind of boy who cares for men. It would make +entertaining so much easier." + +"So do I," said her sister. "Tibby only cares for cultured +females singing Brahms." And when they joined him she said rather +sharply: "Why didn't you make that young man welcome, Tibby? You +must do the host a little, you know. You ought to have taken his +hat and coaxed him into stopping, instead of letting him be +swamped by screaming women." + +Tibby sighed, and drew a long strand of hair over his forehead. + +"Oh, it's no good looking superior. I mean what I say." + +"Leave Tibby alone!" said Margaret, who could not bear her +brother to be scolded. + +"Here's the house a regular hen-coop!" grumbled Helen. + +"Oh, my dear!" protested Mrs. Munt. "How can you say such +dreadful things! The number of men you get here has always +astonished me. If there is any danger it's the other way round." + +"Yes, but it's the wrong sort of men, Helen means." + +"No, I don't," corrected Helen. "We get the right sort of man, +but the wrong side of him, and I say that's Tibby's fault. There +ought to be a something about the house--an--I don't know what." + +"A touch of the W's, perhaps?" + +Helen put out her tongue. + +"Who are the W's?" asked Tibby. + +"The W's are things I and Meg and Aunt Juley know about and you +don't, so there!" + +"I suppose that ours is a female house," said Margaret, "and one +must just accept it. No, Aunt Juley, I don't mean that this house +is full of women. I am trying to say something much more clever. +I mean that it was irrevocably feminine, even in father's time. +Now I'm sure you understand! Well, I'll give you another example. +It'll shock you, but I don't care. Suppose Queen Victoria gave a +dinner-party, and that the guests had been Leighton, Millais, +Swinburne, Rossetti, Meredith, Fitzgerald, etc. Do you suppose +that the atmosphere of that dinner would have been artistic? +Heavens, no! The very chairs on which they sat would have seen to +that. So with out house--it must be feminine, and all we can do +is to see that it isn't effeminate. Just as another house that I +can mention, but won't, sounded irrevocably masculine, and all +its inmates can do is to see that it isn't brutal." + +"That house being the W's house, I presume," said Tibby. + +"You're not going to be told about the W's, my child," Helen +cried, "so don't you think it. And on the other hand, I don't the +least mind if you find out, so don't you think you've done +anything clever, in either case. Give me a cigarette." + +"You do what you can for the house," said Margaret. "The +drawing-room reeks of smoke." + +"If you smoked too, the house might suddenly turn masculine. +Atmosphere is probably a question of touch and go. Even at Queen +Victoria's dinner-party--if something had been just a little +Different--perhaps if she'd worn a clinging Liberty tea-gown +instead of a magenta satin." + +"With an India shawl over her shoulders--" + +"Fastened at the bosom with a Cairngorm-pin." + +Bursts of disloyal laughter--you must remember that they are half +German--greeted these suggestions, and Margaret said pensively, +"How inconceivable it would be if the Royal Family cared about +Art." And the conversation drifted away and away, and Helen's +cigarette turned to a spot in the darkness, and the great flats +opposite were sown with lighted windows which vanished and were +refit again, and vanished incessantly. Beyond them the +thoroughfare roared gently--a tide that could never be quiet, +while in the east, invisible behind the smokes of Wapping, the +moon was rising. + +"That reminds me, Margaret. We might have taken that young man +into the dining-room, at all events. Only the majolica plate--and +that is so firmly set in the wall. I am really distressed that he +had no tea." + +For that little incident had impressed the three women more than +might be supposed. It remained as a goblin footfall, as a hint +that all is not for the best in the best of all possible worlds, +and that beneath these superstructures of wealth and art there +wanders an ill-fed boy, who has recovered his umbrella indeed, +but who has left no address behind him, and no name. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +WE are not concerned with the very poor. They are unthinkable and +only to be approached by the statistician or the poet. This story +deals with gentlefolk, or with those who are obliged to pretend +that they are gentlefolk. + +The boy, Leonard Bast, stood at the extreme verge of gentility. +He was not in the abyss, but he could see it, and at times people +whom he knew had dropped in, and counted no more. He knew that he +was poor, and would admit it; he would have died sooner than +confess any inferiority to the rich. This may be splendid of him. +But he was inferior to most rich people, there is not the least +doubt of it. He was not as courteous as the average rich man, nor +as intelligent, nor as healthy, nor as lovable. His mind and his +body had been alike underfed, because he was poor, and because he +was modern they were always craving better food. Had he lived +some centuries ago, in the brightly coloured civilisations of the +past, he would have had a definite status, his rank and his +income would have corresponded. But in his day the angel of +Democracy had arisen, enshadowing the classes with leathern +wings, and proclaiming, "All men are equal--all men, that is to +say, who possess umbrellas," and so he was obliged to assert +gentility, lest he slip into the abyss where nothing counts, and +the statements of Democracy are inaudible. + +As he walked away from Wickham Place, his first care was to prove +that he was as good as the Miss Schlegels. Obscurely wounded in +his pride, he tried to wound them in return. They were probably +not ladies. Would real ladies have asked him to tea? They were +certainly ill-natured and cold. At each step his feeling of +superiority increased. Would a real lady have talked about +stealing an umbrella? Perhaps they were thieves after all, and if +he had gone into the house they would have clapped a chloroformed +handkerchief over his face. He walked on complacently as far as +the Houses of Parliament. There an empty stomach asserted itself, +and told him that he was a fool. + +"Evening, Mr. Bast." + +"Evening, Mr. Dealtry." + +"Nice evening." + +"Evening." + +Mr. Dealtry, a fellow clerk, passed on, and Leonard stood +wondering whether he would take the tram as far as a penny would +take him, or whether he would walk. He decided to walk--it is no +good giving in, and he had spent money enough at Queen's Hall-- +and he walked over Westminster Bridge, in front of St. Thomas's +Hospital, and through the immense tunnel that passes under the +South-Western main line at Vauxhall. In the tunnel he paused and +listened to the roar of the trains. A sharp pain darted through +his head, and he was conscious of the exact form of his eye +sockets. He pushed on for another mile, and did not slacken speed +until he stood at the entrance of a road called Camelia Road +which was at present his home. + +Here he stopped again, and glanced suspiciously to right and +left, like a rabbit that is going to bolt into its hole. A block +of flats, constructed with extreme cheapness, towered on either +hand. Farther down the road two more blocks were being built, and +beyond these an old house was being demolished to accommodate +another pair. It was the kind of scene that may be observed all +over London, whatever the locality--bricks and mortar rising and +falling with the restlessness of the water in a fountain as the +city receives more and more men upon her soil. Camelia Road would +soon stand out like a fortress, and command, for a little, an +extensive view. Only for a little. Plans were out for the +erection of flats in Magnolia Road also. And again a few years, +and all the flats in either road might be pulled down, and new +buildings, of a vastness at present unimaginable, might arise +where they had fallen. + +"Evening, Mr. Bast." + +"Evening, Mr. Cunningham." + +"Very serious thing this decline of the birth-rate in +Manchester." + +"I beg your pardon?" + +"Very serious thing this decline of the birth-rate in +Manchester," repeated Mr. Cunningham, tapping the Sunday paper, +in which the calamity in question had just been announced to him. + +"Ah, yes," said Leonard, who was not going to let on that he had +not bought a Sunday paper. + +"If this kind of thing goes on the population of England will be +stationary in 1960." + +"You don't say so." + +"I call it a very serious thing, eh?" + +"Good-evening, Mr. Cunningham." + +"Good-evening, Mr. Bast." + +Then Leonard entered Block B of the flats, and turned, not +upstairs, but down, into what is known to house agents as a +semi-basement, and to other men as a cellar. He opened the door, +and cried, "Hullo!" with the pseudo geniality of the Cockney. +There was no reply. "Hullo!" he repeated. The sitting-room was +empty, though the electric light had been left burning. A look of +relief came over his face, and he flung himself into the +armchair. + +The sitting-room contained, besides the armchair, two other +chairs, a piano, a three-legged table, and a cosy corner. Of the +walls, one was occupied by the window, the other by a draped +mantelshelf bristling with Cupids. Opposite the window was the +door, and beside the door a bookcase, while over the piano there +extended one of the masterpieces of Maud Goodman. It was an +amorous and not unpleasant little hole when the curtains were +drawn, and the lights turned on, and the gas-stove unlit. But it +struck that shallow makeshift note that is so often heard in the +dwelling-place. It had been too easily gained, and could be +relinquished too easily. + +As Leonard was kicking off his boots he jarred the three-legged +table, and a photograph frame, honourably poised upon it, slid +sideways, fell off into the fireplace, and smashed. He swore in a +colourless sort of way, and picked the photograph up. It +represented a young lady called Jacky, and had been taken at the +time when young ladies called Jacky were often photographed with +their mouths open. Teeth of dazzling whiteness extended along +either of Jacky's jaw's, and positively weighed her head +sideways, so large were they and so numerous. Take my word for +it, that smile was simply stunning, and it is only you and I who +will be fastidious, and complain that true joy begins in the +eyes, and that the eyes of Jacky did not accord with her smile, +but were anxious and hungry. + +Leonard tried to pull out the fragments of glass, and cut his +fingers and swore again. A drop of blood fell on the frame, +another followed, spilling over on to the exposed photograph. He +swore more vigorously, and dashed into the kitchen, where he +bathed his hands. The kitchen was the same size as the +sitting-room; beyond it was a bedroom. This completed his home. +He was renting the flat furnished; of all the objects that +encumbered it none were his own except the photograph frame, the +Cupids, and the books. + +"Damn, damn, damnation!" he murmured, together with such other +words as he had learnt from older men. Then he raised his hand to +his forehead and said, "Oh, damn it all--"which meant something +different. He pulled himself together. He drank a little tea, +black and silent, that still survived upon an upper shelf. He +swallowed some dusty crumbs of a cake. Then he went back to the +sitting-room, settled himself anew, and began to read a volume of +Ruskin. + +"Seven miles to the north of Venice--" + +How perfectly the famous chapter opens! How supreme its command +of admonition and of poetry! The rich man is speaking to us from +his gondola. + +"Seven miles to the north of Venice the banks of sand which +nearer the city rise little above low-water mark attain by +degrees a higher level, and knit themselves at last into fields +of salt morass, raised here and there into shapeless mounds, and +intercepted by narrow creeks of sea." + +Leonard was trying to form his style on Ruskin; he understood him +to be the greatest master of English Prose. He read forward +steadily, occasionally making a few notes. + +"Let us consider a little each of these characters in succession, +and first (for of the shafts enough has been said already), what +is very peculiar to this church--its luminousness." + +Was there anything to be learnt from this fine sentence? Could he +adapt it to the needs of daily life? Could he introduce it, with +modifications, when he next wrote a letter to his brother, the +lay-reader? For example: + +"Let us consider a little each of these characters in succession, +and first (for of the absence of ventilation enough has been said +already), what is very peculiar to this flat--its obscurity." + +Something told him that the modifications would not do; and that +something, had he known it, was the spirit of English Prose. "My +flat is dark as well as stuffy." Those were the words for him. + +And the voice in the gondola rolled on, piping melodiously of +Effort and Self-Sacrifice, full of high purpose, full of beauty, +full even of sympathy and the love of men, yet somehow eluding +all that was actual and insistent in Leonard's life. For it was +the voice of one who had never been dirty or hungry, and had not +guessed successfully what dirt and hunger are. + +Leonard listened to it with reverence. He felt that he was being +done good to, and that if he kept on with Ruskin, and the Queen's +Hall Concerts, and some pictures by Watts, he would one day push +his head out of the grey waters and see the universe. He believed +in sudden conversion, a belief which may be right, but which is +peculiarly attractive to a half-baked mind. It is the basis of +much popular religion; in the domain of business it dominates the +Stock Exchange, and becomes that "bit of luck" by which all +successes and failures are explained. "If only I had a bit of +luck, the whole thing would come straight... He's got a most +magnificent place down at Streatham and a 20 h.p. Fiat, but +then, mind you, he's had luck... I 'm sorry the wife's so late, +but she never has any luck over catching trains." Leonard was +superior to these people; he did believe in effort and in a +steady preparation for the change that he desired. But of a +heritage that may expand gradually, he had no conception; he +hoped to come to Culture suddenly, much as the Revivalist hopes +to come to Jesus. Those Miss Schlegels had come to it; they had +done the trick; their hands were upon the ropes, once and for +all. And meanwhile, his flat was dark, as well as stuffy. + +Presently there was a noise on the staircase. He shut up +Margaret's card in the pages of Ruskin, and opened the door. A +woman entered, of whom it is simplest to say that she was not +respectable. Her appearance was awesome. She seemed all strings +and bell-pulls--ribbons, chains, bead necklaces that clinked and +caught and a boa of azure feathers hung round her neck, with the +ends uneven. Her throat was bare, wound with a double row of +pearls, her arms were bare to the elbows, and might again be +detected at the shoulder, through cheap lace. Her hat, which was +flowery, resembled those punnets, covered with flannel, which we +sowed with mustard and cress in our childhood, and which +germinated here yes, and there no. She wore it on the back of her +head. As for her hair, or rather hairs, they are too complicated +to describe, but one system went down her back, lying in a thick +pad there, while another, created for a lighter destiny, rippled +around her forehead. The face--the face does not signify. It was +the face of the photograph, but older, and the teeth were not so +numerous as the photographer had suggested, and certainly not so +white. Yes, Jacky was past her prime, whatever that prime may +have been. She was descending quicker than most women into the +colourless years, and the look in her eyes confessed it." + +"What ho!" said Leonard, greeting the apparition with much +spirit, and helping it off with its boa. + +Jacky, in husky tones, replied, "What ho!" + +"Been out?" he asked. The question sounds superfluous, but it +cannot have been really, for the lady answered, "No," adding, +"Oh, I am so tired." + +"You tired?" + +"Eh?" + +"I'm tired," said he, hanging the boa up. + +"Oh, Len, I am so tired." + +"I've been to that classical concert I told you about," said +Leonard. + +"What's that?" + +"I came back as soon as it was over." + +"Any one been round to our place?" asked Jacky. + +"Not that I've seen. I met Mr. Cunningham outside, and we passed +a few remarks." + +"What, not Mr. Cunningham?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh, you mean Mr. Cunningham." + +"Yes. Mr. Cunningham." + +"I've been out to tea at a lady friend's." + +Her secret being at last given--to the world, and the name of the +lady friend being even adumbrated, Jacky made no further +experiments in the difficult and tiring art of conversation. She +never had been a great talker. Even in her photographic days she +had relied upon her smile and her figure to attract, and now +that she was + + "On the shelf, + On the shelf, + Boys, boys, I'm on the shelf," + +she was not likely to find her tongue. Occasional bursts of song +(of which the above is an example) still issued from her lips, +but the spoken word was rare. + +She sat down on Leonard's knee, and began to fondle him. She was +now a massive woman of thirty-three, and her weight hurt him, but +he could not very well say anything. Then she said, "Is that a +book you're reading?" and he said, "That's a book," and drew it +from her unreluctant grasp. Margaret's card fell out of it. It +fell face downwards, and he murmured, "Bookmarker." + +"Len--" + +"What is it?" he asked, a little wearily, for she only had one +topic of conversation when she sat upon his knee. + +"You do love me?" + +"Jacky, you know that I do. How can you ask such questions!" + +"But you do love me, Len, don't you?" + +"Of course I do." + +A pause. The other remark was still due. + +"Len--" + +"Well? What is it?" + +"Len, you will make it all right?" + +"I can't have you ask me that again," said the boy, flaring up +into a sudden passion. "I've promised to marry you when I'm of +age, and that's enough. My word's my word. I've promised to marry +you as soon as ever I'm twenty-one, and I can't keep on being +worried. I've worries enough. It isn't likely I'd throw you over, +let alone my word, when I've spent all this money. Besides, I'm +an Englishman, and I never go back on my word. Jacky, do be +reasonable. Of course I'll marry you. Only do stop badgering me." + +"When's your birthday, Len?" + +"I've told you again and again, the eleventh of November next. +Now get off my knee a bit; some one must get supper, I suppose." + +Jacky went through to the bedroom, and began to see to her hat. +This meant blowing at it with short sharp puffs. Leonard tidied +up the sitting-room, and began to prepare their evening meal. He +put a penny into the slot of the gas-meter, and soon the flat was +reeking with metallic fumes. Somehow he could not recover his +temper, and all the time he was cooking he continued to complain +bitterly. + +"It really is too bad when a fellow isn't trusted. It makes one +feel so wild, when I've pretended to the people here that you're +my wife--all right, all right, you SHALL be my wife--and I've +bought you the ring to wear, and I've taken this flat furnished, +and it's far more than I can afford, and yet you aren't content, +and I've also not told the truth when I've written home. He +lowered his voice. "He'd stop it." In a tone of horror, that was +a little luxurious, he repeated: "My brother'd stop it. I'm going +against the whole world, Jacky. + +"That's what I am, Jacky. I don't take any heed of what any one +says. I just go straight forward, I do. That's always been my +way. I'm not one of your weak knock-kneed chaps. If a woman's in +trouble, I don't leave her in the lurch. That's not my street. +No, thank you. + +"I'll tell you another thing too. I care a good deal about +improving myself by means of Literature and Art, and so getting a +wider outlook. For instance, when you came in I was reading +Ruskin's Stones of Venice. I don't say this to boast, but just to +show you the kind of man I am. I can tell you, I enjoyed that +classical concert this afternoon." + +To all his moods Jacky remained equally indifferent. When supper +was ready--and not before--she emerged from the bedroom, saying: +"But you do love me, don't you?" + +They began with a soup square, which Leonard had just dissolved +in some hot water. It was followed by the tongue--a freckled +cylinder of meat, with a little jelly at the top, and a great +deal of yellow fat at the bottom--ending with another square +dissolved in water (jelly: pineapple), which Leonard had prepared +earlier in the day. Jacky ate contentedly enough, occasionally +looking at her man with those anxious eyes, to which nothing else +in her appearance corresponded, and which yet seemed to mirror +her soul. And Leonard managed to convince his stomach that it was +having a nourishing meal. + +After supper they smoked cigarettes and exchanged a few +statements. She observed that her "likeness" had been broken. He +found occasion to remark, for the second time, that he had come +straight back home after the concert at Queen's Hall. Presently +she sat upon his knee. The inhabitants of Camelia Road tramped to +and fro outside the window, just on a level with their heads, and +the family in the flat on the ground-floor began to sing, "Hark, +my soul, it is the Lord." + +"That tune fairly gives me the hump," said Leonard. + +Jacky followed this, and said that, for her part, she thought it +a lovely tune. + +"No; I'll play you something lovely. Get up, dear, for a minute." + +He went to the piano and jingled out a little Grieg. He played +badly and vulgarly, but the performance was not without its +effect, for Jacky said she thought she'd be going to bed. As she +receded, a new set of interests possessed the boy, and he began +to think of what had been said about music by that odd Miss +Schlegel--the one that twisted her face about so when she spoke. +Then the thoughts grew sad and envious. There was the girl named +Helen, who had pinched his umbrella, and the German girl who had +smiled at him pleasantly, and Herr some one, and Aunt some one, +and the brother--all, all with their hands on the ropes. They had +all passed up that narrow, rich staircase at Wickham Place to +some ample room, whither he could never follow them, not if he +read for ten hours a day. Oh, it was no good, this continual +aspiration. Some are born cultured; the rest had better go in for +whatever comes easy. To see life steadily and to see it whole was +not for the likes of him. + +From the darkness beyond the kitchen a voice called, Len?" + +"You in bed?" he asked, his forehead twitching. + +"All right." + +Presently she called him again. + +"I must clean my boots ready for the morning," he answered. + +Presently she called him again. + +"I rather want to get this chapter done." + +"What?" + +He closed his ears against her. + +"What's that?" + +"All right, Jacky, nothing; I'm reading a book." + +"What?" + +"What?" he answered, catching her degraded deafness. + +Presently she called him again. + +Ruskin had visited Torcello by this time, and was ordering his +gondoliers to take him to Murano. It occurred to him, as he +glided over the whispering lagoons, that the power of Nature +could not be shortened by the folly, nor her beauty altogether +saddened by the misery of such as Leonard. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +"Oh, Margaret," cried her aunt next morning, "such a most +unfortunate thing has happened. I could not get you alone." + +The most unfortunate thing was not very serious. One of the flats +in the ornate block opposite had been taken furnished by the +Wilcox family, "coming up, no doubt, in the hope of getting into +London society." That Mrs. Munt should be the first to discover +the misfortune was not remarkable, for she was so interested in +the flats, that she watched their every mutation with unwearying +care. In theory she despised them--they took away that old-world +look--they cut off the sun--flats house a flashy type of person. +But if the truth had been known, she found her visits to Wickham +Place twice as amusing since Wickham Mansions had arisen, and +would in a couple of days learn more about them than her nieces +in a couple of months, or her nephew in a couple of years. She +would stroll across and make friends with the porters, and +inquire what the rents were, exclaiming for example: "What! a +hundred and twenty for a basement? You'll never get it!" And they +would answer: "One can but try, madam." The passenger lifts, the +arrangement for coals (a great temptation for a dishonest +porter), were all familiar matters to her, and perhaps a relief +from the politico-economical-esthetic atmosphere that reigned at +the Schlegels. + +Margaret received the information calmly, and did not agree that +it would throw a cloud over poor Helen's life. + +"Oh, but Helen isn't a girl with no interests," she explained. +"She has plenty of other things and other people to think about. +She made a false start with the Wilcoxes, and she'll be as +willing as we are to have nothing more to do with them." + +"For a clever girl, dear, how very oddly you do talk. Helen'll +HAVE to have something more to do with them, now that they 're +all opposite. She may meet that Paul in the street. She cannot +very well not bow." + +"Of course she must bow. But look here; let's do the flowers. I +was going to say, the will to be interested in him has died, and +what else matters? I look on that disastrous episode (over which +you were so kind) as the killing of a nerve in Helen. It's dead, +and she'll never be troubled with it again. The only things that +matter are the things that interest one. Bowing, even calling and +leaving cards, even a dinner-party--we can do all those things to +the Wilcoxes, if they find it agreeable; but the other thing, the +one important thing--never again. Don't you see?" + +Mrs. Munt did not see, and indeed Margaret was making a most +questionable statement--that any emotion, any interest once +vividly aroused, can wholly die. + +"I also have the honour to inform you that the Wilcoxes are bored +with us. I didn't tell you at the time--it might have made you +angry, and you had enough to worry you--but I wrote a letter to +Mrs. W, and apologised for the trouble that Helen had given them. +She didn't answer it." + +"How very rude!" + +"I wonder. Or was it sensible?" + +"No, Margaret, most rude." + +"In either case one can class it as reassuring." + +Mrs. Munt sighed. She was going back to Swanage on the morrow, +just as her nieces were wanting her most. Other regrets crowded +upon her: for instance, how magnificently she would have cut +Charles if she had met him face to face. She had already seen +him, giving an order to the porter--and very common he looked in +a tall hat. But unfortunately his back was turned to her, and +though she had cut his back, she could not regard this as a +telling snub. + +"But you will be careful, won't you?" she exhorted. + +"Oh, certainly. Fiendishly careful." + +"And Helen must be careful, too." + +"Careful over what?" cried Helen, at that moment coming into the +room with her cousin. + +"Nothing" said Margaret, seized with a momentary awkwardness. + +"Careful over what, Aunt Juley?" + +Mrs. Munt assumed a cryptic air. "It is only that a certain +family, whom we know by name but do not mention, as you said +yourself last night after the concert, have taken the flat +opposite from the Mathesons--where the plants are in the +balcony." + +Helen began some laughing reply, and then disconcerted them all +by blushing. Mrs. Munt was so disconcerted that she exclaimed, +"What, Helen, you don't mind them coming, do you?" and deepened +the blush to crimson. + +"Of course I don't mind," said Helen a little crossly. "It is +that you and Meg are both so absurdly grave about it, when +there's nothing to be grave about at all." + +"I'm not grave," protested Margaret, a little cross in her turn. + +"Well, you look grave; doesn't she, Frieda?" + +"I don't feel grave, that's all I can say; you're going quite on +the wrong tack." + +"No, she does not feel grave," echoed Mrs. Munt. "I can bear +witness to that. She disagrees--" + +"Hark!" interrupted Fraulein Mosebach. "I hear Bruno entering the +hall." + +For Herr Liesecke was due at Wickham Place to call for the two +younger girls. He was not entering the hall--in fact, he did not +enter it for quite five minutes. But Frieda detected a delicate +situation, and said that she and Helen had much better wait for +Bruno down below, and leave Margaret and Mrs. Munt to finish +arranging the flowers. Helen acquiesced. But, as if to prove that +the situation was not delicate really, she stopped in the doorway +and said: + +"Did you say the Mathesons' flat, Aunt Juley? How wonderful you +are! I never knew that the name of the woman who laced too +tightly was Matheson." + +"Come, Helen," said her cousin. + +"Go, Helen," said her aunt; and continued to Margaret almost in +the same breath: "Helen cannot deceive me. She does mind." + +"Oh, hush!" breathed Margaret. "Frieda'll hear you, and she can +be so tiresome." + +"She minds," persisted Mrs. Munt, moving thoughtfully about the +room, and pulling the dead chrysanthemums out of the vases. "I +knew she'd mind--and I'm sure a girl ought to! Such an +experience! Such awful coarse-grained people! I know more about +them than you do, which you forget, and if Charles had taken you +that motor drive--well, you'd have reached the house a perfect +wreck. Oh, Margaret, you don't know what you are in for! They're +all bottled up against the drawing-room window. There's Mrs. +Wilcox--I've seen her. There's Paul. There's Evie, who is a minx. +There's Charles--I saw him to start with. And who would an +elderly man with a moustache and a copper-coloured face be?" + +"Mr. Wilcox, possibly." + +"I knew it. And there's Mr. Wilcox." + +"It's a shame to call his face copper colour," complained +Margaret. "He has a remarkably good complexion for a man of his +age." + +Mrs. Munt, triumphant elsewhere, could afford to concede Mr. +Wilcox his complexion. She passed on from it to the plan of +campaign that her nieces should pursue in the future. Margaret +tried to stop her. + +"Helen did not take the news quite as I expected, but the Wilcox +nerve is dead in her really, so there's no need for plans." + +"It's as well to be prepared." + +"No--it's as well not to be prepared." + +"Why?" + +"Because--" + +Her thought drew being from the obscure borderland. She could not +explain in so many words, but she felt that those who prepare for +all the emergencies of life beforehand may equip themselves at +the expense of joy. It is necessary to prepare for an +examination, or a dinner-party, or a possible fall in the price +of stock: those who attempt human relations must adopt another +method, or fail. "Because I'd sooner risk it," was her lame +conclusion. + +"But imagine the evenings," exclaimed her aunt, pointing to the +Mansions with the spout of the watering can. "Turn the electric +light on here or there, and it's almost the same room. One +evening they may forget to draw their blinds down, and you'll see +them; and the next, you yours, and they'll see you. Impossible to +sit out on the balconies. Impossible to water the plants, or even +speak. Imagine going out of the front-door, and they come out +opposite at the same moment. And yet you tell me that plans are +unnecessary, and you'd rather risk it." + +"I hope to risk things all my life." + +"Oh, Margaret, most dangerous." + +"But after all," she continued with a smile, "there's never any +great risk as long as you have money." + +"Oh, shame! What a shocking speech!" + +"Money pads the edges of things," said Miss Schlegel. "God help +those who have none." + +"But this is something quite new!" said Mrs. Munt, who collected +new ideas as a squirrel collects nuts, and was especially +attracted by those that are portable. + +"New for me; sensible people have acknowledged it for years. You +and I and the Wilcoxes stand upon money as upon islands. It is so +firm beneath our feet that we forget its very existence. It's +only when we see some one near us tottering that we realise all +that an independent income means. Last night, when we were +talking up here round the fire, I began to think that the very +soul of the world is economic, and that the lowest abyss is not +the absence of love, but the absence of coin." + +"I call that rather cynical." + +"So do I. But Helen and I, we ought to remember, when we are +tempted to criticise others, that we are standing on these +islands, and that most of the others are down below the surface +of the sea. The poor cannot always reach those whom they want to +love, and they can hardly ever escape from those whom they love +no longer. We rich can. Imagine the tragedy last June, if Helen +and Paul Wilcox had been poor people, and couldn't invoke +railways and motor-cars to part them." + +"That's more like Socialism," said Mrs. Munt suspiciously. + +"Call it what you like. I call it going through life with one's +hand spread open on the table. I'm tired of these rich people who +pretend to be poor, and think it shows a nice mind to ignore the +piles of money that keep their feet above the waves. I stand each +year upon six hundred pounds, and Helen upon the same, and Tibby +will stand upon eight, and as fast as our pounds crumble away +into the sea they are renewed--from the sea, yes, from the sea. +And all our thoughts are the thoughts of six-hundred-pounders, +and all our speeches; and because we don't want to steal +umbrellas ourselves, we forget that below the sea people do want +to steal them and do steal them sometimes, and that what's a joke +up here is down there reality." + +"There they go--there goes Fraulein Mosebach. Really, for a +German she does dress charmingly. Oh!--" + +"What is it?" + +"Helen was looking up at the Wilcoxes' flat." + +"Why shouldn't she?" + +"I beg your pardon, I interrupted you. What was it you were +saying about reality?" + +"I had worked round to myself, as usual," answered Margaret in +tones that were suddenly preoccupied. + +"Do tell me this, at all events. Are you for the rich or for the +poor?" + +"Too difficult. Ask me another. Am I for poverty or for riches? +For riches. Hurrah for riches!" + +"For riches!" echoed Mrs. Munt, having, as it were, at last +secured her nut. + +"Yes. For riches. Money for ever!" + +"So am I, and so, I am afraid, are most of my acquaintances at +Swanage, but I am surprised that you agree with us." + +"Thank you so much, Aunt Juley. While I have talked theories, you +have done the flowers." + +"Not at all, dear. I wish you would let me help you in more +important things." + +"Well, would you be very kind? Would you come round with me to +the registry office? There's a housemaid who won't say yes but +doesn't say no." + +On their way thither they too looked up at the Wilcoxes' flat. +Evie was in the balcony, "staring most rudely," according to Mrs. +Munt. Oh yes, it was a nuisance, there was no doubt of it. Helen +was proof against a passing encounter, but--Margaret began to +lose confidence. Might it reawake the dying nerve if the family +were living close against her eyes? And Frieda Mosebach was +stopping with them for another fortnight, and Frieda was sharp, +abominably sharp, and quite capable of remarking, "You love one +of the young gentlemen opposite, yes?" The remark would be +untrue, but of the kind which, if stated often enough, may become +true; just as the remark, "England and Germany are bound to +fight," renders war a little more likely each time that it is +made, and is therefore made the more readily by the gutter press +of either nation. Have the private emotions also their gutter +press? Margaret thought so, and feared that good Aunt Juley and +Frieda were typical specimens of it. They might, by continual +chatter, lead Helen into a repetition of the desires of June. +Into a repetition--they could not do more; they could not lead +her into lasting love. They were--she saw it clearly--Journalism; +her father, with all his defects and wrong-headedness, had been +Literature, and had he lived, he would have persuaded his +daughter rightly. + +The registry office was holding its morning reception. A string +of carriages filled the street. Miss Schlegel waited her turn, +and finally had to be content with an insidious "temporary," +being rejected by genuine housemaids on the ground of her +numerous stairs. Her failure depressed her, and though she forgot +the failure, the depression remained. On her way home she again +glanced up at the Wilcoxes' flat, and took the rather matronly +step of speaking about the matter to Helen. + +"Helen, you must tell me whether this thing worries you." + +"If what?" said Helen, who was washing her hands for lunch. + +"The Ws' coming." + +"No, of course not." + +"Really?" + +"Really." Then she admitted that she was a little worried on Mrs. +Wilcox's account; she implied that Mrs. Wilcox might reach +backward into deep feelings, and be pained by things that never +touched the other members of that clan. "I shan't mind if Paul +points at our house and says, 'There lives the girl who tried to +catch me.' But she might." + +"If even that worries you, we could arrange something. There's no +reason we should be near people who displease us or whom we +displease, thanks to our money. We might even go away for a +little." + +"Well, I am going away. Frieda's just asked me to Stettin, and I +shan't be back till after the New Year. Will that do? Or must I +fly the country altogether? Really, Meg, what has come over you +to make such a fuss?" + +"Oh, I'm getting an old maid, I suppose. I thought I minded +nothing, but really I--I should be bored if you fell in love with +the same man twice and"--she cleared her throat--"you did go +red, you know, when Aunt Juley attacked you this morning. I +shouldn't have referred to it otherwise." + +But Helen's laugh rang true, as she raised a soapy hand to heaven +and swore that never, nowhere and nohow, would she again fall in +love with any of the Wilcox family, down to its remotest +collaterals. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +The friendship between Margaret and Mrs. Wilcox, which was to +develop so quickly and with such strange results, may perhaps +have had its beginnings at Speyer, in the spring. Perhaps the +elder lady, as she gazed at the vulgar, ruddy cathedral, and +listened to the talk of her husband and Helen, may have detected +in the other and less charming of the sisters a deeper sympathy, +a sounder judgment. She was capable of detecting such things. +Perhaps it was she who had desired the Miss Schlegels to be +invited to Howards End, and Margaret whose presence she had +particularly desired. All this is speculation; Mrs. Wilcox has +left few clear indications behind her. It is certain that she +came to call at Wickham Place a fortnight later, the very day +that Helen was going with her cousin to Stettin. + +"Helen!" cried Fraulein Mosebach in awestruck tones (she was now +in her cousin's confidence)--"his mother has forgiven you!" And +then, remembering that in England the new-comer ought not to call +before she is called upon, she changed her tone from awe to +disapproval, and opined that Mrs. Wilcox was keine Dame. + +"Bother the whole family!" snapped Margaret. "Helen, stop +giggling and pirouetting, and go and finish your packing. Why +can't the woman leave us alone?" + +"I don't know what I shall do with Meg," Helen retorted, +collapsing upon the stairs. She's got Wilcox and Box upon the +brain. Meg, Meg, I don't love the young gentleman; I don't love +the young gentleman, Meg, Meg. Can a body speak plainer?" + +"Most certainly her love has died," asserted Fraulein Mosebach. + +"Most certainly it has, Frieda, but that will not prevent me from +being bored with the Wilcoxes if I return the call." + +Then Helen simulated tears, and Fraulein Mosebach, who thought +her extremely amusing, did the same. "Oh, boo hoo! boo hoo hoo! +Meg's going to return the call, and I can't. 'Cos why? 'Cos I'm +going to German-eye." + +"If you are going to Germany, go and pack; if you aren't, go and +call on the Wilcoxes instead of me." + +"But, Meg, Meg, I don't love the young gentleman; I don't love +the young--O lud, who's that coming down the stairs? I vow 'tis +my brother. O crimini!" + +A male--even such a male as Tibby--was enough to stop the +foolery. The barrier of sex, though decreasing among the +civilised, is still high, and higher on the side of women. Helen +could tell her sister all, and her cousin much about Paul; she +told her brother nothing. It was not prudishness, for she now +spoke of "the Wilcox ideal" with laughter, and even with a +growing brutality. Nor was it precaution, for Tibby seldom +repeated any news that did not concern himself. It was rather the +feeling that she betrayed a secret into the camp of men, and +that, however trivial it was on this side of the barrier, it +would become important on that. So she stopped, or rather began +to fool on other subjects, until her long-suffering relatives +drove her upstairs. Fraulein Mosebach followed her, but lingered +to say heavily over the banisters to Margaret, "It is all right-- +she does not love the young man--he has not been worthy of her." + +"Yes, I know; thanks very much." + +"I thought I did right to tell you." + +"Ever so many thanks." + +"What's that?" asked Tibby. No one told him, and he proceeded +into the dining-room, to eat plums. + +That evening Margaret took decisive action. The house was very +quiet, and the fog--we are in November now--pressed against the +windows like an excluded ghost. Frieda and Helen and all their +luggages had gone. Tibby, who was not feeling well, lay stretched +on a sofa by the fire. Margaret sat by him, thinking. Her mind +darted from impulse to impulse, and finally marshalled them all +in review. The practical person, who knows what he wants at once, +and generally knows nothing else, will accuse her of indecision. +But this was the way her mind worked. And when she did act, no +one could accuse her of indecision then. She hit out as lustily +as if she had not considered the matter at all. The letter that +she wrote Mrs. Wilcox glowed with the native hue of resolution. +The pale cast of thought was with her a breath rather than a +tarnish, a breath that leaves the colours all the more vivid when +it has been wiped away. + +"DEAR MRS. WILCOX, + +"I have to write something discourteous. It would be better if we +did not meet. Both my sister and my aunt have given displeasure +to your family, and, in my sister's case, the grounds for +displeasure might recur. So far as I know she no longer occupies +her thoughts with your son. But it would not be fair, either to +her or to you, if they met, and it is therefore right that our +acquaintance, which began so pleasantly, should end. + +"I fear that you will not agree with this; indeed, I know that +you will not, since you have been good enough to call on us. It +is only an instinct on my part, and no doubt the instinct is +wrong. My sister would, undoubtedly, say that it is wrong. I +write without her knowledge, and I hope that you will not +associate her with my discourtesy. + + "Believe me, + "Yours truly, + "M. J. SCHLEGEL." + +Margaret sent this letter round by the post. Next morning she +received the following reply by hand: + + +"DEAR MISS SCHLEGEL, + +"You should not have written me such a letter. I called to tell +you that Paul has gone abroad. + + "RUTH WILCOX." + +Margaret's cheeks burnt. She could not finish her breakfast. She +was on fire with shame. Helen had told her that the youth was +leaving England, but other things had seemed more important, and +she had forgotten. All her absurd anxieties fell to the ground, +and in their place arose the certainty that she had been rude to +Mrs. Wilcox. Rudeness affected Margaret like a bitter taste in +the mouth. It poisoned life. At times it is necessary, but woe to +those who employ it without due need. She flung on a hat and +shawl, just like a poor woman, and plunged into the fog, which +still continued. Her lips were compressed, the letter remained in +her hand, and in this state she crossed the street, entered the +marble vestibule of the flats, eluded the concierges, and ran up +the stairs till she reached the second floor. She sent in her +name, +and to her surprise was shown straight into Mrs. Wilcox's +bedroom. + +"Oh, Mrs. Wilcox, I have made the baddest blunder. I am more, +more ashamed and sorry than I can say." + +Mrs. Wilcox bowed gravely. She was offended, and did not pretend +to the contrary. She was sitting up in bed, writing letters on an +invalid table that spanned her knees. A breakfast tray was on +another table beside her. The light of the fire, the light from +the window, and the light of a candle-lamp, which threw a +quivering halo round her hands combined to create a strange +atmosphere of dissolution. + +"I knew he was going to India in November, but I forgot." + +"He sailed on the 17th for Nigeria, in Africa." + +"I knew--I know. I have been too absurd all through. I am very +much ashamed." + +Mrs. Wilcox did not answer. + +"I am more sorry than I can say, and I hope that you will forgive +me." + +"It doesn't matter, Miss Schlegel. It is good of you to have come +round so promptly." + +"It does matter," cried Margaret. "I have been rude to you; and +my sister is not even at home, so there was not even that +excuse." + +"Indeed?" + +"She has just gone to Germany." + +"She gone as well," murmured the other. "Yes, certainly, it is +quite safe--safe, absolutely, now." + +"You've been worrying too!" exclaimed Margaret, getting more and +more excited, and taking a chair without invitation. "How +perfectly extraordinary! I can see that you have. You felt as I +do; Helen mustn't meet him again." + +"I did think it best." + +"Now why?" + +"That's a most difficult question," said Mrs. Wilcox, smiling, +and a little losing her expression of annoyance. "I think you put +it best in your letter--it was an instinct, which may be wrong." + +"It wasn't that your son still--" + +"Oh no; he often--my Paul is very young, you see." + +"Then what was it?" + +She repeated: "An instinct which may be wrong." + +"In other words, they belong to types that can fall in love, but +couldn't live together. That's dreadfully probable. I'm afraid +that in nine cases out of ten Nature pulls one way and human +nature another." + +"These are indeed 'other words,'" said Mrs. Wilcox. "I had +nothing so coherent in my head. I was merely alarmed when I knew +that my boy cared for your sister." + +"Ah, I have always been wanting to ask you. How DID you know? +Helen was so surprised when our aunt drove up, and you stepped +forward and arranged things. Did Paul tell you?" + +"There is nothing to be gained by discussing that," said Mrs. +Wilcox after a moment's pause. + +"Mrs. Wilcox, were you very angry with us last June? I wrote you +a letter and you didn't answer it." + +"I was certainly against taking Mrs. Matheson's flat. I knew it +was opposite your house." + +"But it's all right now?" + +"I think so." + +"You only think? You aren't sure? I do love these little muddles +tidied up?" + +"Oh yes, I'm sure," said Mrs. Wilcox, moving with uneasiness +beneath the clothes. "I always sound uncertain over things. It is +my way of speaking." + +"That's all right, and I'm sure, too." + +Here the maid came in to remove the breakfast-tray. They were +interrupted, and when they resumed conversation it was on more +normal lines. + +"I must say good-bye now--you will be getting up." + +"No--please stop a little longer--I am taking a day in bed. Now +and then I do." + +"I thought of you as one of the early risers." + +"At Howards End--yes; there is nothing to get up for in London." + +"Nothing to get up for?" cried the scandalised Margaret. "When +there are all the autumn exhibitions, and Ysaye playing in the +afternoon! Not to mention people." + +"The truth is, I am a little tired. First came the wedding, and +then Paul went off, and, instead of resting yesterday, I paid a +round of calls." + +"A wedding?" + +"Yes; Charles, my elder son, is married." + +"Indeed!" + +"We took the flat chiefly on that account, and also that Paul +could get his African outfit. The flat belongs to a cousin of my +husband's, and she most kindly offered it to us. So before the +day came we were able to make the acquaintance of Dolly's people, +which we had not yet done." + +Margaret asked who Dolly's people were. + +"Fussell. The father is in the Indian army--retired; the brother +is in the army. The mother is dead." + +So perhaps these were the "chinless sunburnt men" whom Helen had +espied one afternoon through the window. Margaret felt mildly +interested in the fortunes of the Wilcox family. She had acquired +the habit on Helen's account, and it still clung to her. She +asked for more information about Miss Dolly Fussell that was, and +was given it in even, unemotional tones. Mrs. Wilcox's voice, +though sweet and compelling, had little range of expression. It +suggested that pictures, concerts, and people are all of small +and equal value. Only once had it quickened--when speaking of +Howards End. + +"Charles and Albert Fussell have known one another some time. +They belong to the same club, and are both devoted to golf. Dolly +plays golf too, though I believe not so well; and they first met +in a mixed foursome. We all like her, and are very much pleased. +They were married on the 11th, a few days before Paul sailed. +Charles was very anxious to have his brother as best man, so he +made a great point of having it on the 11th. The Fussells would +have preferred it after Christmas, but they were very nice about +it. There is Dolly's photograph--in that double frame." + +"Are you quite certain that I'm not interrupting, Mrs. Wilcox?" + +"Yes, quite." + +"Then I will stay. I'm enjoying this." + +Dolly's photograph was now examined. It was signed "For dear +Mims," which Mrs. Wilcox interpreted as "the name she and Charles +had settled that she should call me." Dolly looked silly, and had +one of those triangular faces that so often prove attractive to a +robust man. She was very pretty. From her Margaret passed to +Charles, whose features prevailed opposite. She speculated on the +forces that had drawn the two together till God parted them. She +found time to hope that they would be happy. + +"They have gone to Naples for their honeymoon." + +"Lucky people!" + +"I can hardly imagine Charles in Italy." + +"Doesn't he care for travelling?" + +"He likes travel, but he does see through foreigners so. What he +enjoys most is a motor tour in England, and I think that would +have carried the day if the weather had not been so abominable. +His father gave him a car for a wedding present, which for the +present is being stored at Howards End." + +"I suppose you have a garage there?" + +"Yes. My husband built a little one only last month, to the west +of the house, not far from the wych-elm, in what used to be the +paddock for the pony." + +The last words had an indescribable ring about them. + +"Where's the pony gone?" asked Margaret after a pause. + +"The pony? Oh, dead, ever so long ago." + +"The wych-elm I remember. Helen spoke of it as a very splendid +tree." + +"It is the finest wych-elm in Hertfordshire. Did your sister tell +you about the teeth?" + +"No." + +"Oh, it might interest you. There are pigs' teeth stuck into the +trunk, about four feet from the ground. The country people put +them in long ago, and they think that if they chew a piece of the +bark, it will cure the toothache. The teeth are almost grown over +now, and no one comes to the tree." + +"I should. I love folklore and all festering superstitions." + +"Do you think that the tree really did cure toothache, if one +believed in it?" + +"Of course it did. It would cure anything--once." + +"Certainly I remember cases--you see I lived at Howards End long, +long before Mr. Wilcox knew it. I was born there." + +The conversation again shifted. At the time it seemed little more +than aimless chatter. She was interested when her hostess +explained that Howards End was her own property. She was bored +when too minute an account was given of the Fussell family, of +the anxieties of Charles concerning Naples, of the movements of +Mr. Wilcox and Evie, who were motoring in Yorkshire. Margaret +could not bear being bored. She grew inattentive, played with the +photograph frame, dropped it, smashed Dolly's glass, apologised, +was pardoned, cut her finger thereon, was pitied, and finally +said she must be going--there was all the housekeeping to do, and +she had to interview Tibby's riding-master. + +Then the curious note was struck again. + +"Good-bye, Miss Schlegel, good-bye. Thank you for coming. You +have cheered me up." + +"I'm so glad!" + +"I--I wonder whether you ever think about yourself?" + +"I think of nothing else," said Margaret, blushing, but letting +her hand remain in that of the invalid. + +"I wonder. I wondered at Heidelberg." + +"I'M sure!" + +"I almost think--" + +"Yes?" asked Margaret, for there was a long pause--a pause that +was somehow akin to the flicker of the fire, the quiver of the +reading-lamp upon their hands, the white blur from the window; a +pause of shifting and eternal shadows. + +"I almost think you forget you're a girl." + +Margaret was startled and a little annoyed. "I'm twenty-nine," +she remarked. "That's not so wildly girlish." + +Mrs. Wilcox smiled. + +"What makes you say that? Do you mean that I have been gauche and +rude?" + +A shake of the head. "I only meant that I am fifty-one, and that +to me both of you-- Read it all in some book or other; I cannot +put things clearly." + +"Oh, I've got it--inexperience. I'm no better than Helen, you +mean, and yet I presume to advise her." + +"Yes. You have got it. Inexperience is the word." + +"Inexperience," repeated Margaret, in serious yet buoyant tones. + +"Of course, I have everything to learn--absolutely everything +--just as much as Helen. Life's very difficult and full of +surprises. At all events, I've got as far as that. To be humble +and kind, to go straight ahead, to love people rather than pity +them, to remember the submerged--well, one can't do all these +things at once, worse luck, because they're so contradictory. +It's then that proportion comes in--to live by proportion. Don't +BEGIN with proportion. Only prigs do that. Let proportion come in +as a last resource, when the better things have failed, and a +deadlock-- Gracious me, I've started preaching!" + +"Indeed, you put the difficulties of life splendidly," said Mrs. +Wilcox, withdrawing her hand into the deeper shadows. "It is just +what I should have liked to say about them myself." + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Mrs. Wilcox cannot be accused of giving Margaret much information +about life. And Margaret, on the other hand, has made a fair show +of modesty, and has pretended to an inexperience that she +certainly did not feel. She had kept house for over ten years; +she had entertained, almost with distinction; she had brought up +a charming sister, and was bringing up a brother. Surely, if +experience is attainable, she had attained it. Yet the little +luncheon-party that she gave in Mrs. Wilcox's honour was not a +success. The new friend did not blend with the "one or two +delightful people" who had been asked to meet her, and the +atmosphere was one of polite bewilderment. Her tastes were +simple, her knowledge of culture slight, and she was not +interested in the New English Art Club, nor in the dividing-line +between Journalism and Literature, which was started as a +conversational hare. The delightful people darted after it with +cries of joy, Margaret leading them, and not till the meal was +half over did they realise that the principal guest had taken no +part in the chase. There was no common topic. Mrs. Wilcox, whose +life had been spent in the service of husband and sons, had +little to say to strangers who had never shared it, and whose age +was half her own. Clever talk alarmed her, and withered her +delicate imaginings; it was the social counterpart of a motor- +car, all jerks, and she was a wisp of hay, a flower. Twice she +deplored the weather, twice criticised the train service on the +Great Northern Railway. They vigorously assented, and rushed on, +and when she inquired whether there was any news of Helen, her +hostess was toomuch occupied in placing Rothenstein to answer. +The question was repeated: "I hope that your sister is safe in +Germany by now." Margaret checked herself and said, "Yes, thank +you; I heard on Tuesday." But the demon of vociferation was in +her, and the nextmoment she was off again. + +"Only on Tuesday, for they live right away at Stettin. Did you +ever know any one living at Stettin?" + +"Never," said Mrs. Wilcox gravely, while her neighbour, a young +man low down in the Education Office, began to discuss what +people who lived at Stettin ought to look like. Was there such a +thing as Stettininity? Margaret swept on. + +"People at Stettin drop things into boats out of overhanging +warehouses. At least, our cousins do, but aren't particularly +rich. The town isn't interesting, except for a clock that rolls +its eyes, and the view of the Oder, which truly is something +special. Oh, Mrs. Wilcox, you would love the Oder! The river, or +rather rivers--there seem to be dozens of them--are intense blue, +and the plain they run through an intensest green." + +"Indeed! That sounds like a most beautiful view, Miss Schlegel." + +"So I say, but Helen, who will muddle things, says no, it's like +music. The course of the Oder is to be like music. It's obliged +to remind her of a symphonic poem. The part by the landing-stage +is in B minor, if I remember rightly, but lower down things get +extremely mixed. There is a slodgy theme in several keys at once, +meaning mud-banks, and another for the navigable canal, and the +exit into the Baltic is in C sharp major, pianissimo." + +"What do the overhanging warehouses make of that?" asked the man, +laughing. + +"They make a great deal of it," replied Margaret, unexpectedly +rushing off on a new track. "I think it's affectation to compare +the Oder to music, and so do you, but the overhanging warehouses +of Stettin take beauty seriously, which we don't, and the average +Englishman doesn't, and despises all who do. Now don't say +'Germans have no taste,' or I shall scream. They haven't. But-- +but--such a tremendous but!--they take poetry seriously. They do +take poetry seriously." + +"Is anything gained by that?" + +"Yes, yes. The German is always on the lookout for beauty. He may +miss it through stupidity, or misinterpret it, but he is always +asking beauty to enter his life, and I believe that in the end it +will come. At Heidelberg I met a fat veterinary surgeon whose +voice broke with sobs as he repeated some mawkish poetry. So easy +for me to laugh--I, who never repeat poetry, good or bad, and +cannot remember one fragment of verse to thrill myself with. My +blood boils--well, I 'm half German, so put it down to +patriotism--when I listen to the tasteful contempt of the average +islander for things Teutonic, whether they're Bocklin or my +veterinary surgeon. 'Oh, Bocklin,' they say; 'he strains after +beauty, he peoples Nature with gods too consciously.' Of course +Bocklin strains, because he wants something--beauty and all the +other intangible gifts that are floating about the world. So his +landscapes don't come off, and Leader's do." + +"I am not sure that I agree. Do you?" said he, turning to Mrs. +Wilcox. + +She replied: "I think Miss Schlegel puts everything splendidly;" +and a chill fell on the conversation. + +"Oh, Mrs. Wilcox, say something nicer than that. It's such a snub +to be told you put things splendidly." + +"I do not mean it as a snub. Your last speech interested me so +much. Generally people do not seem quite to like Germany. I have +long wanted to hear what is said on the other side." + +"The other side? Then you do disagree. Oh, good! Give us your +side." + +"I have no side. But my husband"--her voice softened, the chill +increased--"has very little faith in the Continent, and our +children have all taken after him." + +"On what grounds? Do they feel that the Continent is in bad +form?" + +Mrs. Wilcox had no idea; she paid little attention to grounds. +She was not intellectual, nor even alert, and it was odd that, +all the same, she should give the idea of greatness. Margaret, +zigzagging with her friends over Thought and Art, was conscious +of a personality that transcended their own and dwarfed their +activities. There was no bitterness in Mrs. Wilcox; there was not +even criticism; she was lovable, and no ungracious or +uncharitable word had passed her lips. Yet she and daily life +were out of focus; one or the other must show blurred. And at +lunch she seemed more out of focus than usual, and nearer the +line that divides daily life from a life that may be of greater +importance. + +"You will admit, though, that the Continent--it seems silly to +speak of 'the Continent,' but really it is all more like itself +than any part of it is like England. England is unique. Do have +another jelly first. I was going to say that the Continent, for +good or for evil, is interested in ideas. Its Literature and Art +have what one might call the kink of the unseen about them, and +this persists even through decadence and affectation. There is +more liberty of action in England, but for liberty of thought go +to bureaucratic Prussia. People will there discuss with humilit y +vital questions that we here think ourselves too good to touch +with tongs." + +"I do not want to go to Prussia," said Mrs. Wilcox "not even to +see that interesting view that you were describing. And for +discussing with humility I am too old. We never discuss anything +at Howards End." + +"Then you ought to!" said Margaret. "Discussion keeps a house +alive. It cannot stand by bricks and mortar alone." + +"It cannot stand without them," said Mrs. Wilcox, unexpectedly +catching on to the thought, and rousing, for the first and last +time, a faint hope in the breasts of the delightful people. "It +cannot stand without them, and I sometimes think--But I cannot +expect your generation to agree, for even my daughter disagrees +with me here." + +"Never mind us or her. Do say!" + +"I sometimes think that it is wiser to leave action and +discussion to men." + +There was a little silence. + +"One admits that the arguments against the suffrage ARE +extraordinarily strong," said a girl opposite, leaning forward +and crumbling her bread. + +"Are they? I never follow any arguments. I am only too thankful +not to have a vote myself." + +"We didn't mean the vote, though, did we?" supplied Margaret. +Aren't we differing on something much wider, Mrs. Wilcox? +Whether women are to remain what they have been since the dawn of +history; or whether, since men have moved forward so far, they +too may move forward a little now. I say they may. I would even +admit a biological change." + +"I don't know, I don't know." + +"I must be getting back to my overhanging warehouse," said the +man. "They've turned disgracefully strict." + +Mrs. Wilcox also rose. + +"Oh, but come upstairs for a little. Miss Quested plays. Do you +like MacDowell? Do you mind his only having two noises? If you +must really go, I'll see you out. Won't you even have coffee?" + +They left the dining-room closing the door behind them, and as +Mrs. Wilcox buttoned up her jacket, she said: "What an +interesting life you all lead in London!" + +"No, we don't," said Margaret, with a sudden revulsion. "We lead +the lives of gibbering monkeys. Mrs. Wilcox--really-- We have +something quiet and stable at the bottom. We really have. All my +friends have. Don't pretend you enjoyed lunch, for you loathed +it, but forgive me by coming again, alone, or by asking me to +you." + +"I am used to young people," said Mrs. Wilcox, and with each word +she spoke the outlines of known things grew dim. "I hear a great +deal of chatter at home, for we, like you, entertain a great +deal. With us it is more sport and politics, but-- I enjoyed my +lunch very much, Miss Schlegel, dear, and am not pretending, and +only wish I could have joined in more. For one thing, I'm not +particularly well just to-day. For another, you younger people +move so quickly that it dazes me. Charles is the same, Dolly the +same. But we are all in the same boat, old and young. I never +forget that." + +They were silent for a moment. Then, with a newborn emotion, they +shook hands. The conversation ceased suddenly when Margaret +re-entered the dining-room; her friends had been talking over her +new friend, and had dismissed her as uninteresting. + + + +CHAPTER X + +Several days passed. + +Was Mrs. Wilcox one of the unsatisfactory people--there are many +of them--who dangle intimacy and then withdraw it? They evoke our +interests and affections, and keep the life of the spirit +dawdling round them. Then they withdraw. When physical passion is +involved, there is a definite name for such behaviour--flirting-- +and if carried far enough it is punishable by law. But no law-- +not public opinion even--punishes those who coquette with +friendship, though the dull ache that they inflict, the sense of +misdirected effort and exhaustion, may be as intolerable. Was she +one of these? + +Margaret feared so at first, for, with a Londoner's impatience, +she wanted everything to be settled up immediately. She +mistrusted the periods of quiet that are essential to true +growth. Desiring to book Mrs. Wilcox as a friend, she pressed on +the ceremony, pencil, as it were, in hand, pressing the more +because the rest of the family were away, and the opportunity +seemed favourable. But the elder woman would not be hurried. She +refused to fit in with the Wickham Place set, or to reopen +discussion of Helen and Paul, whom Margaret would have utilised +as a short-cut. She took her time, or perhaps let time take her, +and when the crisis did come all was ready. + +The crisis opened with a message: Would Miss Schlegel come +shopping? Christmas was nearing, and Mrs. Wilcox felt behindhand +with the presents. She had taken some more days in bed, and must +make up for lost time. Margaret accepted, and at eleven o'clock +one cheerless morning they started out in a brougham. + +"First of all," began Margaret, "we must make a list and tick off +the people's names. My aunt always does, and this fog may thicken +up any moment. Have you any ideas?" + +"I thought we would go to Harrods or the Haymarket Stores," said +Mrs. Wilcox rather hopelessly. "Everything is sure to be there. I +am not a good shopper. The din is so confusing, and your aunt is +quite right--one ought to make a list. Take my notebook, then, +and write your own name at the top of the page. + +"Oh, hooray!" said Margaret, writing it. "How very kind of you to +start with me!" But she did not want to receive anything +expensive. Their acquaintance was singular rather than intimate, +and she divined that the Wilcox clan would resent any expenditure +on outsiders; the more compact families do. She did not want to +be thought a second Helen, who would snatch presents since she +could not snatch young men, nor to be exposed like a second Aunt +Juley, to the insults of Charles. A certain austerity of +demeanour was best, and she added: "I don't really want a +Yuletide gift, though. In fact, I'd rather not." + +"Why?" + +"Because I've odd ideas about Christmas. Because I have all that +money can buy. I want more people, but no more things." + +"I should like to give you something worth your acquaintance, +Miss Schlegel, in memory of your kindness to me during my lonely +fortnight. It has so happened that I have been left alone, and +you have stopped me from brooding. I am too apt to brood." + +"If that is so," said Margaret, "if I have happened to be of use +to you, which I didn't know, you cannot pay me back with anything +tangible." + +"I suppose not, but one would like to. Perhaps I shall think of +something as we go about." + +Her name remained at the head of the list, but nothing was +written opposite it. They drove from shop to shop. The air was +white, and when they alighted it tasted like cold pennies. At +times they passed through a clot of grey. Mrs. Wilcox's vitality +was low that morning, and it was Margaret who decided on a horse +for this little girl, a golliwog for that, for the rector's wife +a copper warming-tray. "We always give the servants money." "Yes, +do you, yes, much easier," replied Margaret but felt the +grotesque impact of the unseen upon the seen, and saw issuing +from a forgotten manger at Bethlehem this torrent of coins and +toys. Vulgarity reigned. Public-houses, besides their usual +exhortation against temperance reform, invited men to "Join our +Christmas goose club"--one bottle of gin, etc., or two, according +to subscription. A poster of a woman in tights heralded the +Christmas pantomime, and little red devils, who had come in again +that year, were prevalent upon the Christmas-cards. Margaret was +no morbid idealist. She did not wish this spate of business and +self-advertisement checked. It was only the occasion of it that +struck her with amazement annually. How many of these vacillating +shoppers and tired shop-assistants realised that it was a divine +event that drew them together? She realised it, though standing +outside in the matter. She was not a Christian in the accepted +sense; she did not believe that God had ever worked among us as a +young artisan. These people, or most of them, believed it, and if +pressed, would affirm it in words. But the visible signs of their +belief were Regent Street or Drury Lane, a little mud displaced, +a little money spent, a little food cooked, eaten, and forgotten. +Inadequate. But in public who shall express the unseen +adequately? It is private life that holds out the mirror to +infinity; personal intercourse, and that alone, that ever hints +at a personality beyond our daily vision. + +"No, I do like Christmas on the whole," she announced. "In its +clumsy way, it does approach Peace and Goodwill. But oh, it is +clumsier every year." + +"Is it? I am only used to country Christmases." + +"We are usually in London, and play the game with vigour--carols +at the Abbey, clumsy midday meal, clumsy dinner for the maids, +followed by Christmas-tree and dancing of poor children, with +songs from Helen. The drawing-room does very well for that. We +put the tree in the powder-closet, and draw a curtain when the +candles are lighted, and with the looking-glass behind it looks +quite pretty. I wish we might have a powder-closet in our next +house. Of course, the tree has to be very small, and the presents +don't hang on it. No; the presents reside in a sort of rocky +landscape made of crumpled brown paper." + +"You spoke of your 'next house,' Miss Schlegel. Then are you +leaving Wickham Place?" + +"Yes, in two or three years, when the lease expires. We must." + +"Have you been there long?" + +"All our lives." + +"You will be very sorry to leave it." + +"I suppose so. We scarcely realise it yet. My father--" She broke +off, for they had reached the stationery department of the +Haymarket Stores, and Mrs. Wilcox wanted to order some private +greeting cards. + +"If possible, something distinctive," she sighed. At the counter +she found a friend, bent on the same errand, and conversed with +her insipidly, wasting much time. "My husband and our daughter +are motoring." "Bertha, too? Oh, fancy, what a coincidence!" + +Margaret, though not practical, could shine in such company as +this. While they talked, she went through a volume of specimen +cards, and submitted one for Mrs. Wilcox's inspection. Mrs. +Wilcox was delighted--so original, words so sweet; she would +order a hundred like that, and could never be sufficiently +grateful. Then, just as the assistant was booking the order, she +said: "Do you know, I'll wait. On second thoughts, I'll wait. +There's plenty of time still, isn't there, and I shall be able to +get Evie's opinion." + +They returned to the carriage by devious paths; when they were +in, she said, "But couldn't you get it renewed?" + +"I beg your pardon?" asked Margaret. + +"The lease, I mean." + +"Oh, the lease! Have you been thinking of that all the time? How +very kind of you!" + +"Surely something could be done." + +"No; values have risen too enormously. They mean to pull down +Wickham Place, and build flats like yours." + +"But how horrible!" + +"Landlords are horrible." + +Then she said vehemently: "It is monstrous, Miss Schlegel; it +isn't right. I had no idea that this was hanging over you. I do +pity you from the bottom of my heart. To be parted from your +house, your father's house--it oughtn't to be allowed. It is +worse than dying. I would rather die than-- Oh, poor girls! Can +what they call civilisation be right, if people mayn't die in the +room where they were born? My dear, I am so sorry." + +Margaret did not know what to say. Mrs. Wilcox had been overtired +by the shopping, and was inclined to hysteria. + +"Howards End was nearly pulled down once. It would have killed +me." + +"I--Howards End must be a very different house to ours. We are +fond of ours, but there is nothing distinctive about it. As you +saw, it is an ordinary London house. We shall easily find +another." + +"So you think." + +"Again my lack of experience, I suppose!" said Margaret, easing +away from the subject. "I can't say anything when you take up +that line, Mrs. Wilcox. I wish I could see myself as you see me-- +foreshortened into a backfisch. Quite the ingenue. Very charming +--wonderfully well read for my age, but incapable--" + +Mrs. Wilcox would not be deterred. "Come down with me to Howards +End now," she said, more vehemently than ever. "I want you to see +it. You have never seen it. I want to hear what you say about it, +for you do put things so wonderfully." + +Margaret glanced at the pitiless air and then at the tired face +of her companion. "Later on I should love it," she continued, +"but it's hardly the weather for such an expedition, and we ought +to start when we're fresh. Isn't the house shut up, too?" + +She received no answer. Mrs. Wilcox appeared to be annoyed. + +"Might I come some other day?" + +Mrs. Wilcox bent forward and tapped the glass. "Back to Wickham +Place, please!" was her order to the coachman. Margaret had been +snubbed. + +"A thousand thanks, Miss Schlegel, for all your help." + +"Not at all." + +"It is such a comfort to get the presents off my mind--the +Christmas-cards especially. I do admire your choice." + +It was her turn to receive no answer. In her turn Margaret became +annoyed. + +"My husband and Evie will be back the day after to-morrow. That +is why I dragged you out shopping to-day. I stayed in town +chiefly to shop, but got through nothing, and now he writes that +they must cut their tour short, the weather is so bad, and the +police-traps have been so bad--nearly as bad as in Surrey. Ours +is such a careful chauffeur, and my husband feels it particularly +hard that they should be treated like road-hogs." + +"Why?" + +"Well, naturally he--he isn't a road-hog." + +"He was exceeding the speed-limit, I conclude. He must expect to +suffer with the lower animals." + +Mrs. Wilcox was silenced. In growing discomfort they drove +homewards. The city seemed Satanic, the narrower streets +oppressing like the galleries of a mine. + +No harm was done by the fog to trade, for it lay high, and the +lighted windows of the shops were thronged with customers. It was +rather a darkening of the spirit which fell back upon itself, to +find a more grievous darkness within. Margaret nearly spoke a +dozen times, but something throttled her. She felt petty and +awkward, and her meditations on Christmas grew more cynical. +Peace? It may bring other gifts, but is there a single Londoner +to whom Christmas is peaceful? The craving for excitement and for +elaboration has ruined that blessing. Goodwill? Had she seen any +example of it in the hordes of purchasers? Or in herself? She had +failed to respond to this invitation merely because it was a +little queer and imaginative--she, whose birthright it was to +nourish imagination! Better to have accepted, to have tired +themselves a little by the journey, than coldly to reply, "Might +I come some other day?" Her cynicism left her. There would be no +other day. This shadowy woman would never ask her again. + +They parted at the Mansions. Mrs. Wilcox went in after due +civilities, and Margaret watched the tall, lonely figure sweep up +the hall to the lift. As the glass doors closed on it she had the +sense of an imprisonment The beautiful head disappeared first, +still buried in the muff; the long trailing skirt followed. A +woman of undefinable rarity was going up heavenward, like a +specimen in a bottle. And into what a heaven--a vault as of hell, +sooty black, from which soot descended! + +At lunch her brother, seeing her inclined for silence insisted on +talking. Tibby was not ill-natured, but from babyhood something +drove him to do the unwelcome and the unexpected. Now he gave her +a long account of the day-school that he sometimes patronised. +The account was interesting, and she had often pressed him for it +before, but she could not attend now, for her mind was focussed +on the invisible. She discerned that Mrs. Wilcox, though a loving +wife and mother, had only one passion in life--her house--and +that the moment was solemn when she invited a friend to share +this passion with her. To answer "another day" was to answer as a +fool. "Another day" will do for brick and mortar, but not for the +Holy of Holies into which Howards End had been transfigured. Her +own curiosity was slight. She had heard more than enough about it +in the summer. The nine windows, the vine, and the wych-elm had +no pleasant connections for her, and she would have preferred to +spend the afternoon at a concert. But imagination triumphed. +While her brother held forth she determined to go, at whatever +cost, and to compel Mrs. Wilcox to go, too. When lunch was over +she stepped over to the flats. + +Mrs. Wilcox had just gone away for the night. + +Margaret said that it was of no consequence, hurried downstairs, +and took a hansom to King's Cross. She was convinced that the +escapade was important, though it would have puzzled her to say +why. There was question of imprisonment and escape, and though +she did not know the time of the train, she strained her eyes for +St. Pancras's clock. + +Then the clock of King's Cross swung into sight, a second moon in +that infernal sky, and her cab drew up at the station. There was +a train for Hilton in five minutes. She took a ticket, asking in +her agitation for a single. As she did so, a grave and happy +voice saluted her and thanked her. + +"I will come if I still may," said Margaret, laughing nervously. + +"You are coming to sleep, dear, too. It is in the morning that my +house is most beautiful. You are coming to stop. I cannot show +you my meadow properly except at sunrise. These fogs"--she +pointed at the station roof--"never spread far. I dare say they +are sitting in the sun in Hertfordshire, and you will never +repent joining them." + +"I shall never repent joining you." + +"It is the same." + +They began the walk up the long platform. Far at its end stood +the train, breasting the darkness without. They never reached it. +Before imagination could triumph, there were cries of "Mother! +mother!" and a heavy-browed girl darted out of the cloak-room and +seized Mrs. Wilcox by the arm. + +"Evie!" she gasped--"Evie, my pet--" + +The girl called, "Father! I say! look who's here." + +"Evie, dearest girl, why aren't you in Yorkshire?" + +"No--motor smash--changed plans--father's coming." + +"Why, Ruth!" cried Mr. Wilcox, joining them. "that in the name of +all that's wonderful are you doing here, Ruth?" + +Mrs. Wilcox had recovered herself. + +"Oh, Henry dear!--here's a lovely surprise--but let me introduce +--but I think you know Miss Schlegel." + +"Oh yes," he replied, not greatly interested. "But how's +yourself, Ruth?" + +"Fit as a fiddle," she answered gaily. + +"So are we, and so was our car, which ran A1 as far as Ripon, but +there a wretched horse and cart which a fool of a driver--" + +"Miss Schlegel, our little outing must be for another day." + +"I was saying that this fool of a driver, as the policeman +himself admits." + +"Another day, Mrs. Wilcox. Of course." + +"--But as we've insured against third party risks, it won't so +much matter--" + +"--Cart and car being practically at right angles--" + +The voices of the happy family rose high. Margaret was left +alone. No one wanted her. Mrs. Wilcox walked out of King's Cross +between her husband and her daughter, listening to both of them. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +The funeral was over. The carriages had rolled away through the +soft mud, and only the poor remained. They approached to the +newly-dug shaft and looked their last at the coffin, now almost +hidden beneath the spadefuls of clay. It was their moment. Most +of them were women from the dead woman's district, to whom black +garments had been served out by Mr. Wilcox's orders. Pure +curiosity had brought others. They thrilled with the excitement +of a death, and of a rapid death, and stood in groups or moved +between the graves, like drops of ink. The son of one of them, a +wood-cutter, was perched high above their heads, pollarding one +of the churchyard elms. From where he sat he could see the +village of Hilton, strung upon the North Road, with its accreting +suburbs; the sunset beyond, scarlet and orange, winking at him +beneath brows of grey; the church; the plantations; and behind +him an unspoilt country of fields and farms. But he, too, was +rolling the event luxuriously in his mouth. He tried to tell his +mother down below all that he had felt when he saw the coffin +approaching: how he could not leave his work, and yet did not +like to go on with it; how he had almost slipped out of the tree, +he was so upset; the rooks had cawed, and no wonder--it was as if +rooks knew too. His mother claimed the prophetic power herself-- +she had seen a strange look about Mrs. Wilcox for some time. +London had done the mischief, said others. She had been a kind +lady; her grandmother had been kind, too--a plainer person, but +very kind. Ah, the old sort was dying out! Mr. Wilcox, he was a +kind gentleman. They advanced to the topic again and again, +dully, but with exaltation. The funeral of a rich person was to +them what the funeral of Alcestis or Ophelia is to the educated. +It was Art; though remote from life, it enhanced life's values, +and they witnessed it avidly. + +The grave-diggers, who had kept up an undercurrent of disapproval +--they disliked Charles; it was not a moment to speak of such +things, but they did not like Charles Wilcox--the grave-diggers +finished their work and piled up the wreaths and crosses above +it. The sun set over Hilton; the grey brows of the evening +flushed a little, and were cleft with one scarlet frown. +Chattering sadly to each other, the mourners passed through the +lych-gate and traversed the chestnut avenues that led down to the +village. The young wood-cutter stayed a little longer, poised +above the silence and swaying rhythmically. At last the bough +fell beneath his saw. With a grunt, he descended, his thoughts +dwelling no longer on death, but on love, for he was mating. He +stopped as he passed the new grave; a sheaf of tawny +chrysanthemums had caught his eye. "They didn't ought to have +coloured flowers at buryings," he reflected. Trudging on a few +steps, he stopped again, looked furtively at the dusk, turned +back, wrenched a chrysanthemum from the sheaf, and hid it in his +pocket. + +After him came silence absolute. The cottage that abutted on the +churchyard was empty, and no other house stood near. Hour after +hour the scene of the interment remained without an eye to +witness it. Clouds drifted over it from the west; or the church +may have been a ship, high-prowed, steering with all its +company towards infinity. Towards morning the air grew colder, +the sky clearer, the surface of the earth hard and sparkling +above the prostrate dead. The wood-cutter, returning after a +night of joy, reflected: "They lilies, they chrysants; it's a +pity I didn't take them all." + +Up at Howards End they were attempting breakfast. Charles and +Evie sat in the dining-room, with Mrs. Charles. Their father, who +could not bear to see a face, breakfasted upstairs. He suffered +acutely. Pain came over him in spasms, as if it was physical, and +even while he was about to eat, his eyes would fill with tears, +and he would lay down the morsel untasted. + +He remembered his wife's even goodness during thirty years. Not +anything in detail--not courtship or early raptures--but just the +unvarying virtue, that seemed to him a woman's noblest quality. +So many women are capricious, breaking into odd flaws of passion +or frivolity. Not so his wife. Year after year, summer and +winter, as bride and mother, she had been the same, he had always +trusted her. Her tenderness! Her innocence! The wonderful +innocence that was hers by the gift of God. Ruth knew no more of +worldly wickedness and wisdom than did the flowers in her garden, +or the grass in her field. Her idea of business--" Henry, why do +people who have enough money try to get more money?" Her idea of +politics--" I am sure that if the mothers of various nations +could meet, there would be no more wars," Her idea of religion-- +ah, this had been a cloud, but a cloud that passed. She came of +Quaker stock, and he and his family, formerly Dissenters, were +now members of the Church of England. The rector's sermons had at +first repelled her, and she had expressed a desire for "a more +inward light," adding, "not so much for myself as for baby" +(Charles). Inward light must have been granted, for he heard no +complaints in later years. They brought up their three children +without dispute. They had never disputed. + +She lay under the earth now. She had gone, and as if to make her +going the more bitter, had gone with a touch of mystery that was +all unlike her. "Why didn't you tell me you knew of it?" he had +moaned, and her faint voice had answered: "I didn't want to, +Henry--I might have been wrong--and every one hates illnesses." +He had been told of the horror by a strange doctor, whom she had +consulted during his absence from town. Was this altogether just? +Without fully explaining, she had died. It was a fault on her +part, and--tears rushed into his eyes--what a little fault! It +was the only time she had deceived him in those thirty years. + +He rose to his feet and looked out of the window, for Evie had +come in with the letters, and he could meet no one's eye. Ah +yes--she had been a good woman--she had been steady. He chose the +word deliberately. To him steadiness included all praise. He +himself, gazing at the wintry garden, is in appearance a steady +man. His face was not as square as his son's, and, indeed, the +chin, though firm enough in outline, retreated a little, and the +lips, ambiguous, were curtained by a moustache. But there was no +external hint of weakness. The eyes, if capable of kindness and +good-fellowship, if ruddy for the moment with tears, were the +eyes of one who could not be driven. The forehead, too, was like +Charles's. High and straight, brown and polished, merging +abruptly into temples and skull, it had the effect of a bastion +that protected his head from the world. At times it had the +effect of a blank wall. He had dwelt behind it, intact and happy, +for fifty years. "The post's come, father," said Evie awkwardly. + +"Thanks. Put it down." + +"Has the breakfast been all right?" + +"Yes, thanks." + +The girl glanced at him and at it with constraint. She did not +know what to do. + +"Charles says do you want the Times?" + +"No, I'll read it later." + +"Ring if you want anything, father, won't you?" + +"I've all I want." + +Having sorted the letters from the circulars, she went back to +the dining-room. + +"Father's eaten nothing," she announced, sitting down with +wrinkled brows behind the tea-urn. + +Charles did not answer, but after a moment he ran quickly +upstairs, opened the door, and said "Look here father, you must +eat, you know; and having paused for a reply that did not come, +stole down again. "He's going to read his letters first, I +think," he said evasively; "I dare say he will go on with his +breakfast afterwards." Then he took up the Times, and for some +time there was no sound except the clink of cup against saucer +and of knife on plate. + +Poor Mrs. Charles sat between her silent companions terrified at +the course of events, and a little bored. She was a rubbishy +little creature, and she knew it. A telegram had dragged her from +Naples to the death-bed of a woman whom she had scarcely known. A +word from her husband had plunged her into mourning. She desired +to mourn inwardly as well, but she wished that Mrs. Wilcox, since +fated to die, could have died before the marriage, for then less +would have been expected of her. Crumbling her toast, and too +nervous to ask for the butter, she remained almost motionless, +thankful only for this, that her father-in-law was having his +breakfast upstairs. + +At last Charles spoke. "They had no business to be pollarding +those elms yesterday," he said to his sister. + +"No, indeed." + +"I must make a note of that," he continued. "I am surprised that +the rector allowed it." + +"Perhaps it may not be the rector's affair." + +"Whose else could it be?" + +"The lord of the manor." + +"Impossible." + +"Butter, Dolly?" + +"Thank you, Evie dear. Charles--" + +"Yes, dear?" + +"I didn't know one could pollard elms. I thought one only +pollarded willows." + +"Oh no, one can pollard elms." + +"Then why oughtn't the elms in the churchyard to be pollarded?" +Charles frowned a little, and turned again to his sister. + +"Another point. I must speak to Chalkeley." + +"Yes, rather; you must complain to Chalkeley." + +"It's no good his saying he is not responsible for those men. He +is responsible." + +"Yes, rather." + +Brother and sister were not callous. They spoke thus, partly +because they desired to keep Chalkeley up to the mark--a healthy +desire in its way--partly because they avoided the personal note +in life. All Wilcoxes did. It did not seem to them of supreme +importance. Or it may be as Helen supposed: they realised its +importance, but were afraid of it. Panic and emptiness, could one +glance behind. They were not callous, and they left the +breakfast-table with aching hearts. Their mother never had come +in to breakfast. It was in the other rooms, and especially in the +garden, that they felt her loss most. As Charles went out to the +garage, he was reminded at every step of the woman who had loved +him and whom he could never replace. What battles he had fought +against her gentle conservatism! How she had disliked +improvements, yet how loyally she had accepted them when made! He +and his father--what trouble they had had to get this very +garage! With what difficulty had they persuaded her to yield them +the paddock for it--the paddock that she loved more dearly than +the garden itself! The vine--she had got her way about the vine. +It still encumbered the south wall with its unproductive +branches. And so with Evie, as she stood talking to the cook. +Though she could take up her mother's work inside the house, just +as the man could take it up without, she felt that something +unique had fallen out of her life. Their grief, though less +poignant than their father's, grew from deeper roots, for a wife +may be replaced; a mother never. Charles would go back to the +office. There was little at Howards End. The contents of his +mother's will had long been known to them. There were no +legacies, no annuities, none of the posthumous bustle with which +some of the dead prolong their activities. Trusting her husband, +she had left him everything without reserve. She was quite a poor +woman--the house had been all her dowry, and the house would come +to Charles in time. Her watercolours Mr. Wilcox intended to +reserve for Paul, while Evie would take the jewellery and lace. +How easily she slipped out of life! Charles thought the habit +laudable, though he did not intend to adopt it himself, whereas +Margaret would have seenin it an almost culpable indifference to +earthly fame. Cynicism--not the superficial cynicism that snarls +and sneers, but the cynicism that can go with courtesy and +tenderness--that was the note of Mrs. Wilcox's will. She wanted +not to vex people. That accomplished, the earth might freeze over +her for ever. + +No, there was nothing for Charles to wait for. He could not go on +with his honeymoon, so he would go up to London and work--he felt +too miserable hanging about. He and Dolly would have the +furnished flat while his father rested quietly in the country +with Evie. He could also keep an eye on his own little house, +which was being painted and decorated for him in one of the +Surrey suburbs, and in which he hoped to install himself soon +after Christmas. Yes, he would go up after lunch in his new +motor, and the town servants, who had come down for the funeral, +would go up by train. + +He found his father's chauffeur in the garage, said "Morning" +without looking at the man's face, and bending over the car, +continued: "Hullo! my new car's been driven!" + +"Has it, sir?" + +"Yes," said Charles, getting rather red; "and whoever's driven it +hasn't cleaned it properly, for there's mud on the axle. Take it +off." + +The man went for the cloths without a word. He was a chauffeur as +ugly as sin--not that this did him disservice with Charles, who +thought charm in a man rather rot, and had soon got rid of the +little Italian beast with whom they had started. + +"Charles--" His bride was tripping after him over the hoar-frost, +a dainty black column, her little face and elaborate mourning hat +forming the capital thereof. + +"One minute, I'm busy. Well, Crane, who's been driving it, do you +suppose?" + +"Don't know, I'm sure, sir. No one's driven it since I've been +back, but, of course, there's the fortnight I've been away with +the other car in Yorkshire." + +The mud came off easily. + +"Charles, your father's down. Something's happened. He wants you +in the house at once. Oh, Charles!" + +"Wait, dear, wait a minute. Who had the key of the garage while +you were away, Crane?" + +"The gardener, sir." + +"Do you mean to tell me that old Penny can drive a motor?" + +"No, sir; no one's had the motor out, sir." + +"Then how do you account for the mud on the axle?" + +"I can't, of course, say for the time I've been in Yorkshire. No +more mud now, sir." + +Charles was vexed. The man was treating him as a fool, and if his +heart had not been so heavy he would have reported him to his +father. But it was not a morning for complaints. Ordering the +motor to be round after lunch, he joined his wife, who had all +the while been pouring out some incoherent story about a letter +and a Miss Schlegel. + +"Now, Dolly, I can attend to you. Miss Schlegel? What does she +want?" + +When people wrote a letter Charles always asked what they wanted. +Want was to him the only cause of action. And the question in +this case was correct, for his wife replied, "She wants Howards +End." + +"Howards End? Now, Crane, just don't forget to put on the Stepney +wheel." + +"No, sir." + +"Now, mind you don't forget, for I-- Come, little woman." When +they were out of the chauffeur's sight he put his arm round her +waist and pressed her against him. All his affection and half his +attention--it was what he granted her throughout their happy +married life. + +"But you haven't listened, Charles." + +"What's wrong?" + +"I keep on telling you--Howards End. Miss Schlegel's got it." + +"Got what?" said Charles, unclasping her. "What the dickens are +you talking about?" + +"Now, Charles, you promised not so say those naughty--" + +"Look here, I'm in no mood for foolery. It's no morning for it +either." + +"I tell you--I keep on telling you--Miss Schlegel--she's got +it--your mother's left it to her--and you've all got to move +out!" + +"HOWARDS END?" + +"HOWARDS END!" she screamed, mimicking him, and as she did so +Evie came dashing out of the shubbery. + +"Dolly, go back at once! My father's much annoyed with you. +Charles"--she hit herself wildly--"come in at once to father. +He's had a letter that's too awful." + +Charles began to run, but checked himself, and stepped heavily +across the gravel path. There the house was with the nine +windows, the unprolific vine. He exclaimed, "Schlegels again!" +and as if to complete chaos, Dolly said, "Oh no, the matron of +the nursing home has written instead of her." + +"Come in, all three of you!" cried his father, no longer inert. + +"Dolly, why have you disobeyed me?" + +"Oh, Mr. Wilcox--" + +"I told you not to go out to the garage. I've heard you all +shouting in the garden. I won't have it. Come in." + +He stood in the porch, transformed, letters in his hand. + +"Into the dining-room, every one of you. We can't discuss private +matters in the middle of all the servants. Here, Charles, here; +read these. See what you make." + +Charles took two letters, and read them as he followed the +procession. The first was a covering note from the matron. Mrs. +Wilcox had desired her, when the funeral should be over, to +forward the enclosed. The enclosed--it was from his mother +herself. She had written: "To my husband: I should like Miss +Schlegel (Margaret) to have Howards End." + +"I suppose we're going to have a talk about this?" he remarked, +ominously calm. + +"Certainly. I was coming out to you when Dolly--" + +"Well, let's sit down." + +"Come, Evie, don't waste time, sit--down." + +In silence they drew up to the breakfast-table. The events of +yesterday--indeed, of this morning suddenly receded into a past +so remote that they seemed scarcely to have lived in it. Heavy +breathings were heard. They were calming themselves. Charles, to +steady them further, read the enclosure out loud: "A note in my +mother's handwriting, in an envelope addressed to my father, +sealed. Inside: 'I should like Miss Schlegel (Margaret) to have +Howards End.' No date, no signature. Forwarded through the matron +of that nursing home. Now, the question is--" + +Dolly interrupted him. "But I say that note isn't legal. Houses +ought to be done by a lawyer, Charles, surely." + +Her husband worked his jaw severely. Little lumps appeared in +front of either ear--a symptom that she had not yet learnt to +respect, and she asked whether she might see the note. Charles +looked at his father for permission, who said abstractedly, "Give +it her." She seized it, and at once exclaimed: "Why, it's only in +pencil! I said so. Pencil never counts." + +"We know that it is not legally binding, Dolly," said Mr. Wilcox, +speaking from out of his fortress. "We are aware of that. +Legally, I should be justified in tearing it up and throwing it +into the fire. Of course, my dear, we consider you as one of the +family, but it will be better if you do not interfere with what +you do not understand." + +Charles, vexed both with his father and his wife, then repeated: +"The question is--" He had cleared a space of the breakfast-table +from plates and knives, so that he could draw patterns on the +tablecloth. "The question is whether Miss Schlegel, during the +fortnight we were all away, whether she unduly--" He stopped. + +"I don't think that," said his father, whose nature was nobler +than his son's. + +"Don't think what?" + +"That she would have--that it is a case of undue influence. No, +to my mind the question is the--the invalid's condition at the +time she wrote." + +"My dear father, consult an expert if you like, but I don't admit +it is my mother's writing." + +"Why, you just said it was!" cried Dolly. + +"Never mind if I did," he blazed out; "and hold your tongue." + +The poor little wife coloured at this, and, drawing her +handkerchief from her pocket, shed a few tears. No one noticed +her. Evie was scowling like an angry boy. The two men were +gradually assuming the manner of the committee-room. They were +both at their best when serving on committees. They did not make +the mistake of handling human affairs in the bulk, but disposed +of them item by item, sharply. Caligraphy was the item before +them now, and on it they turned their well-trained brains. +Charles, after a little demur, accepted the writing as genuine, +and they passed on to the next point. It is the best--perhaps the +only--way of dodging emotion. They were the average human +article, and had they considered the note as a whole it would +have driven them miserable or mad. Considered item by item, the +emotional content was minimised, and all went forward smoothly. +The clock ticked, the coals blazed higher, and contended with the +white radiance that poured in through the windows. Unnoticed, the +sun occupied his sky, and the shadows of the tree stems, +extraordinarily solid, fell like trenches of purple across the +frosted lawn. It was a glorious winter morning. Evie's fox +terrier, who had passed for white, was only a dirty grey dog now, +so intense was the purity that surrounded him. He was +discredited, but the blackbirds that he was chasing glowed with +Arabian darkness, for all the conventional colouring of life had +been altered. Inside, the clock struck ten with a rich and +confident note. Other clocks confirmed it, and the discussion +moved towards its close. + +To follow it is unnecessary. It is rather a moment when the +commentator should step forward. Ought the Wilcoxes to have +offered their home to Margaret? I think not. The appeal was too +flimsy. It was not legal; it had been written in illness, and +under the spell of a sudden friendship; it was contrary to the +dead woman's intentions in the past, contrary to her very nature, +so far as that nature was understood by them. To them Howards End +was a house: they could not know that to her it had been a +spirit, for which she sought a spiritual heir. And--pushing one +step farther in these mists--may they not have decided even +better than they supposed? Is it credible that the possessions of +the spirit can be bequeathed at all? Has the soul offspring? A +wych-elm tree, a vine, a wisp of hay with dew on it--can passion +for such things be transmitted where there is no bond of blood? +No; the Wilcoxes are not to be blamed. The problem is too +terrific, and they could not even perceive a problem. No; it is +natural and fitting that after due debate they should tear the +note up and throw it on to their dining-room fire. The practical +moralist may acquit them absolutely. He who strives to look +deeper may acquit them--almost. For one hard fact remains. They +did neglect a personal appeal. The woman who had died did say to +them, "Do this," and they answered, "We will not." + +The incident made a most painful impression on them. Grief +mounted into the brain and worked there disquietingly. Yesterday +they had lamented: "She was a dear mother, a true wife; in our +absence she neglected her health and died." To-day they +thought: "She was not as true, as dear, as we supposed." The +desire for a more inward light had found expression at last, the +unseen had impacted on the seen, and all that they could say was +"Treachery." Mrs. Wilcox had been treacherous to the family, to +the laws of property, to her own written word. How did she expect +Howards End to be conveyed to Miss Schlegel? Was her husband, +to whom it legally belonged, to make it over to her as a free +gift? Was the said Miss Schlegel to have a life interest in it, +or to own it absolutely? Was there to be no compensation for the +garage and other improvements that they had made under the +assumption that all would be theirs some day? Treacherous! +treacherous and absurd! When we think the dead both treacherous +and absurd, we have gone far towards reconciling ourselves to +their departure. That note, scribbled in pencil, sent through the +matron, was unbusinesslike as well as cruel, and decreased at +once the value of the woman who had written it. + +"Ah, well!" said Mr. Wilcox, rising from the table. "I shouldn't +have thought it possible." + +"Mother couldn't have meant it," said Evie, still frowning. + +"No, my girl, of course not." + +"Mother believed so in ancestors too--it isn't like her to leave +anything to an outsider, who'd never appreciate." + +"The whole thing is unlike her," he announced. "If Miss Schlegel +had been poor, if she had wanted a house, I could understand it a +little. But she has a house of her own. Why should she want +another? She wouldn't have any use for Howards End." + +"That time may prove," murmured Charles. + +"How?" asked his sister. + +"Presumably she knows--mother will have told her. She got twice +or three times into the nursing home. Presumably she is awaiting +developments." + +"What a horrid woman!" And Dolly, who had recovered, cried, +"Why, she may be coming down to turn us out now!" + +Charles put her right. "I wish she would," he said ominously. "I +could then deal with her." + +"So could I," echoed his father, who was feeling rather in the +cold. Charles had been kind in undertaking the funeral +arrangements and in telling him to eat his breakfast, but the boy +as he grew up was a little dictatorial, and assumed the post of +chairman too readily. "I could deal with her, if she comes, but +she won't come. You're all a bit hard on Miss Schlegel." + +"That Paul business was pretty scandalous, though." + +"I want no more of the Paul business, Charles, as I said at the +time, and besides, it is quite apart from this business. Margaret +Schlegel has been officious and tiresome during this terrible +week, and we have all suffered under her, but upon my soul she's +honest. She's NOT in collusion with the matron. I'm absolutely +certain of it. Nor was she with the doctor, I'm equally certain +of that. She did not hide anything from us, for up to that very +afternoon she was as ignorant as we are. She, like ourselves, was +a dupe--" He stopped for a moment. "You see, Charles, in her +terrible pain your mother put us all in false positions. Paul +would not have left England, you would not have gone to Italy, +nor Evie and I into Yorkshire, if only we had known. Well, Miss +Schlegel's position has been equally false. Take all in all, she +has not come out of it badly." + +Evie said: "But those chrysanthemums--" + +"Or coming down to the funeral at all--" echoed Dolly. + +"Why shouldn't she come down? She had the right to, and she stood +far back among the Hilton women. The flowers--certainly we should +not have sent such flowers, but they may have seemed the right +thing to her, Evie, and for all you know they may be the custom +in Germany." + +"Oh, I forget she isn't really English," cried Evie. "That would +explain a lot." + +"She's a cosmopolitan," said Charles, looking at his watch. "I +admit I'm rather down on cosmopolitans. My fault, doubtless. I +cannot stand them, and a German cosmopolitan is the limit. I +think that's about all, isn't it? I want to run down and see +Chalkeley. A bicycle will do. And, by the way, I wish you'd speak +to Crane some time. I'm certain he's had my new car out." + +"Has he done it any harm?" + +"No." + +"In that case I shall let it pass. It's not worth while having a +row." + +Charles and his father sometimes disagreed. But they always +parted with an increased regard for one another, and each desired +no doughtier comrade when it was necessary to voyage for a little +past the emotions. So the sailors of Ulysses voyaged past the +Sirens, having first stopped one another's ears with wool. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Charles need not have been anxious. Miss Schlegel had never +heard of his mother's strange request. She was to hear of it in +after years, when she had built up her life differently, and it +was to fit into position as the headstone of the corner. Her mind +was bent on other questions now, and by her also it would have +been rejected as the fantasy of an invalid. + +She was parting from these Wilcoxes for the second time. Paul and +his mother, ripple and great wave, had flowed into her life and +ebbed out of it for ever. The ripple had left no traces behind; +the wave had strewn at her feet fragments torn from the unknown. +A curious seeker, she stood for a while at the verge of the sea +that tells so little, but tells a little, and watched the +outgoing of this last tremendous tide. Her friend had vanished in +agony, but not, she believed, in degradation. Her withdrawal had +hinted at other things besides disease and pain. Some leave our +life with tears, others with an insane frigidity; Mrs. Wilcox had +taken the middle course, which only rarer natures can pursue. She +had kept proportion. She had told a little of her grim secret to +her friends, but not too much; she had shut up her heart--almost, +but not entirely. It is thus, if there is any rule, that we ought +to die--neither as victim nor as fanatic, but as the seafarer who +can greet with an equal eye the deep that he is entering, and the +shore that he must leave. + +The last word--whatever it would be--had certainly not been said +in Hilton churchyard. She had not died there. A funeral is not +death, any more than baptism is birth or marriage union. All +three are the clumsy devices, coming now too late, now too early, +by which Society would register the quick motions of man. In +Margaret's eyes Mrs. Wilcox had escaped registration. She had +gone out of life vividly, her own way, and no dust was so truly +dust as the contents of that heavy coffin, lowered with +ceremonial until it rested on the dust of the earth, no flowers +so utterly wasted as the chrysanthemums that the frost must have +withered before morning. Margaret had once said she "loved +superstition." It was not true. Few women had tried more +earnestly to pierce the accretions in which body and soul are +enwrapped. The death of Mrs. Wilcox had helped her in her work. +She saw a little more clearly than hitherto what a human being +is, and to what he may aspire. Truer relationships gleamed. +Perhaps the last word would be hope--hope even on this side of +the grave. + +Meanwhile, she could take an interest in the survivors. In spite +of her Christmas duties, in spite of her brother, the Wilcoxes +continued to play a considerable part in her thoughts. She had +seen so much of them in the final week. They were not "her sort," +they were often suspicious and stupid, and deficient where she +excelled; but collision with them stimulated her, and she felt an +interest that verged into liking, even for Charles. She desired +to protect them, and often felt that they could protect her, +excelling where she was deficient. Once past the rocks of +emotion, they knew so well what to do, whom to send for; their +hands were on all the ropes, they had grit as well as grittiness +and she valued grit enormously. They led a life that she could +not attain to--the outer life of "telegrams and anger," which had +detonated when Helen and Paul had touched in June, and had +detonated again the other week. To Margaret this life was to +remain a real force. She could not despise it, as Helen and Tibby +affected to do. It fostered such virtues as neatness, decision, +and obedience, virtues of the second rank, no doubt, but they +have formed our civilisation. They form character, too; Margaret +could not doubt it; they keep the soul from becoming sloppy. How +dare Schlegels despise Wilcoxes, when it takes all sorts to make +a world? + +"Don't brood too much," she wrote to Helen, "on the superiority +of the unseen to the seen. It's true, but to brood on it is +medieval. Our business is not to contrast the two, but to +reconcile them." + +Helen replied that she had no intention of brooding on such a +dull subject. What did her sister take her for? The weather was +magnificent. She and the Mosebachs had gone tobogganing on the +only hill that Pomerania boasted. It was fun, but over-crowded, +for the rest of Pomerania had gone there too. Helen loved the +country, and her letter glowed with physical exercise and poetry. +She spoke of the scenery, quiet, yet august; of the snow-clad +fields, with their scampering herds of deer; of the river and its +quaint entrance into the Baltic Sea; of the Oderberge, only three +hundred feet high, from which one slid all too quickly back into +the Pomeranian plains, and yet these Oderberge were real +mountains, with pine-forests, streams, and views complete. "It +isn't size that counts so much as the way things are arranged." +In another paragraph she referred to Mrs. Wilcox sympathetically, +but the news had not bitten into her. She had not realised the +accessories of death, which are in a sense more memorable than +death itself. The atmosphere of precautions and recriminations, +and in the midst a human body growing more vivid because it was +in pain; the end of that body in Hilton churchyard; the survival +of something that suggested hope, vivid in its turn against +life's workaday cheerfulness;-- all these were lost to Helen, who +only felt that a pleasant lady could now be pleasant no longer. +She returned to Wickham Place full of her own affairs--she had +had another proposal--and Margaret, after a moment's hesitation, +was content that this should be so. + +The proposal had not been a serious matter. It was the work of +Fraulein Mosebach, who had conceived the large and patriotic +notion of winning back her cousins to the Fatherland by +matrimony. England had played Paul Wilcox, and lost; Germany +played Herr Forstmeister some one--Helen could not remember his +name. Herr Forstmeister lived in a wood, and, standing on the +summit of the Oderberge, he had pointed out his house to Helen, +or rather, had pointed out the wedge of pines in which it lay. +She had exclaimed, "Oh, how lovely! That's the place for me!" and +in the evening Frieda appeared in her bedroom. "I have a message, +dear Helen," etc., and so she had, but had been very nice when +Helen laughed; quite understood--a forest too solitary and damp-- +quite agreed, but Herr Forstmeister believed he had assurance to +the contrary. Germany had lost, but with good-humour; holding the +manhood of the world, she felt bound to win. "And there will even +be some one for Tibby," concluded Helen. "There now, Tibby, think +of that; Frieda is saving up a little girl for you, in pig-tails +and white worsted stockings but the feet of the stockings are +pink as if the little girl had trodden in strawberries. I've +talked too much. My head aches. Now you talk." + +Tibby consented to talk. He too was full of his own affairs, for +he had just been up to try for a scholarship at Oxford. The men +were down, and the candidates had been housed in various +colleges, and had dined in hall. Tibby was sensitive to beauty, +the experience was new, and he gave a description of his visit +that was almost glowing. The august and mellow University, +soaked with the richness of the western counties that it has +served for a thousand years, appealed at once to the boy's taste; +it was the kind of thing he could understand, and he understood +it all the better because it was empty. Oxford is--Oxford; not a +mere receptacle for youth, like Cambridge. Perhaps it wants its +inmates to love it rather than to love one another; such at all +events was to be its effect on Tibby. His sisters sent him there +that he might make friends, for they knew that his education had +been cranky, and had severed him from other boys and men. He made +no friends. His Oxford remained Oxford empty, and he took into +life with him, not the memory of a radiance, but the memory of a +colour scheme. + +It pleased Margaret to hear her brother and sister talking. They +did not get on overwell as a rule. For a few moments she listened +to them, feeling elderly and benign. + +Then something occurred to her, and she interrupted. + +"Helen, I told you about poor Mrs. Wilcox; that sad business?" + +"Yes." + +"I have had a correspondence with her son. He was winding up the +estate, and wrote to ask me whether his mother had wanted me to +have anything. I thought it good of him, considering I knew her +so little. I said that she had once spoken of giving me a +Christmas present, but we both forgot about it afterwards." + +"I hope Charles took the hint." + +"Yes--that is to say, her husband wrote later on, and thanked me +for being a little kind to her, and actually gave me her silver +vinaigrette. Don't you think that is extraordinarily generous? It +has made me like him very much. He hopes that this will not be +the end of our acquaintance, but that you and I will go and stop +with Evie some time in the future. I like Mr. Wilcox. He is +taking up his work--rubber--it is a big business. I gather he is +launching out rather. Charles is in it, too. Charles is married-- +a pretty little creature, but she doesn't seem wise. They took on +the flat, but now they have gone off to a house of their own." + +Helen, after a decent pause, continued her account of Stettin. +How quickly a situation changes! In June she had been in a +crisis; even in November she could blush and be unnatural; now it +was January and the whole affair lay forgotten. Looking back on +the past six months, Margaret realised the chaotic nature of our +daily life, and its difference from the orderly sequence that has +been fabricated by historians. Actual life is full of false clues +and sign-posts that lead nowhere. With infinite effort we nerve +ourselves for a crisis that never comes. The most successful +career must show a waste of strength that might have removed +mountains, and the most unsuccessful is not that of the man who +is taken unprepared, but of him who has prepared and is never +taken. On a tragedy of that kind our national morality is duly +silent. It assumes that preparation against danger is in itself +a good, and that men, like nations, are the better for staggering +through life fully armed. The tragedy of preparedness has +scarcely been handled, save by the Greeks. Life is indeed +dangerous, but not in the way morality would have us believe. It +is indeed unmanageable, but the essence of it is not a battle. It +is unmanageable because it is a romance, and its essence is +romantic beauty. Margaret hoped that for the future she would be +less cautious, not more cautious, than she had been in the past. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +Over two years passed, and the Schlegel household continued to +lead its life of cultured, but not ignoble, ease, still swimming +gracefully on the grey tides of London. Concerts and plays swept +past them, money had been spent and renewed, reputations won and +lost, and the city herself, emblematic of their lives, rose and +fell in a continual flux, while her shallows washed more widely +against the hills of Surrey and over the fields of Hertfordshire. +This famous building had arisen, that was doomed. To-day +Whitehall had been transformed; it would be the turn of Regent +Street to-morrow. And month by month the roads smelt more +strongly of petrol, and were more difficult to cross, and human +beings heard each other speak with greater difficulty, breathed +less of the air, and saw less of the sky. Nature withdrew; the +leaves were falling by midsummer; the sun shone through dirt with +an admired obscurity. + +To speak against London is no longer fashionable. The Earth as an +artistic cult has had its day, and the literature of the near +future will probably ignore the country and seek inspiration from +the town. One can understand the reaction. Of Pan and the +elemental forces, the public has heard a 'little too much--they +seem Victorian, while London is Georgian--and those who care for +the earth with sincerity may wait long ere the pendulum swings +back to her again. Certainly London fascinates. One visualises it +as a tract of quivering grey, intelligent without purpose, and +excitable without love; as a spirit that has altered before it +can be chronicled; as a heart that certainly beats, but with no +pulsation of humanity. It lies beyond everything; Nature, with +all her cruelty, comes nearer to us than do these crowds of men. +A friend explains himself; the earth is explicable--from her we +came, and we must return to her. But who can explain Westminster +Bridge Road or Liverpool Street in the morning--the city +inhaling--or the same thoroughfares in the evening--the city +exhaling her exhausted air? We reach in desperation beyond the +fog, beyond the very stars, the voids of the universe are +ransacked to justify the monster, and stamped with a human face. +London is religion's opportunity--not the decorous religion of +theologians, but anthropomorphic, crude. Yes, the continuous flow +would be tolerable if a man of our own sort--not any one pompous +or tearful--were caring for us up in the sky. + +The Londoner seldom understands his city until it sweeps him, +too, away from his moorings, and Margaret's eyes were not opened +until the lease of Wickham Place expired. She had always known +that it must expire, but the knowledge only became vivid about +nine months before the event. Then the house was suddenly ringed +with pathos. It had seen so much happiness. Why had it to be +swept away? In the streets of the city she noted for the first +time the architecture of hurry and heard the language of hurry on +the mouths of its inhabitants--clipped words, formless sentences, +potted expressions of approval or disgust. Month by month things +were stepping livelier, but to what goal? The population still +rose, but what was the quality of the men born? The particular +millionaire who owned the freehold of Wickham Place, and desired +to erect Babylonian flats upon it--what right had he to stir so +large a portion of the quivering jelly? He was not a fool--she +had heard him expose Socialism--but true insight began just where +his intelligence ended, and one gathered that this was the case +with most millionaires. What right had such men-- But Margaret +checked herself. That way lies madness. Thank goodness, she, too, +had some money, and could purchase a new home. + +Tibby, now in his second year at Oxford, was down for the Easter +vacation, and Margaret took the opportunity of having a serious +talk with him. Did he at all know where he wanted to live? Tibby +didn't know that he did know. Did he at all know what he wanted +to do? He was equally uncertain, but when pressed remarked that +he should prefer to be quite free of any profession. Margaret was +not shocked, but went on sewing for a few minutes before she +replied: + +"I was thinking of Mr. Vyse. He never strikes me as particularly +happy. + +"Ye--es." said Tibby, and then held his mouth open in a curious +quiver, as if he, too, had thought of Mr. Vyse, had seen round, +through, over, and beyond Mr. Vyse, had weighed Mr. Vyse, grouped +him, and finally dismissed him as having no possible bearing on +the Subject under discussion. That bleat of Tibby's infuriated +Helen. But Helen was now down in the dining room preparing a +speech about political economy. At times her voice could be heard +declaiming through the floor. + +"But Mr. Vyse is rather a wretched, weedy man, don't you think? +Then there's Guy. That was a pitiful business. Besides"--shifting +to the general--"every one is the better for some regular work." + +Groans. + +"I shall stick to it," she continued, smiling. "I am not saying +it to educate you; it is what I really think. I believe that in +the last century men have developed the desire for work, and they +must not starve it. It's a new desire. It goes with a great deal +that's bad, but in itself it's good, and I hope that for women, +too, 'not to work' will soon become as shocking as 'not to be +married' was a hundred years ago." + +"I have no experience of this profound desire to which you +allude," enunciated Tibby. + +"Then we'll leave the subject till you do. I'm not going to +rattle you round. Take your time. Only do think over the lives of +the men you like most, and see how they've arranged them." + +"I like Guy and Mr. Vyse most," said Tibby faintly, and leant so +far back in his chair that he extended in a horizontal line from +knees to throat. + +"And don't think I'm not serious because I don't use the +traditional arguments--making money, a sphere awaiting you, and +so on--all of which are, for various reasons, cant." She sewed +on. "I'm only your sister. I haven't any authority over you, and +I don't want to have any. Just to put before you what I think the +Truth. You see"--she shook off the pince-nez to which she had +recently taken--" in a few years we shall be the same age +practically, and I shall want you to help me. Men are so much +nicer than women." + +"Labouring under such a delusion, why do you not marry?" + +"I sometimes jolly well think I would if I got the chance." + +"Has nobody arst you?" + +"Only ninnies." + +"Do people ask Helen?" + +"Plentifully." + +"Tell me about them." + +"No." + +"Tell me about your ninnies, then." + +"They were men who had nothing better to do," said his sister, +feeling that she was entitled to score this point. "So take +warning; you must work, or else you must pretend to work, which +is what I do. Work, work, work if you'd save your soul and your +body. It is honestly a necessity, dear boy. Look at the Wilcoxes, +look at Mr. Pembroke. With all their defects of temper and +understanding, such men give me more pleasure than many who are +better equipped, and I think it is because they have worked +regularly and honestly." + +"Spare me the Wilcoxes," he moaned. + +"I shall not. They are the right sort." + +"Oh, goodness me, Meg--!" he protested, suddenly sitting up, +alert and angry. Tibby, for all his defects, had a genuine +personality. + +"Well, they're as near the right sort as you can imagine." + +"No, no--oh, no!" + +"I was thinking of the younger son, whom I once classed as a +ninny, but who came back so ill from Nigeria. He's gone out +there again, Evie Wilcox tells me--out to his duty." + +"Duty" always elicited a groan. + +"He doesn't want the money, it is work he wants, though it is +beastly work--dull country, dishonest natives, an eternal fidget +over fresh water and food... A nation that can produce men of +that sort may well be proud. No wonder England has become an +Empire. + +"EMPIRE!" + +"I can't bother over results," said Margaret, a little sadly. +"They are too difficult for me. I can only look at the men. An +Empire bores me, so far, but I can appreciate the heroism that +builds it up. London bores me, but what thousands of splendid +people are labouring to make London--" + +"What it is," he sneered. + +"What it is, worse luck. I want activity without civilisation. +How paradoxical! Yet I expect that is what we shall find in +heaven." + +"And I" said Tibby, "want civilisation without activity, which, I +expect, is what we shall find in the other place." + +"You needn't go as far as the other place, Tibbikins, if you +want that. You can find it at Oxford." + +"Stupid--" + +"If I'm stupid, get me back to the house-hunting. I'll even +live in Oxford if you like--North Oxford. I'll live anywhere +except Bournemouth, Torquay, and Cheltenham. Oh yes, or +Ilfracombe and Swanage and Tunbridge Wells and Surbiton and +Bedford. There on no account." + +"London, then." + +"I agree, but Helen rather wants to get away from London. +However, there's no reason we shouldn't have a house in the +country and also a flat in town, provided we all stick together +and contribute. Though of course-- Oh, how one does maunder on +and tothink, to think of the people who are really poor. How do +they live? Not to move about the world would kill me." + +As she spoke, the door was flung open, and Helen burst in in a +state of extreme excitement. + +"Oh, my dears, what do you think? You'll never guess. A woman's +been here asking me for her husband. Her WHAT?" (Helen was fond +of supplying her own surprise.) "Yes, for her husband, and it +really is so." + +"Not anything to do with Bracknell?" cried Margaret, who had +lately taken on an unemployed of that name to clean the knives +and boots. + +"I offered Bracknell, and he was rejected. So was Tibby. (Cheer +up, Tibby!) It's no one we know. I said, 'Hunt, my good woman; +have a good look round, hunt under the tables, poke up the +chimney, shake out the antimacassars. Husband? husband?' Oh, and +she so magnificently dressed and tinkling like a chandelier." + +"Now, Helen, what did really happen?" + +"What I say. I was, as it were, orating my speech. Annie opens +the door like a fool, and shows a female straight in on me, with +my mouth open. Then we began--very civilly. 'I want my husband, +what I have reason to believe is here.' No--how unjust one is. +She said 'whom,' not 'what.' She got it perfectly. So I said, +'Name, please?' and she said, 'Lan, Miss,' and there we were. + +"Lan?" + +"Lan or Len. We were not nice about our vowels. Lanoline. " + +"But what an extraordinary--" + +"I said, 'My good Mrs. Lanoline, we have some grave +misunderstanding here. Beautiful as I am, my modesty is even more +remarkable than my beauty, and never, never has Mr. Lanoline +rested his eyes on mine.'" + +"I hope you were pleased," said Tibby. + +"Of course," Helen squeaked. "A perfectly delightful experience. +Oh, Mrs. Lanoline's a dear--she asked for a husband as if he were +an umbrella. She mislaid him Saturday afternoon--and for a long +time suffered no inconvenience. But all night, and all this +morning her apprehensions grew. Breakfast didn't seem the +same--no, no more did lunch, and so she strolled up to 2 Wickham +Place as being the most likely place for the missing article." + +"But how on earth--" + +"Don't begin how on earthing. 'I know what I know,' she kept +repeating, not uncivilly, but with extreme gloom. In vain I asked +her what she did know. Some knew what others knew, and others +didn't, and then others again had better be careful. Oh dear, she +was incompetent! She had a face like a silkworm, and the +dining-room reeks of orris-root. We chatted pleasantly a little +about husbands, and I wondered where hers was too, and advised +her to go to the police. She thanked me. We agreed that Mr. +Lanoline's a notty, notty man, and hasn't no business +to go on the lardy-da. But I think she suspected me up to the +last. Bags I writing to Aunt Juley about this. Now, Meg, +remember--bags I." + +"Bag it by all means," murmured Margaret, putting down her work. +I'm not sure that this is so funny, Helen. It means some horrible +volcano smoking somewhere, doesn't it?" + +"I don't think so--she doesn't really mind. The admirable +creature isn't capable of tragedy." + +"Her husband may be, though," said Margaret, moving to the +window. + +"Oh no, not likely. No one capable of tragedy could have married +Mrs. Lanoline." + +"Was she pretty?" + +"Her figure may have been good once." + +The flats, their only outlook, hung like an ornate curtain +between Margaret and the welter of London. Her thoughts turned +sadly to house-hunting. Wickham Place had been so safe. She +feared, fantastically, that her own little flock might be moving +into turmoil and squalor, into nearer contact with such episodes +as these. + +"Tibby and I have again been wondering where we'll live next +September," she said at last. + +"Tibby had better first wonder what he'll do," retorted Helen; +and that topic was resumed, but with acrimony. Then tea came, and +after tea Helen went on preparing her speech, and Margaret +prepared one, too, for they were going out to a discussion +society on the morrow. But her thoughts were poisoned. Mrs. +Lanoline had risen out of the abyss, like a faint smell, a +goblin football, telling of a life where love and hatred had both +decayed. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +The mystery, like so many mysteries, was explained. Next day, +just as they were dressed to go out to dinner, a Mr. Bast called. +He was a clerk in the employment of the Porphyrion Fire Insurance +Company. Thus much from his card. He had come "about the lady +yesterday." Thus much from Annie, who had shown him into the +dining-room. + +"Cheers, children!" cried Helen. "It's Mrs. Lanoline." + +Tibby was interested. The three hurried downstairs, to find, not +the gay dog they expected, but a young man, colourless, toneless, +who had already the mournful eyes above a drooping moustache that +are so common in London, and that haunt some streets of the city +like accusing presences. One guessed him as the third generation, +grandson to the shepherd or ploughboy whom civilisation had +sucked into the town; as one of the thousands who have lost the +life of the body and failed to reach the life of the spirit. +Hints of robustness survived in him, more than a hint of +primitive good looks, and Margaret, noting the spine that might +have been straight, and the chest that might have broadened, +wondered whether it paid to give up the glory of the animal for a +tail coat and a couple of ideas. Culture had worked in her own +case, but during the last few weeks she had doubted whether it +humanised the majority, so wide and so widening is the gulf that +stretches between the natural and the philosophic man, so many +the good chaps who are wrecked in trying to cross it. She knew +this type very well--the vague aspirations, the mental +dishonesty, the familiarity with the outsides of books. She knew +the very tones in which he would address her. She was only +unprepared for an example of her own visiting-card. + +"You wouldn't remember giving me this, Miss Schlegel?" said he, +uneasily familiar. + +"No; I can't say I do." + +"Well, that was how it happened, you see." + +"Where did we meet, Mr. Bast? For the minute I don't remember." + +"It was a concert at the Queen's Hall. I think you will +recollect," he added pretentiously, "when I tell you that it +included a performance of the Fifth Symphony of Beethoven." + +"We hear the Fifth practically every time it's done, so I'm not +sure--do you remember, Helen?" + +"Was it the time the sandy cat walked round the balustrade?" + +He thought not. + +"Then I don't remember. That's the only Beethoven I ever remember +specially." + +"And you, if I may say so, took away my umbrella, inadvertently +of course." + +"Likely enough," Helen laughed, "for I steal umbrellas even +oftener than I hear Beethoven. Did you get it back?" + +"Yes, thank you, Miss Schlegel." + +"The mistake arose out of my card, did it?" interposed Margaret. + +"Yes, the mistake arose--it was a mistake." + +"The lady who called here yesterday thought that you were calling +too, and that she could find you?" she continued, pushing him +forward, for, though he had promised an explanation, he seemed +unable to give one. + +"That's so, calling too--a mistake." + +"Then why--?" began Helen, but Margaret laid a hand on her arm. + +"I said to my wife," he continued more rapidly "I said to Mrs. +Bast, "I have to pay a call on some friends,' and Mrs. Bast said +to me, 'Do go.' While I was gone, however, she wanted me on +important business, and thought I had come here, owing to the +card, and so came after me, and I beg to tender my apologies, and +hers as well, for any inconvenience we may have inadvertently +caused you." + +"No inconvenience," said Helen; "but I still don't understand." + +An air of evasion characterised Mr. Bast. He explained again, but +was obviously lying, and Helen didn't see why he should get off. +She had the cruelty of youth. Neglecting her sister's pressure, +she said, "I still don't understand. When did you say you paid +this call?" + +"Call? What call?" said he, staring as if her question had been a +foolish one, a favourite device of those in mid-stream. + +"This afternoon call." + +"In the afternoon, of course!" he replied, and looked at Tibby to +see how the repartee went. But Tibby was unsympathetic, and said, +"Saturday afternoon or Sunday afternoon?" + +"S--Saturday." + +"Really!" said Helen; "and you were still calling on Sunday, when +your wife came here. A long visit." + +"I don't call that fair," said Mr. Bast, going scarlet and +handsome. There was fight in his eyes. "I know what you mean, +and it isn't so." + +"Oh, don't let us mind," said Margaret, distressed again by +odours from the abyss. + +"It was something else," he asserted, his elaborate manner +breaking down. "I was somewhere else to what you think, so +there!" + +"It was good of you to come and explain," she said. "The rest is +naturally no concern of ours." + +"Yes, but I want--I wanted--have you ever read The Ordeal of +Richard Feverel?" + +Margaret nodded. + +"It's a beautiful book. I wanted to get back to the earth, don't +you see, like Richard does in the end. Or have you ever read +Stevenson's Prince Otto?" + +Helen and Tibby groaned gently. + +"That's another beautiful book. You get back to the earth in +that. I wanted--" He mouthed affectedly. Then through the mists +of his culture came a hard fact, hard as a pebble. "I walked all +the Saturday night," said Leonard. "I walked." A thrill of +approval ran through the sisters. But culture closed in again. He +asked whether they had ever read E. V. Lucas's Open Road." + +Said Helen, "No doubt it's another beautiful book, but I'd rather +hear about your road." + +"Oh, I walked." + +"How far?" + +"I don't know, nor for how long. It got too dark to see my +watch." + +"Were you walking alone, may I ask?" + +"Yes," he said, straightening himself; "but we'd been talking it +over at the office. There's been a lot of talk at the office +lately about these things. The fellows there said one steers by +the Pole Star, and I looked it up in the celestial atlas, but +once out of doors everything gets so mixed." + +"Don't talk to me about the Pole Star," interrupted Helen, who +was becoming interested. "I know its little ways. It goes round +and round, and you go round after it." + +"Well, I lost it entirely. First of all the street lamps, then +the trees, and towards morning it got cloudy." + +Tibby, who preferred his comedy undiluted, slipped from the room. +He knew that this fellow would never attain to poetry, and did +not want to hear him trying. + +Margaret and Helen remained. Their brother influenced them more +than they knew; in his absence they were stirred to enthusiasm +more easily. + +"Where did you start from?" cried Margaret. "Do tell us more." + +"I took the Underground to Wimbledon. As I came out of the +office I said to myself, 'I must have a walk once in a way. If I +don't take this walk now, I shall never take it.' I had a bit of +dinner at Wimbledon, and then--" + +"But not good country there, is it?" + +"It was gas-lamps for hours. Still, I had all the night, and +being out was the great thing. I did get into woods, too, +presently." + +"Yes, go on," said Helen. + +"You've no idea how difficult uneven ground is when it's +dark." + +"Did you actually go off the roads?" + +"Oh yes. I always meant to go off the roads, but the worst of it +is that it's more difficult to find one's way. + +"Mr. Bast, you're a born adventurer," laughed Margaret. "No +professional athlete would have attempted what you've done. It's +a wonder your walk didn't end in a broken neck. Whatever did your +wife say?" + +"Professional athletes never move without lanterns and +compasses," said Helen. "Besides, they can't walk. It tires them. +Go on." + +"I felt like R. L. S. You probably remember how in Virginibus." + +"Yes, but the wood. This 'ere wood. How did you get out of it?" + +"I managed one wood, and found a road the other side which went a +good bit uphill. I rather fancy it was those North Downs, for the +road went off into grass, and I got into another wood. That was +awful, with gorse bushes. I did wish I'd never come, but suddenly +it got light--just while I seemed going under one tree. Then I +found a road down to a station, and took the first train I +could back to London." + +"But was the dawn wonderful?" asked Helen. + +With unforgettable sincerity he replied, "No." The word flew +again like a pebble from the sling. Down toppled all that had +seemed ignoble or literary in his talk, down toppled tiresome R. +L. S. and the "love of the earth" and his silk top-hat. In the +presence of these women Leonard had arrived, and he spoke with a +flow, an exultation, that he had seldom known. + +"The dawn was only grey, it was nothing to mention." + +"Just a grey evening turned upside down. I know." + +"--and I was too tired to lift up my head to look at it, and so +cold too. I'm glad I did it, and yet at the time it bored me more +than I can say. And besides--you can believe me or not as you +choose--I was very hungry. That dinner at Wimbledon--I meant it +to last me all night like other dinners. I never thought +that walking would make such a difference. Why, when you're +walking you want, as it were, a breakfast and luncheon and tea +during the night as well, and I'd nothing but a packet of +Woodbines. Lord, I did feel bad! Looking back, it wasn't what you +may call enjoyment. It was more a case of sticking to it. I did +stick. I--I was determined. Oh, hang it all! what's the good--I +mean, the good of living in a room for ever? There one goes on +day after day, same old game, same up and down to town, until you +forget there is any other game. You ought to see once in a way +what's going on outside, if it's only nothing particular after +all." + +"I should just think you ought," said Helen, sitting--on the +edge of the table. + +The sound of a lady's voice recalled him from sincerity, and he +said: "Curious it should all come about from reading something of +Richard Jefferies." + +"Excuse me, Mr. Bast, but you're wrong there. It didn't. It came +from something far greater." + +But she could not stop him. Borrow was imminent after Jefferies-- +Borrow, Thoreau, and sorrow. R. L. S. brought up the rear, and +the outburst ended in a swamp of books. No disrespect to these +great names. The fault is ours, not theirs. They mean us to use +them for sign-posts we mistake the sign-post for the destination. +And Leonard had reached the destination. He had visited the +county of Surrey when darkness covered its amenities, and its +cosy villas had re-entered ancient night. Every twelve hours this +miracle happens, but he had troubled to go and see for himself. +Within his cramped little mind dwelt something that was greater +than Jefferies' books--the spirit that led Jefferies to write +them; and his dawn, though revealing nothing but monotones, was +part of the eternal sunrise that shows George Borrow Stonehenge. + +"Then you don't think I was foolish?" he asked becoming again the +naive and sweet-tempered boy for whom Nature intended him. + +"Heavens, no!" replied Margaret. + +"Heaven help us if we do!" replied Helen. + +"I'm very glad you say that. Now, my wife would never understand +--not if I explained for days." + +"No, it wasn't foolish!" cried Helen, her eyes aflame. "You've +pushed back the boundaries; I think it splendid of you." + +"You've not been content to dream as we have--" + +"Though we have walked, too--" + +"I must show you a picture upstairs--" + +Here the door-bell rang. The hansom had come to take them to +their evening party. + +"Oh, bother, not to say dash--I had forgotten we were dining out; +but do, do, come round again and have a talk." "Yes, you must-- +do," echoed Margaret. + +Leonard, with extreme sentiment, replied: "No, I shall not. It's +better like this." + +"Why better?" asked Margaret. + +"No, it is better not to risk a second interview. I shall always +look back on this talk with you as one of the finest things in my +life. Really. I mean this. We can never repeat. It has done me +real good, and there we had better leave it." + +"That's rather a sad view of life, surely." + +"Things so often get spoiled." + +"I know," flashed Helen, "but people don't." + +He could not understand this. He continued in a vein which +mingled true imagination and false. What he said wasn't wrong, +but it wasn't right, and a false note jarred. One little twist, +they felt, and the instrument might be in tune. One little +strain, and it might be silent for ever. He thanked the ladies +very much, but he would not call again. There was a moment's +awkwardness, and then Helen said: "Go, then; perhaps you know +best; but never forget you're better than Jefferies." And he +went. Their hansom caught him up at the corner, passed with a +waving of hands, and vanished with its accomplished load into the +evening. + +London was beginning to illuminate herself against the night. +Electric lights sizzled and jagged in the main thoroughfares, +gas-lamps in the side streets glimmered a canary gold or green. +The sky was a crimson battlefield of spring, but London was not +afraid. Her smoke mitigated the splendour, and the clouds down +Oxford Street were a delicately painted ceiling, which adorned +while it did not distract. She had never known the clear-cut +armies of the purer air. Leonard hurried through her tinted +wonders, very much part of the picture. His was a grey life, and +to brighten it he had ruled off few corners for romance. The +Miss Schlegels--or, to speak more accurately, his interview +with them--were to fill such a corner, nor was it by any means +the first time that he had talked intimately to strangers. The +habit was analogous to a debauch, an outlet, though the worst of +outlets, for instincts that would not be denied. Terrifying him, +it would beat down his suspicions and prudence until he was +confiding secrets to people whom he had scarcely seen. It brought +him many fears and some pleasant memories. Perhaps the keenest +happiness he had ever known was during a railway journey to +Cambridge, where a decent-mannered undergraduate had spoken +to him. They had got into conversation, and gradually Leonard +flung reticence aside, told some of his domestic troubles and +hinted at the rest. The undergraduate, supposing they could start +a friendship, asked him to "coffee after hall," which he +accepted, but afterwards grew shy, and took care not to +stir from the commercial hotel where he lodged. He did not want +Romance to collide with the Porphyrion, still less with Jacky, +and people with fuller, happier lives are slow to understand +this. To the Schlegels, as to the undergraduate, he was an +interesting creature, of whom they wanted to see more. But they +to him were denizens of Romance, who must keep to the corner he +had assigned them, pictures that must not walk out of +their frames. + +His behaviour over Margaret's visiting-card had been typical. His +had scarcely been a tragic marriage. Where there is no money +and no inclination to violence tragedy cannot be generated. He +could not leave his wife, and he did not want to hit her. +Petulance and squalor were enough. Here "that card" had come in. +Leonard, though furtive, was untidy, and left it lying about. +Jacky found it, and then began, "What's that card, eh?" "Yes, +don't you wish you knew what that card was?" "Len, who's Miss +Schlegel?" etc. Months passed, and the card, now as a joke, now +as a grievance, was handed about, getting dirtier and dirtier. It +followed them when they moved from Camelia Road to Tulse Hill. It +was submitted to third parties. A few inches of pasteboard, it +became the battlefield on which the souls of Leonard and his +wife contended. Why did he not say, "A lady took my umbrella, +another gave me this that I might call for my umbrella"? Because +Jacky would have disbelieved him? Partly, but chiefly because he +was sentimental. No affection gathered round the card, but it +symbolised the life of culture, that Jacky should never spoil. +At night he would say to himself, "Well, at all events, she +doesn't know about that card. Yah! done her there!" + +Poor Jacky! she was not a bad sort, and had a great deal to bear. +She drew her own conclusion--she was only capable of drawing one +conclusion--and in the fulness of time she acted upon it. All the +Friday Leonard had refused to speak to her, and had spent the +evening observing the stars. On the Saturday he went up, as +usual, to town, but he came not back Saturday night, nor Sunday +morning, nor Sunday afternoon. The inconvenience grew +intolerable, and though she was now of a retiring habit, and shy +of women, she went up to Wickham Place. Leonard returned in her +absence. The card, the fatal card, was gone from the pages of +Ruskin, and he guessed what had happened. + +"Well?" he had exclaimed, greeting her with peals of laughter. +"I know where you've been, but you don't know where I've been." + +Jacky sighed, said, "Len, I do think you might explain," and +resumed domesticity. + +Explanations were difficult at this stage, and Leonard was too +silly--or it is tempting to write, too sound a chap to attempt +them. His reticence was not entirely the shoddy article that a +business life promotes, the reticence that pretends that nothing +is something, and hides behind the Daily Telegraph. The +adventurer, also, is reticent, and it is an adventure for a clerk +to walk for a few hours in darkness. You may laugh at him, you +who have slept nights out on the veldt, with your rifle beside +you and all the atmosphere of adventure pat. And you also may +laugh who think adventures silly. But do not be surprised if +Leonard is shy whenever he meets you, and if the Schlegels rather +than Jacky hear about the dawn. + +That the Schlegels had not thought him foolish became a permanent +joy. He was at his best when he thought of them. It buoyed him as +he journeyed home beneath fading heavens. Somehow the barriers of +wealth had fallen, and there had been--he could not phrase it--a +general assertion of the wonder of the world. "My conviction," +says the mystic, "gains infinitely the moment another soul will +believe in it," and they had agreed that there was something +beyond life's daily grey. He took off his top-hat and smoothed it +thoughtfully. He had hitherto supposed the unknown to be books, +literature, clever conversation, culture. One raised oneself by +study, and got upsides with the world. But in that quick +interchange a new light dawned. Was that "something" walking in +the dark among the suburban hills? + +He discovered that he was going bareheaded down Regent Street. +London came back with a rush. Few were about at this hour, but +all whom he passed looked at him with a hostility that was the +more impressive because it was unconscious. He put his hat on. It +was too big; his head disappeared like a pudding into a basin, +the ears bending outwards at the touch of the curly brim. He wore +it a little backwards, and its effect was greatly to elongate the +face and to bring out the distance between the eyes and the +moustache. Thus equipped, he escaped criticism. No one felt +uneasy as he titupped along the pavements, the heart of a man +ticking fast in his chest. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +The sisters went out to dinner full of their adventure, and when +they were both full of the same subject, there were few +dinner-parties that could stand up against them. This particular +one, which was all ladies, had more kick in it than most, but +succumbed after a struggle. Helen at one part of the table, +Margaret at the other, would talk of Mr. Bast and of no one else, +and somewhere about the entree their monologues collided, fell +ruining, and became common property. Nor was this all. The +dinner-party was really an informal discussion club; there was a +paper after it, read amid coffee-cups and laughter in the +drawing-room, but dealing more or less thoughtfully with some +topic of general interest. After the paper came a debate, and in +this debate Mr. Bast also figured, appearing now as a bright spot +in civilisation, now as a dark spot, according to the temperament +of the speaker. The subject of the paper had been, "How ought I +to dispose of my money?" the reader professing to be a +millionaire on the point of death, inclined to bequeath her +fortune for the foundation of local art galleries, but open to +conviction from other sources. The various parts had been +assigned beforehand, and some of the speeches were amusing. The +hostess assumed the ungrateful role of "the millionaire's eldest +son," and implored her expiring parent not to dislocate Society +by allowing such vast sums to pass out of the family. Money was +the fruit of self-denial, and the second generation had a right +to profit by the self-denial of the first. What right had "Mr. +Bast" to profit? The National Gallery was good enough for the +likes of him. After property had had its say--a saying that is +necessarily ungracious--the various philanthropists stepped +forward. Something must be done for "Mr. Bast"; his conditions +must be improved without impairing his independence; he must have +a free library, or free tennis-courts; his rent must be paid in +such a way that he did not know it was being paid; it must be +made worth his while to join the Territorials; he must be +forcibly parted from his uninspiring wife, the money going to her +as compensation; he must be assigned a Twin Star, some member of +the leisured classes who would watch over him ceaselessly (groans +from Helen); he must be given food but no clothes, clothes but no +food, a third-return ticket to Venice, without either food or +clothes when he arrived there. In short, he might be given +anything and everything so long as it was not the money itself. + +And here Margaret interrupted. + +"Order, order, Miss Schlegel!" said the reader of the paper. "You +are here, I understand, to advise me in the interests of the +Society for the Preservation of Places of Historic Interest or +Natural Beauty. I cannot have you speaking out of your role. It +makes my poor head go round, and I think you forget that I am +very ill." + +"Your head won't go round if only you'll listen to my argument," +said Margaret. "Why not give him the money itself? You're +supposed to have about thirty thousand a year." + +"Have I? I thought I had a million." + +"Wasn't a million your capital? Dear me! we ought to have settled +that. Still, it doesn't matter. Whatever you've got, I order you +to give as many poor men as you can three hundred a year each." + +"But that would be pauperising them," said an earnest girl, who +liked the Schlegels, but thought them a little unspiritual at +times. + +"Not if you gave them so much. A big windfall would not pauperise +a man. It is these little driblets, distributed among too many, +that do the harm. Money's educational. It's far more educational +than the things it buys." There was a protest. "In a sense," +added Margaret, but the protest continued. "Well, isn't the most +civilized thing going, the man who has learnt to wear his income +properly?" + +"Exactly what your Mr. Basts won't do." + +"Give them a chance. Give them money. Don't dole them out +poetry-books and railway-tickets like babies. Give them the +wherewithal to buy these things. When your Socialism comes it may +be different, and we may think in terms of commodities instead of +cash. Till it comes give people cash, for it is the warp of +civilisation, whatever the woof may be. The imagination ought to +play upon money and realise it vividly, for it's the--the second +most important thing in the world. It is so slurred over and +hushed up, there is so little clear thinking--oh, political +economy, of course, but so few of us think clearly about our own +private incomes, and admit that independent thoughts are in nine +cases out of ten the result of independent means. Money: give Mr. +Bast money, and don't bother about his ideals. He'll pick up +those for himself. + +She leant back while the more earnest members of the club began +to misconstrue her. The female mind, though cruelly practical in +daily life, cannot bear to hear ideals belittled in conversation, +and Miss Schlegel was asked however she could say such dreadful +things, and what it would profit Mr. Bast if he gained the whole +world and lost his own soul. She answered, "Nothing, but he would +not gain his soul until he had gained a little of the world." +Then they said, "No, we do not believe it," and she admitted that +an overworked clerk may save his soul in the superterrestrial +sense, where the effort will be taken for the deed, but she +denied that he will ever explore the spiritual resources of this +world, will ever know the rarer joys of the body, or attain to +clear and passionate intercourse with his fellows. Others had +attacked the fabric of Society--Property, Interest, etc.; she +only fixed her eyes on a few human beings, to see how, under +present conditions, they could be made happier. Doing good to +humanity was useless: the many-coloured efforts thereto spreading +over the vast area like films and resulting in an universal grey. +To do good to one, or, as in this case, to a few, was the utmost +she dare hope for. + +Between the idealists, and the political economists, Margaret had +a bad time. Disagreeing elsewhere, they agreed in disowning her, +and in keeping the administration of the millionaire's money in +their own hands. The earnest girl brought forward a scheme of +"personal supervision and mutual help," the effect of which was +to alter poor people until they became exactly like people who +were not so poor. The hostess pertinently remarked that she, as +eldest son, might surely rank among the millionaire's legatees. +Margaret weakly admitted the claim, and another claim was at once +set up by Helen, who declared that she had been the millionaire's +housemaid for over forty years, overfed and underpaid; was +nothing to be done for her, so corpulent and poor? The +millionaire then read out her last will and testament, in which +she left the whole of her fortune to the Chancellor of the +Exchequer. Then she died. The serious parts of the discussion had +been of higher merit than the playful--in a men's debate is the +reverse more general?--but the meeting broke up hilariously +enough, and a dozen happy ladies dispersed to their homes. + +Helen and Margaret walked with the earnest girl as far as +Battersea Bridge Station, arguing copiously all the way. When she +had gone they were conscious of an alleviation, and of the great +beauty of the evening. They turned back towards Oakley Street. +The lamps and the plane-trees, following the line of the +embankment, struck a note of dignity that is rare in English +cities. The seats, almost deserted, were here and there occupied +by gentlefolk in evening dress, who had strolled out from the +houses behind to enjoy fresh air and the whisper of the rising +tide. There is something continental about Chelsea Embankment. It +is an open space used rightly, a blessing more frequent in +Germany than here. As Margaret and Helen sat down, the city +behind them seemed to be a vast theatre, an opera-house in which +some endless trilogy was performing, and they themselves a pair +of satisfied subscribers, who did not mind losing a little of the +second act. + +"Cold?" + +"No." + +"Tired?" + +"Doesn't matter." + +The earnest girl's train rumbled away over the bridge, "I say, +Helen--" + +"Well?" + +"Are we really going to follow up Mr. Bast?" + +"I don't know." + +"I think we won't." + +"As you like." + +"It's no good, I think, unless you really mean to know people. +The discussion brought that home to me. We got on well enough +with him in a spirit of excitement, but think of rational +intercourse. We mustn't play at friendship. No, it's no good." + +"There's Mrs. Lanoline, too," Helen yawned. "So dull." + +"Just so, and possibly worse than dull." + +"I should like to know how he got hold of your card." + +"But he said--something about a concert and an umbrella." + +"Then did the card see the wife--" + +"Helen, come to bed." + +"No, just a little longer, it is so beautiful. Tell me; oh yes; +did you say money is the warp of the world?" + +"Yes." + +"Then what's the woof?" + +"Very much what one chooses," said Margaret. "It's something that +isn't money--one can't say more." + +"Walking at night?" + +"Probably." + +"For Tibby, Oxford?" + +"It seems so." + +"For you?" + +"Now that we have to leave Wickham Place, I begin to think it's +that. For Mrs. Wilcox it was certainly Howards End." + +One's own name will carry immense distances. Mr. Wilcox, who was +sitting with friends many seats away, heard this, rose to his +feet, and strolled along towards the speakers. + +"It is sad to suppose that places may ever be more important than +people," continued Margaret. + +"Why, Meg? They're so much nicer generally. I'd rather think of +that forester's house in Pomerania than of the fat Herr +Forstmeister who lived in it." + +"I believe we shall come to care about people less and less, +Helen. The more people one knows the easier it becomes to replace +them. It's one of the curses of London. I quite expect to end my +life caring most for a place." + +Here Mr. Wilcox reached them. It was several weeks since they had +met. + +"How do you do?" he cried. "I thought I recognised your voices. +Whatever are you both doing down here?" + +His tones were protective. He implied that one ought not to sit +out on Chelsea Embankment without a male escort. Helen resented +this, but Margaret accepted it as part of the good man's +equipment. + +"What an age it is since I've seen you, Mr. Wilcox. I met Evie in +the Tube, though, lately. I hope you have good news of your son." + +"Paul?" said Mr. Wilcox, extinguishing his cigarette, and sitting +down between them. "Oh, Paul's all right. We had a line from Madeira. +He'll be at work again by now." + +"Ugh--" said Helen, shuddering from complex causes. + +"I beg your pardon?" + +"Isn't the climate of Nigeria too horrible?" + +"Some one's got to go," he said simply. England will never keep +her trade overseas unless she is prepared to make sacrifices. +Unless we get firm in West Africa, Ger--untold complications may +follow. Now tell me all your news." + +"Oh, we've had a splendid evening," cried Helen, who always woke +up at the advent of a visitor. "We belong to a kind of club that +reads papers, Margaret and I--all women, but there is a +discussion after. This evening it was on how one ought to leave +one's money--whether to one's family, or to the poor, and if so +how--oh, most interesting." + +The man of business smiled. Since his wife's death he had almost +doubled his income. He was an important figure at last, a +reassuring name on company prospectuses, and life had treated him +very well. The world seemed in his grasp as he listened to the +River Thames, which still flowed inland from the sea. So +wonderful to the girls, it held no mysteries for him. He had +helped to shorten its long tidal trough by taking shares in the +lock at Teddington, and if he and other capitalists thought good, +some day it could be shortened again. With a good dinner inside +him and an amiable but academic woman on either flank, he felt +that his hands were on all the ropes of life, and that what he +did not know could not be worth knowing. + +"Sounds a most original entertainment!" he exclaimed, and laughed +in his pleasant way. "I wish Evie would go to that sort of thing. +But she hasn't the time. She's taken to breeding Aberdeen +terriers--jolly little dogs." + +"I expect we'd better be doing the same, really." + +"We pretend we're improving ourselves, you see," said Helen a +little sharply, for the Wilcox glamour is not of the kind that +returns, and she had bitter memories of the days when a speech +such as he had just made would have impressed her favourably. "We +suppose it a good thing to waste an evening once a fortnight over +a debate, but, as my sister says, it may be better to breed +dogs." + +"Not at all. I don't agree with your sister. There's nothing like +a debate to teach one quickness. I often wish I had gone in for +them when I was a youngster. It would have helped me no end." + +"Quickness--?" + +"Yes. Quickness in argument. Time after time I've missed scoring +a point because the other man has had the gift of the gab and I +haven't. Oh, I believe in these discussions." + +The patronising tone, thought Margaret, came well enough from a +man who was old enough to be their father. She had always +maintained that Mr. Wilcox had a charm. In times of sorrow or +emotion his inadequacy had pained her, but it was pleasant to +listen to him now, and to watch his thick brown moustache and +high forehead confronting the stars. But Helen was nettled. The +aim of their debates she implied was Truth. + +"Oh yes, it doesn't much matter what subject you take," said he. + +Margaret laughed and said, "But this is going to be far better +than the debate itself." Helen recovered herself and laughed too. +"No, I won't go on," she declared. "I'll just put our special +case to Mr. Wilcox." + +"About Mr. Bast? Yes, do. He'll be more lenient to a special +case." + +"But, Mr. Wilcox, do first light another cigarette. It's this. +We've just come across a young fellow, who's evidently very poor, +and who seems interest--" + +"What's his profession?" + +"Clerk." + +"What in?" + +"Do you remember, Margaret?" + +"Porphyrion Fire Insurance Company." + +"Oh yes; the nice people who gave Aunt Juley a new hearth rug. He +seems interesting, in some ways very, and one wishes one could +help him. He is married to a wife whom he doesn't seem to care +for much. He likes books, and what one may roughly call +adventure, and if he had a chance-- But he is so poor. He lives a +life where all the money is apt to go on nonsense and clothes. +One is so afraid that circumstances will be too strong for him +and that he will sink. Well, he got mixed up in our debate. He +wasn't the subject of it, but it seemed to bear on his point. +Suppose a millionaire died, and desired to leave money to help +such a man. How should he be helped? Should he be given three +hundred pounds a year direct, which was Margaret's plan? Most of +them thought this would pauperise him. Should he and those like +him be given free libraries? I said 'No!' He doesn't want more +books to read, but to read books rightly. My suggestion was he +should be given something every year towards a summer holiday, +but then there is his wife, and they said she would have to go +too. Nothing seemed quite right! Now what do you think? Imagine +that you were a millionaire, and wanted to help the poor. What +would you do?" + +Mr. Wilcox, whose fortune was not so very far below the standard +indicated, laughed exuberantly. "My dear Miss Schlegel, I will +not rush in where your sex has been unable to tread. I will not +add another plan to the numerous excellent ones that have been +already suggested. My only contribution is this: let your young +friend clear out of the Porphyrion Fire Insurance Company with +all possible speed." + +"Why?" said Margaret. + +He lowered his voice. "This is between friends. It'll be in the +Receiver's hands before Christmas. It'll smash," he added, +thinking that she had not understood. + +"Dear me, Helen, listen to that. And he'll have to get another +place!" + +"WILL have? Let him leave the ship before it sinks. Let him get +one now." + +"Rather than wait, to make sure?" + +"Decidedly." + +"Why's that?" + +Again the Olympian laugh, and the lowered voice. "Naturally the +man who's in a situation when he applies stands a better chance, +is in a stronger position, that the man who isn't. It looks as if +he's worth something. I know by myself--(this is letting you into +the State secrets)--it affects an employer greatly. Human nature, +I'm afraid." + +"I hadn't thought of that," murmured Margaret, while Helen said, +"Our human nature appears to be the other way round. We employ +people because they're unemployed. The boot man, for instance." + +"And how does he clean the boots?" + +"Not well," confessed Margaret. + +"There you are!" + +"Then do you really advise us to tell this youth--?" + +"I advise nothing," he interrupted, glancing up and down the +Embankment, in case his indiscretion had been overheard. "I +oughtn't to have spoken--but I happen to know, being more or less +behind the scenes. The Porphyrion's a bad, bad concern-- Now, +don't say I said so. It's outside the Tariff Ring." + +"Certainly I won't say. In fact, I don't know what that means." + +"I thought an insurance company never smashed," was Helen's +contribution. "Don't the others always run in and save them?" + +"You're thinking of reinsurance," said Mr. Wilcox mildly. "It is +exactly there that the Porphyrion is weak. It has tried to +undercut, has been badly hit by a long series of small fires, and +it hasn't been able to reinsure. I'm afraid that public +companies don't save one another for love." + +"'Human nature,' I suppose," quoted Helen, and he laughed and +agreed that it was. When Margaret said that she supposed that +clerks, like every one else, found it extremely difficult to get +situations in these days, he replied, "Yes, extremely," and rose +to rejoin his friends. He knew by his own office--seldom a vacant +post, and hundreds of applicants for it; at present no vacant +post. + +"And how's Howards End looking?" said Margaret, wishing to change +the subject before they parted. Mr. Wilcox was a little apt to +think one wanted to get something out of him. + +"It's let." + +"Really. And you wandering homeless in longhaired Chelsea? How +strange are the ways of Fate!" + +"No; it's let unfurnished. We've moved." + +"Why, I thought of you both as anchored there for ever. Evie +never told me." + +"I dare say when you met Evie the thing wasn't settled. We only +moved a week ago. Paul has rather a feeling for the old place, +and we held on for him to have his holiday there; but, really, it +is impossibly small. Endless drawbacks. I forget whether you've +been up to it?" + +"As far as the house, never." + +"Well, Howards End is one of those converted farms. They don't +really do, spend what you will on them. We messed away with a +garage all among the wych-elm roots, and last year we enclosed a +bit of the meadow and attempted a rockery. Evie got rather keen +on Alpine plants. But it didn't do--no, it didn't do. You +remember, your sister will remember, the farm with those +abominable guinea-fowls, and the hedge that the old woman never +would cut properly, so that it all went thin at the bottom. And, +inside the house, the beams--and the staircase through a door-- +picturesque enough, but not a place to live in." He glanced over +the parapet cheerfully. "Full tide. And the position wasn't +right either. The neighbourhood's getting suburban. Either be in +London or out of it, I say; so we've taken a house in Ducie +Street, close to Sloane Street, and a place right down in +Shropshire--Oniton Grange. Ever heard of Oniton? Do come and see +us--right away from everywhere, up towards Wales." + +"What a change!" said Margaret. But the change was in her own +voice, which had become most sad. "I can't imagine Howards End or +Hilton without you." + +"Hilton isn't without us," he replied. "Charles is there still." + +"Still?" said Margaret, who had not kept up with the Charles's. +"But I thought he was still at Epsom. They were furnishing that +Christmas--one Christmas. How everything alters! I used to admire +Mrs. Charles from our windows very often. Wasn't it Epsom?" + +"Yes, but they moved eighteen months ago. Charles, the good chap" +--his voice dropped--"thought I should be lonely. I didn't want +him to move, but he would, and took a house at the other end of +Hilton, down by the Six Hills. He had a motor, too. There they +all are, a very jolly party--he and she and the two +grandchildren." + +"I manage other people's affairs so much better than they manage +them themselves," said Margaret as they shook hands. "When you +moved out of Howards End, I should have moved Mr. Charles Wilcox +into it. I should have kept so remarkable a place in the family." + +"So it is," he replied. "I haven't sold it, and don't mean to." + +"No; but none of you are there," + +"Oh, we've got a splendid tenant--Hamar Bryce, an invalid. If +Charles ever wanted it--but he won't. Dolly is so dependent on +modern conveniences. No, we have all decided against Howards End. +We like it in a way, but now we feel that it is neither one thing +nor the other. One must have one thing or the other." + +"And some people are lucky enough to have both. You're doing +yourself proud, Mr. Wilcox. My congratulations." + +"And mine," said Helen. + +"Do remind Evie to come and see us--2 Wickham Place. We shan't be +there very long, either." + +"You, too, on the move?" + +"Next September," Margaret sighed. + +"Every one moving! Good-bye." + +The tide had begun to ebb. Margaret leant over the parapet and +watched it sadly. Mr. Wilcox had forgotten his wife, Helen her +lover; she herself was probably forgetting. Every one moving. Is +it worth while attempting the past when there is this continual +flux even in the hearts of men? + +Helen roused her by saying: "What a prosperous vulgarian Mr. +Wilcox has grown! I have very little use for him in these days. +However, he did tell us about the Porphyrion. Let us write to Mr. +Bast as soon as ever we get home, and tell him to clear out of it +at once." + +"Do; yes, that's worth doing. Let us." + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +Leonard accepted the invitation to tea next Saturday. But he was +right; the visit proved a conspicuous failure. + +"Sugar?" said Margaret. + +"Cake?" said Helen. "The big cake or the little deadlies? I'm +afraid you thought my letter rather odd, but we'll explain--we +aren't odd, really--nor affected, really. We're over-expressive-- +that's all." + +As a lady's lap-dog Leonard did not excel. He was not an Italian, +still less a Frenchman, in whose blood there runs the very spirit +of persiflage and of gracious repartee. His wit was the +Cockney's; it opened no doors into imagination, and Helen was +drawn up short by "The more a lady has to say, the better," +administered waggishly. + +"Oh yes," she said. + +"Ladies brighten--" + +"Yes, I know. The darlings are regular sunbeams. Let me give you +a plate." + +"How do you like your work?" interposed Margaret. + +He, too, was drawn up short. He would not have these women prying +into his work. They were Romance, and so was the room to which he +had at last penetrated, with the queer sketches of people bathing +upon its walls, and so were the very tea-cups, with their +delicate borders of wild strawberries. But he would not let +romance interfere with his life. There is the devil to pay then. + +"Oh, well enough," he answered. + +"Your company is the Porphyrion, isn't it?" + +"Yes, that's so."--becoming rather offended. "It's funny how +things get round." + +"Why funny?" asked Helen, who did not follow the workings of his +mind. "It was written as large as life on your card, and +considering we wrote to you there, and that you replied on the +stamped paper--" + +"Would you call the Porphyrion one of the big Insurance +Companies?" pursued Margaret. + +"It depends on what you call big." + +"I mean by big, a solid, well-established concern, that offers a +reasonably good career to its employes." + +"I couldn't say--some would tell you one thing and others +another," said the employe uneasily. "For my own part"--he shook +his head--" I only believe half I hear. Not that even; it's +safer. Those clever ones come to the worse grief, I've often +noticed. Ah, you can't be too careful." + +He drank, and wiped his moustache, which was going to be one of +those moustaches that always droop into tea-cups--more bother +than they're worth, surely, and not fashionable either. + +"I quite agree, and that's why I was curious to know; is it a +solid, well-established concern?" + +Leonard had no idea. He understood his own corner of the machine, +but nothing beyond it. He desired to confess neither knowledge +nor ignorance, and under these circumstances, another motion of +the head seemed safest. To him, as to the British public, the +Porphyrion was the Porphyrion of the advertisement--a giant, in +the classical style, but draped sufficiently, who held in one +hand a burning torch, and pointed with the other to St. Paul's +and Windsor Castle. A large sum of money was inscribed below, and +you drew your own conclusions. This giant caused Leonard to do +arithmetic and write letters, to explain the regulations to new +clients, and re-explain them to old ones. A giant was of an +impulsive morality--one knew that much. He would pay for Mrs. +Munt's hearthrug with ostentatious haste, a large claim he would +repudiate quietly, and fight court by court. But his true +fighting weight, his antecedents, his amours with other members +of the commercial Pantheon--all these were as uncertain to +ordinary mortals as were the escapades of Zeus. While the gods +are powerful, we learn little about them. It is only in the days +of their decadence that a strong light beats into heaven. + +"We were told the Porphyrion's no go," blurted Helen. "We wanted +to tell you; that's why we wrote." + +"A friend of ours did think that it is insufficiently reinsured," +said Margaret. + +Now Leonard had his clue. + +He must praise the Porphyrion. "You can tell your friend," he +said, "that he's quite wrong." + +"Oh, good!" + +The young man coloured a little. In his circle to be wrong was +fatal. The Miss Schlegels did not mind being wrong. They were +genuinely glad that they had been misinformed. To them nothing +was fatal but evil. + +"Wrong, so to speak," he added. + +"How 'so to speak'?" + +"I mean I wouldn't say he's right altogether." + +But this was a blunder. "Then he is right partly," said the elder +woman, quick as lightning. + +Leonard replied that every one was right partly, if it came to +that. + +"Mr. Bast, I don't understand business, and I dare say my +questions are stupid, but can you tell me what makes a concern +'right' or 'wrong'?" + +Leonard sat back with a sigh. + +"Our friend, who is also a business man, was so positive. He said +before Christmas--" + +"And advised you to clear out of it," concluded Helen. "But I +don't see why he should know better than you do. " + +Leonard rubbed his hands. He was tempted to say that he knew +nothing about the thing at all. But a commercial training was too +strong for him. Nor could he say it was a bad thing, for this +would be giving it away; nor yet that it was good, for this would +be giving it away equally. He attempted to suggest that it was +something between the two, with vast possibilities in either +direction, but broke down under the gaze of four sincere eyes. +And yet he scarcely distinguished between the two sisters. One +was more beautiful and more lively, but "the Miss Schlegels" +still remained a composite Indian god, whose waving arms and +contradictory speeches were the product of a single mind. + +"One can but see," he remarked, adding, "as Ibsen says, 'things +happen.'" He was itching to talk about books and make the most of +his romantic hour. Minute after minute slipped away, while the +ladies, with imperfect skill, discussed the subject of +reinsurance or praised their anonymous friend. Leonard grew +annoyed--perhaps rightly. He made vague remarks about not being +one of those who minded their affairs being talked over by +others, but they did not take the hint. Men might have shown more +tact. Women, however tactful elsewhere, are heavy-handed here. +They cannot see why we should shroud our incomes and our +prospects in a veil. "How much exactly have you, and how much do +you expect to have next June?" And these were women with a +theory, who held that reticence about money matters is absurd, +and that life would be truer if each would state the exact size +of the golden island upon which he stands, the exact stretch of +warp over which he throws the woof that is not money. How can we +do justice to the pattern otherwise? + +And the precious minutes slipped away, and Jacky and squalor came +nearer. At last he could bear it no longer, and broke in, +reciting the names of books feverishly. There was a moment of +piercing joy when Margaret said, "So YOU like Carlyle" and then +the door opened, and "Mr. Wilcox, Miss Wilcox" entered, preceded +by two prancing puppies. + +"Oh, the dears! Oh, Evie, how too impossibly sweet!" screamed +Helen, falling on her hands and knees. + +"We brought the little fellows round," said Mr. Wilcox. + +"I bred 'em myself." + +"Oh, really! Mr. Bast, come and play with puppies." + +"I've got to be going now," said Leonard sourly. + +"But play with puppies a little first." + +"This is Ahab, that's Jezebel," said Evie, who was one of those +who name animals after the less successful characters of Old +Testament history. + +"I've got to be going." + +Helen was too much occupied with puppies to notice him. + +"Mr. Wilcox, Mr. Ba-- Must you be really? + +"Good-bye!" + +"Come again," said Helen from the floor. + +Then Leonard's gorge arose. Why should he come again? What was +the good of it? He said roundly: "No, I shan't; I knew it would +be a failure." + +Most people would have let him go. "A little mistake. We tried +knowing another class--impossible." + +But the Schlegels had never played with life. They had attempted +friendship, and they would take the consequences. Helen retorted, +"I call that a very rude remark. What do you want to turn on me +like that for?" and suddenly the drawing-room re-echoed to a +vulgar row. + +"You ask me why I turn on you?" + +"Yes." + +"What do you want to have me here for?' + +"To help you, you silly boy!" cried Helen. "And don't shout." + +"I don't want your patronage. I don't want your tea. I was quite +happy. What do you want to unsettle me for?" He turned to Mr. +Wilcox. "I put it to this gentleman. I ask you, sir, am I to have +my brain picked?" + +Mr. Wilcox turned to Margaret with the air of humorous strength +that he could so well command. "Are we intruding, Miss Schlegel? +Can we be of any use, or shall we go?" + +But Margaret ignored him. + +"I'm connected with a leading insurance company, sir. I receive +what I take to be an invitation from these--ladies" (he drawled +the word). "I come, and it's to have my brain picked. I ask you, +is it fair?" + +"Highly unfair," said Mr. Wilcox, drawing a gasp from Evie, who +knew that her father was becoming dangerous. + +"There, you hear that? Most unfair, the gentleman says. There! +Not content with"--pointing at Margaret--"you can't deny it." His +voice rose; he was falling into the rhythm of a scene with Jacky. +"But as soon as I'm useful it's a very different thing. 'Oh yes, +send for him. Cross-question him. Pick his brains.' Oh yes. Now, +take me on the whole, I'm a quiet fellow: I'm law-abiding, I +don't wish any unpleasantness; but I--I--" + +"You," said Margaret--"you--you--" + +Laughter from Evie as at a repartee. + +"You are the man who tried to walk by the Pole Star." + +More laughter. + +"You saw the sunrise." + +Laughter. + +"You tried to get away from the fogs that are stifling us all-- +away past books and houses to the truth. You were looking for a +real home." + +"I fail to see the connection," said Leonard, hot with stupid +anger. + +"So do I." There was a pause. "You were that last Sunday--you are +this to-day. Mr. Bast! I and my sister have talked you over. We +wanted to help you; we also supposed you might help us. We did +not have you here out of charity--which bores us--but because we +hoped there would be a connection between last Sunday and other +days. What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and +the wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives? They have +never entered into mine, but into yours, we thought-- Haven't we +all to struggle against life's daily greyness, against pettiness, +against mechanical cheerfulness, against suspicion? I struggle by +remembering my friends; others I have known by remembering some +place--some beloved place or tree--we thought you one of these." + +"Of course, if there's been any misunderstanding," mumbled +Leonard, "all I can do is to go. But I beg to state--" He paused. +Ahab and Jezebel danced at his boots and made him look +ridiculous. "You were picking my brain for official information-- +I can prove it--I--" He blew his nose and left them. + +"Can I help you now?" said Mr. Wilcox, turning to Margaret. "May +I have one quiet word with him in the hall?" + +"Helen, go after him--do anything--anything--to make the noodle +understand." + +Helen hesitated. + +"But really--"said their visitor. "Ought she to?" + +At once she went. + +He resumed. "I would have chimed in, but I felt that you could +polish him off for yourselves--I didn't interfere. You were +splendid, Miss Schlegel--absolutely splendid. You can take my +word for it, but there are very few women who could have managed +him." + +"Oh yes," said Margaret distractedly. + +"Bowling him over with those long sentences was what fetched me," +cried Evie. + +"Yes, indeed," chuckled her father; "all that part about +'mechanical cheerfulness'--oh, fine!" + +"I'm very sorry," said Margaret, collecting herself. "He's a nice +creature really. I cannot think what set him off. It has been +most unpleasant for you." + +"Oh, I didn't mind." Then he changed his mood. He asked if he +might speak as an old friend, and, permission given, said: +"Oughtn't you really to be more careful?" + +Margaret laughed, though her thoughts still strayed after Helen. +"Do you realise that it's all your fault?" she said. "You're +responsible." + +"I?" + +"This is the young man whom we were to warn against the +Porphyrion. We warn him, and--look!" + +Mr. Wilcox was annoyed. "I hardly consider that a fair +deduction," he said. + +"Obviously unfair," said Margaret. "I was only thinking how +tangled things are. It's our fault mostly--neither yours nor +his." + +"Not his?" + +"No." + +"Miss Schlegel, you are too kind." + +"Yes, indeed," nodded Evie, a little contemptuously. + +"You behave much too well to people, and then they impose on you. +I know the world and that type of man, and as soon as I entered +the room I saw you had not been treating him properly. You must +keep that type at a distance. Otherwise they forget themselves. +Sad, but true. They aren't our sort, and one must face the fact." + +"Ye--es." + +"Do admit that we should never have had the outburst if he was a +gentleman. " + +"I admit it willingly," said Margaret, who was pacing up and down +the room. "A gentleman would have kept his suspicions to +himself." + +Mr. Wilcox watched her with a vague uneasiness. + +"What did he suspect you of?" + +"Of wanting to make money out of him." + +"Intolerable brute! But how were you to benefit?" + +"Exactly. How indeed! Just horrible, corroding suspicion. One +touch of thought or of goodwill would have brushed it away. Just +the senseless fear that does make men intolerable brutes." + +"I come back to my original point. You ought to be more careful, +Miss Schlegel. Your servants ought to have orders not to let such +people in." + +She turned to him frankly. "Let me explain exactly why we like +this man, and want to see him again." + +"That's your clever way of talking. I shall never believe you +like him." + +"I do. Firstly, because he cares for physical adventure, just as +you do. Yes, you go motoring and shooting; he would like to go +camping out. Secondly, he cares for something special IN +adventure. It is quickest to call that special something +poetry--" + +"Oh, he's one of that writer sort." + +"No--oh no! I mean he may be, but it would be loathsome stuff. +His brain is filled with the husks of books, culture--horrible; +we want him to wash out his brain and go to the real thing. We +want to show him how he may get upsides with life. As I said, +either friends or the country, some"--she hesitated--"either some +very dear person or some very dear place seems necessary to +relieve life's daily grey, and to show that it is grey. If +possible, one should have both." + +Some of her words ran past Mr. Wilcox. He let them run past. +Others he caught and criticised with admirable lucidity. + +"Your mistake is this, and it is a very common mistake. This +young bounder has a life of his own. What right have you to +conclude it is an unsuccessful life, or, as you call it, 'grey'?" + +"Because--" + +"One minute. You know nothing about him. He probably has his own +joys and interests--wife, children, snug little home. That's +where we practical fellows" he smiled--"are more tolerant than +you intellectuals. We live and let live, and assume that things +are jogging on fairly well elsewhere, and that the ordinary plain +man may be trusted to look after his own affairs. I quite grant-- +I look at the faces of the clerks in my own office, and observe +them to be dull, but I don't know what's going on beneath. So, by +the way, with London. I have heard you rail against London, Miss +Schlegel, and it seems a funny thing to say but I was very angry +with you. What do you know about London? You only see +civilisation from the outside. I don't say in your case, but in +too many cases that attitude leads to morbidity, discontent, and +Socialism." + +She admitted the strength of his position, though it undermined +imagination. As he spoke, some outposts of poetry and perhaps of +sympathy fell ruining, and she retreated to what she called her +"second line"--to the special facts of the case. + +"His wife is an old bore," she said simply. "He never came home +last Saturday night because he wanted to be alone, and she +thought he was with us." + +"With YOU?" + +"Yes." Evie tittered. "He hasn't got the cosy home that you +assumed. He needs outside interests." + +"Naughty young man!" cried the girl. + +"Naughty?" said Margaret, who hated naughtiness more than sin. +"When you're married Miss Wilcox, won't you want outside +interests?" + +"He has apparently got them," put in Mr. Wilcox slyly. + +"Yes, indeed, father. " + +"He was tramping in Surrey, if you mean that," said Margaret, +pacing away rather crossly. + +"Oh, I dare say!" + +"Miss Wilcox, he was!" + +"M--m--m--m!" from Mr. Wilcox, who thought the episode amusing, +if risque. With most ladies he would not have discussed it, but +he was trading on Margaret's reputation as an emancipated woman. + +"He said so, and about such a thing he wouldn't lie." + +They both began to laugh. + +"That's where I differ from you. Men lie about their positions +and prospects, but not about a thing of that sort." + +He shook his head. "Miss Schlegel, excuse me, but I know the +type." + +"I said before--he isn't a type. He cares about adventures +rightly. He 's certain that our smug existence isn't all. He's +vulgar and hysterical and bookish, but don't think that sums him +up. There's manhood in him as well. Yes, that's what I'm trying +to say. He's a real man." + +As she spoke their eyes met, and it was as if Mr. Wilcox's +defences fell. She saw back to the real man in him. Unwittingly +she had touched his emotions. + +A woman and two men--they had formed the magic triangle of sex, +and the male was thrilled to jealousy, in case the female was +attracted by another male. Love, say the ascetics, reveals our +shameful kinship with the beasts. Be it so: one can bear that; +jealousy is the real shame. It is jealousy, not love, that +connects us with the farmyard intolerably, and calls up visions +of two angry cocks and a complacent hen. Margaret crushed +complacency down because she was civilised. Mr. Wilcox, +uncivilised, continued to feel anger long after he had rebuilt +his defences, and was again presenting a bastion to the world. + +"Miss Schlegel, you're a pair of dear creatures, but you really +MUST be careful in this uncharitable world. What does your +brother say?" + +"I forget." + +"Surely he has some opinion?" + +"He laughs, if I remember correctly." + +"He's very clever, isn't he?" said Evie, who had met and +detested Tibby at Oxford. + +"Yes, pretty well--but I wonder what Helen's doing." + +"She is very young to undertake this sort of thing," said Mr. +Wilcox. + +Margaret went out to the landing. She heard no sound, and Mr. +Bast's topper was missing from the hall. + +"Helen!" she called. + +"Yes!" replied a voice from the library. + +"You in there?" + +"Yes--he's gone some time." + +Margaret went to her. "Why, you're all alone," she said. + +"Yes--it's all right, Meg. Poor, poor creature--" + +"Come back to the Wilcoxes and tell me later--Mr. W much +concerned, and slightly titillated." + +"0h, I've no patience with him. I hate him. Poor dear Mr. Bast! +he wanted to talk literature, and we would talk business. Such a +muddle of a man, and yet so worth pulling through. I like him +extraordinarily." + +"Well done," said Margaret, kissing her, "but come into the +drawing-room now, and don't talk about him to the Wilcoxes. Make +light of the whole thing." + +Helen came and behaved with a cheerfulness that reassured their +visitor--this hen at all events was fancy-free. + +"He's gone with my blessing," she cried, "and now for puppies." + +As they drove away, Mr. Wilcox said to his daughter: + +"I am really concerned at the way those girls go on. They are as +clever as you make 'em, but unpractical--God bless me! One of +these days they'll go too far. Girls like that oughtn't to live +alone in London. Until they marry, they ought to have some one +to look after them. We must look in more often--we're better than +no one. You like them, don't you, Evie?" + +Evie replied: "Helen's right enough, but I can't stand the toothy +one. And I shouldn't have called either of them girls." + +Evie had grown up handsome. Dark-eyed, with the glow of youth +under sunburn, built firmly and firm-lipped, she was the best the +Wilcoxes could do in the way of feminine beauty. For the present, +puppies and her father were the only things she loved, but the +net of matrimony was being prepared for her, and a few days later +she was attracted to a Mr. Percy Cahill, an uncle of Mrs. +Charles's, and he was attracted to her. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +The Age of Property holds bitter moments even for a proprietor. +When a move is imminent, furniture becomes ridiculous, and +Margaret now lay awake at nights wondering where, where on earth +they and all their belongings would be deposited in September +next. Chairs, tables, pictures, books, that had rumbled down to +them through the generations, must rumble forward again like a +slide of rubbish to which she longed to give the final push, and +send toppling into the sea. But there were all their father's +books--they never read them, but they were their father's, and +must be kept. There was the marble-topped chiffonier--their +mother had set store by it, they could not remember why. Round +every knob and cushion in the house gathered a sentiment that was +at times personal, but more often a faint piety to the dead, a +prolongation of rites that might have ended at the grave. + +It was absurd, if you came to think of it; Helen and Tibby came +to think of it; Margaret was too busy with the house-agents. The +feudal ownership of land did bring dignity, whereas the modern +ownership of movables is reducing us again to a nomadic horde. +We are reverting to the civilisation of luggage, and historians +of the future will note how the middle classes accreted +possessions without taking root in the earth, and may find in this +the secret of their imaginative poverty. The Schlegels were +certainly the poorer for the loss of Wickham Place. It had helped +to balance their lives, and almost to counsel them. Nor is their +ground-landlord spiritually the richer. He has built flats on its +site, his motor-cars grow swifter, his exposures of Socialism +more trenchant. But he has spilt the precious distillation of the +years, and no chemistry of his can give it back to society again. + +Margaret grew depressed; she was anxious to settle on a house +before they left town to pay their annual visit to Mrs. Munt. She +enjoyed this visit, and wanted to have her mind at ease for it. +Swanage, though dull, was stable, and this year she longed more +than usual for its fresh air and for the magnificent downs that +guard it on the north. But London thwarted her; in its atmosphere +she could not concentrate. London only stimulates, it cannot +sustain; and Margaret, hurrying over its surface for a house +without knowing what sort of a house she wanted, was paying for +many a thrilling sensation in the past. She could not even break +loose from culture, and her time was wasted by concerts which it +would be a sin to miss, and invitations which it would never do +to refuse. At last she grew desperate; she resolved that she +would go nowhere and be at home to no one until she found a +house, and broke the resolution in half an hour. + +Once she had humorously lamented that she had never been to +Simpson's restaurant in the Strand. Now a note arrived from Miss +Wilcox, asking her to lunch there. Mr Cahill was coming +and the three would have such a jolly chat, and perhaps end up at +the Hippodrome. Margaret had no strong regard for Evie, and no +desire to meet her fiance, and she was surprised that Helen, who +had been far funnier about Simpson's, had not been asked instead. +But the invitation touched her by its intimate tone. She must +know Evie Wilcox better than she supposed, and declaring that she +"simply must," she accepted. + +But when she saw Evie at the entrance of the restaurant, staring +fiercely at nothing after the fashion of athletic women, her +heart failed her anew. Miss Wilcox had changed perceptibly since +her engagement. Her voice was gruffer, her manner more downright, +and she was inclined to patronise the more foolish virgin. +Margaret was silly enough to be pained at this. Depressed at her +isolation, she saw not only houses and furniture, but the vessel +of life itself slipping past her, with people like Evie and Mr. +Cahill on board. + +There are moments when virtue and wisdom fail us, and one of them +came to her at Simpson's in the Strand. As she trod the +staircase, narrow, but carpeted thickly, as she entered the +eating-room, where saddles of mutton were being trundled up to +expectant clergymen, she had a strong, if erroneous, coviction of +her own futility, and wished she had never come out of her +backwater, where nothing happened except art and literature, and +where no one ever got married or succeeded in remaining engaged. +Then came a little surprise. "Father might be of the party--yes, +father was." With a smile of pleasure she moved forward to greet +him, and her feeling of loneliness vanished. + +"I thought I'd get round if I could," said he. "Evie told me of +her little plan, so I just slipped in and secured a table. Always +secure a table first. Evie, don't pretend you want to sit by your +old father, because you don't. Miss Schlegel, come in my side, +out of pity. My goodness, but you look tired! Been worrying round +after your young clerks?" + +"No, after houses," said Margaret, edging past him into the box. +"I'm hungry, not tired; I want to eat heaps." + +"That's good. What'll you have?" + +"Fish pie," said she, with a glance at the menu. + +"Fish pie! Fancy coming for fish pie to Simpson's. It's not a bit +the thing to go for here." + +"Go for something for me, then," said Margaret, pulling off her +gloves. Her spirits were rising, and his reference to Leonard +Bast had warmed her curiously. + +"Saddle of mutton," said he after profound reflection; "and +cider to drink. That's the type of thing. I like this place, for +a joke, once in a way. It is so thoroughly Old English. Don't you +agree?" + +"Yes," said Margaret, who didn't. The order was given, the joint +rolled up, and the carver, under Mr. Wilcox's direction, cut the +meat where it was succulent, and piled their plates high. Mr. +Cahill insisted on sirloin, but admitted that he had made a +mistake later on. He and Evie soon fell into a conversation of +the "No, I didn't; yes, you did" type--conversation which, though +fascinating to those who are engaged in it, neither desires nor +deserves the attention of others. + +"It's a golden rule to tip the carver. Tip everywhere's my +motto." + +"Perhaps it does make life more human." + +"Then the fellows know one again. Especially in the East, if you +tip, they remember you from year's end to year's end." + +"Have you been in the East?" + +"Oh, Greece and the Levant. I used to go out for sport and +business to Cyprus; some military society of a sort there. A few +piastres, properly distributed, help to keep one's memory green. +But you, of course, think this shockingly cynical. How's your +discussion society getting on? Any new Utopias lately?" + +"No, I'm house-hunting, Mr. Wilcox, as I've already told you +once. Do you know of any houses?" + +"Afraid I don't." + +"Well, what's the point of being practical if you can't find two +distressed females a house? We merely want a small house with +large rooms, and plenty of them." + +"Evie, I like that! Miss Schlegel expects me to turn house-agent +for her!" + +"What's that, father?" + +"I want a new home in September, and some one must find it. I +can't." + +"Percy, do you know of anything?" + +"I can't say I do," said Mr. Cahill. + +"How like you! You're never any good." + +"Never any good. Just listen to her! Never any good. Oh, come!" + +"Well, you aren't. Miss Schlegel, is he?" + +The torrent of their love, having splashed these drops at +Margaret, swept away on its habitual course. She sympathised with +it now, for a little comfort had restored her geniality. Speech +and silence pleased her equally, and while Mr. Wilcox made some +preliminary inquiries about cheese, her eyes surveyed the +restaurant, and aired its well-calculated tributes to the +solidity of our past. Though no more Old English than the works +of Kipling, it had selected its reminiscences so adroitly that +her criticism was lulled, and the guests whom it was nourishing +for imperial purposes bore the outer semblance of Parson Adams or +Tom Jones. Scraps of their talk jarred oddly on the ear. "Right +you are! I'll cable out to Uganda this evening," came from the +table behind. "Their Emperor wants war; well, let him have it," +was the opinion of a clergyman. She smiled at such incongruities. +"Next time," she said to Mr. Wilcox, "you shall come to lunch +with me at Mr. Eustace Miles's." + +"With pleasure." + +"No, you'd hate it," she said, pushing her glass towards him for +some more cider. "It's all proteids and body buildings, and +people come up to you and beg your pardon, but you have such a +beautiful aura." + +"A what?" + +"Never heard of an aura? Oh, happy, happy man! I scrub at mine +for hours. Nor of an astral plane?" + +He had heard of astral planes, and censured them. + +"Just so. Luckily it was Helen's aura, not mine, and she had to +chaperone it and do the politenesses. I just sat with my +handkerchief in my mouth till the man went." + +"Funny experiences seem to come to you two girls. No one's ever +asked me about my--what d'ye call it? Perhaps I've not got one." + +"You're bound to have one, but it may be such a terrible colour +that no one dares mention it." + +"Tell me, though, Miss Schlegel, do you really believe in the +supernatural and all that?" + +"Too difficult a question." + +"Why's that? Gruyere or Stilton?" + +"Gruyere, please." + +"Better have Stilton. + +"Stilton. Because, though I don't believe in auras, and think +Theosophy's only a halfway-house--" + +"--Yet there may be something in it all the same," he concluded, +with a frown. + +"Not even that. It may be halfway in the wrong direction. I can't +explain. I don't believe in all these fads, and yet I don't like +saying that I don't believe in them." + +He seemed unsatisfied, and said: "So you wouldn't give me your +word that you DON'T hold with astral bodies and all the rest of +it?" + +"I could," said Margaret, surprised that the point was of any +importance to him. "Indeed, I will. When I talked about scrubbing +my aura, I was only trying to be funny. But why do you want this +settled?" + +"I don't know." + +"Now, Mr. Wilcox, you do know." + +"Yes, I am," "No, you're not," burst from the lovers opposite. +Margaret was silent for a moment, and then changed the subject. + +"How's your house?" + +"Much the same as when you honoured it last week." + +"I don't mean Ducie Street. Howards End, of course." + +"Why 'of course'?" + +"Can't you turn out your tenant and let it to us? We're nearly +demented. " + +"Let me think. I wish I could help you. But I thought you wanted +to be in town. One bit of advice: fix your district, then fix +your price, and then don't budge. That's how I got both Ducie +Street and Oniton. I said to myself, 'I mean to be exactly here,' +and I was, and Oniton's a place in a thousand." + +"But I do budge. Gentlemen seem to mesmerise houses--cow them +with an eye, and up they come, trembling. Ladies can't. It's the +houses that are mesmerising me. I've no control over the saucy +things. Houses are alive. No?" + +"I'm out of my depth," he said, and added: "Didn't you talk +rather like that to your office boy?" + +"Did I?--I mean I did, more or less. I talk the same way to every +one--or try to." + +"Yes, I know. And how much of it do you suppose he understood?" + +"That's his lookout. I don't believe in suiting my conversation +to my company. One can doubtless hit upon some medium of exchange +that seems to do well enough, but it's no more like the real +thing than money is like food. There's no nourishment in it. You +pass it to the lower classes, and they pass it back to you, and +this you call 'social intercourse' or 'mutual endeavour,' when +it's mutual priggishness if it's anything. Our friends at Chelsea +don't see this. They say one ought to be at all costs +intelligible, and sacrifice--" + +"Lower classes," interrupted Mr. Wilcox, as it were thrusting his +hand into her speech. "Well, you do admit that there are rich +and poor. That's something." + +Margaret could not reply. Was he incredibly stupid, or did he +understand her better than she understood herself? + +"You do admit that, if wealth was divided up equally, in a few +years there would be rich and poor again just the same. The +hard-working man would come to the top, the wastrel sink to the +bottom." + +"Every one admits that." + +"Your Socialists don't." + +"My Socialists do. Yours mayn't; but I strongly suspect yours of +being not Socialists, but ninepins, which you have constructed +for your own amusement. I can't imagine any living creature who +would bowl over quite so easily." + +He would have resented this had she not been a woman. But women +may say anything--it was one of his holiest beliefs--and he only +retorted, with a gay smile: "I don't care. You've made two +damaging admissions, and I'm heartily with you in both." + +In time they finished lunch, and Margaret, who had excused +herself from the Hippodrome, took her leave. Evie had scarcely +addressed her, and she suspected that the entertainment had been +planned by the father. He and she were advancing out of their +respective families towards a more intimate acquaintance. It had +begun long ago. She had been his wife's friend and, as such, he +had given her that silver vinaigrette as a memento. It was pretty +of him to have given that vinaigrette, and he had always +preferred her to Helen--unlike most men. But the advance had been +astonishing lately. They had done more in a week than in two +years, and were really beginning to know each other. + +She did not forget his promise to sample Eustace Miles, and asked +him as soon as she could secure Tibby as his chaperon. He came, +and partook of body-building dishes with humility. + +Next morning the Schlegels left for Swanage. They had not +succeeded in finding a new home. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +As they were seated at Aunt Juley's breakfast-table at The Bays, +parrying her excessive hospitality and enjoying the view of the +bay, a letter came for Margaret and threw her into perturbation. +It was from Mr. Wilcox. It announced an "important change" in his +plans. Owing to Evie's marriage, he had decided to give up his +house in Ducie Street, and was willing to let it on a yearly +tenancy. It was a businesslike letter, and stated frankly what he +would do for them and what he would not do. Also the rent. If +they approved, Margaret was to come up AT ONCE--the words were +underlined, as is necessary when dealing with women--and to go +over the house with him. If they disapproved, a wire would +oblige, as he should put it into the hands of an agent. + +The letter perturbed, because she was not sure what it meant. If +he liked her, if he had manoeuvred to get her to Simpson's, might +this be a manoeuvre to get her to London, and result in an offer +of marriage? She put it to herself as indelicately as possible, +in the hope that her brain would cry, "Rubbish, you're a +self-conscious fool!" But her brain only tingled a little and was +silent, and for a time she sat gazing at the mincing waves, and +wondering whether the news would seem strange to the others. + +As soon as she began speaking, the sound of her own voice +reassured her. There could be nothing in it. The replies also +were typical, and in the burr of conversation her fears vanished. + +"You needn't go though--"began her hostess. + +"I needn't, but hadn't I better? It's really getting rather +serious. We let chance after chance slip, and the end of it is we +shall be bundled out bag and baggage into the street. We don't +know what we WANT, that's the mischief with us--" + +"No, we have no real ties," said Helen, helping herself to toast. + +"Shan't I go up to town to-day, take the house if it's the least +possible, and then come down by the afternoon train to-morrow, +and start enjoying myself. I shall be no fun to myself or to +others until this business is off my mind. + +"But you won't do anything rash, Margaret?" + +"There's nothing rash to do." + +"Who ARE the Wilcoxes?" said Tibby, a question that sounds silly, +but was really extremely subtle as his aunt found to her cost +when she tried to answer it. "I don't MANAGE the Wilcoxes; I +don't see where they come IN." + +"No more do I," agreed Helen. "It's funny that we just don't lose +sight of them. Out of all our hotel acquaintances, Mr. Wilcox is +the only one who has stuck. It is now over three years, and we +have drifted away from far more interesting people in that time." + +"Interesting people don't get one houses." + +"Meg, if you start in your honest-English vein, I shall throw the +treacle at you." + +"It's a better vein than the cosmopolitan," said Margaret, +getting up. "Now, children, which is it to be? You know the Ducie +Street house. Shall I say yes or shall I say no? Tibby love-- +which? I'm specially anxious to pin you both." + +"It all depends on what meaning you attach to the word +'possible'" + +"It depends on nothing of the sort. Say 'yes.'" + +"Say 'no.'" + +Then Margaret spoke rather seriously. "I think," she said, "that +our race is degenerating. We cannot settle even this little +thing; what will it be like when we have to settle a big one?" + +"It will be as easy as eating," returned Helen. + +"I was thinking of father. How could he settle to leave Germany +as he did, when he had fought for it as a young man, and all his +feelings and friends were Prussian? How could he break loose with +Patriotism and begin aiming at something else? It would have +killed me. When he was nearly forty he could change countries and +ideals--and we, at our age, can't change houses. It's +humiliating." + +"Your father may have been able to change countries," said Mrs. +Munt with asperity, "and that may or may not be a good thing. But +he could change houses no better than you can, in fact, much +worse. Never shall I forget what poor Emily suffered in the move +from Manchester." + +"I knew it," cried Helen. "I told you so. It is the little things +one bungles at. The big, real ones are nothing when they come." + +"Bungle, my dear! You are too little to recollect--in fact, you +weren't there. But the furniture was actually in the vans and on +the move before the lease for Wickham Place was signed, and Emily +took train with baby--who was Margaret then--and the smaller +luggage for London, without so much as knowing where her new home +would be. Getting away from that house may be hard, but it is +nothing to the misery that we all went through getting you into +it." + +Helen, with her mouth full, cried: + +"And that's the man who beat the Austrians, and the Danes, and +the French, and who beat the Germans that were inside himself. +And we're like him." + +"Speak for yourself," said Tibby. "Remember that I am +cosmopolitan, please." + +"Helen may be right." + +"Of course she's right," said Helen. + +Helen might be right, but she did not go up to London. Margaret +did that. An interrupted holiday is the worst of the minor +worries, and one may be pardoned for feeling morbid when a +business letter snatches one away from the sea and friends. She +could not believe that her father had ever felt the same. Her +eyes had been troubling her lately, so that she could not read in +the train and it bored her to look at the landscape, which she +had seen but yesterday. At Southampton she "waved" to Frieda; +Frieda was on her way down to join them at Swanage, and Mrs. Munt +had calculated that their trains would cross. But Frieda was +looking the other way, and Margaret travelled on to town feeling +solitary and old-maidish. How like an old maid to fancy that Mr. +Wilcox was courting her! She had once visited a spinster--poor, +silly, and unattractive--whose mania it was that every man who +approached her fell in love. How Margaret's heart had bled for +the deluded thing! How she had lectured, reasoned, and in despair +acquiesced! "I may have been deceived by the curate, my dear, but +the young fellow who brings the midday post really is fond of me, +and has, as a matter of fact--" It had always seemed to her the +most hideous corner of old age, yet she might be driven into it +herself by the mere pressure of virginity. + +Mr. Wilcox met her at Waterloo himself. She felt certain that he +was not the same as usual; for one thing, he took offence at +everything she said. + +"This is awfully kind of you," she began, "but I'm afraid it's +not going to do. The house has not been built that suits the +Schlegel family." + +"What! Have you come up determined not to deal?" + +"Not exactly." + +"Not exactly? In that case let's be starting." + +She lingered to admire the motor, which was new, and a fairer +creature than the vermilion giant that had borne Aunt Juley to +her doom three years before. + +"Presumably it's very beautiful," she said. "How do you like it, +Crane?" + +"Come, let's be starting," repeated her host. "How on earth did +you know that my chauffeur was called Crane?" + +"Why, I know Crane; I've been for a drive with Evie once. I know +that you've got a parlourmaid called Milton. I know all sorts of +things." + +"Evie!" he echoed in injured tones. "You won't see her. She's +gone out with Cahill. It's no fun, I can tell you, being left so +much alone. I've got my work all day--indeed, a great deal too +much of it--but when I come home in the evening, I tell you, I +can't stand the house." + +"In my absurd way, I'm lonely too," Margaret replied. "It's +heart-breaking to leave one's old home. I scarcely remember +anything before Wickham Place, and Helen and Tibby were born +there. Helen says--" + +"You, too, feel lonely?" + +"Horribly. Hullo, Parliament's back!" + +Mr. Wilcox glanced at Parliament contemptuously. The more +important ropes of life lay elsewhere. "Yes, they are talking +again," said he. "But you were going to say--" + +"Only some rubbish about furniture. Helen says it alone endures +while men and houses perish, and that in the end the world will +be a desert of chairs and sofas--just imagine it!--rolling through +infinity with no one to sit upon them." + +"Your sister always likes her little joke." + +"She says 'Yes,' my brother says `No,' to Ducie Street. It's no +fun helping us, Mr. Wilcox, I assure you." + +"You are not as unpractical as you pretend. I shall never believe +it." + +Margaret laughed. But she was--quite as unpractical. She could +not concentrate on details. Parliament, the Thames, the +irresponsive chauffeur, would flash into the field of +house-hunting, and all demand some comment or response. It is +impossible to see modern life steadily and see it whole, and she +had chosen to see it whole. Mr. Wilcox saw steadily. He never +bothered over the mysterious or the private. The Thames might run +inland from the sea, the chauffeur might conceal all passion and +philosophy beneath his unhealthy skin. They knew their own +business, and he knew his. + +Yet she liked being with him. He was not a rebuke, but a +stimulus, and banished morbidity. Some twenty years her senior, +he preserved a gift that she supposed herself to have already +lost--not youth's creative power, but its self-confidence and +optimism. He was so sure that it was a very pleasant world. His +complexion was robust, his hair had receded but not thinned, the +thick moustache and the eyes that Helen had compared to +brandy-balls had an agreeable menace in them, whether they were +turned towards the slums or towards the stars. Some day--in the +millennium--there may be no need for his type. At present, homage +is due to it from those who think themselves superior, and who +possibly are. + +"At all events you responded to my telegram promptly," he +remarked. + +"Oh, even I know a good thing when I see it." + +"I'm glad you don't despise the goods of this world." + +"Heavens, no! Only idiots and prigs do that." + +"I am glad, very glad," he repeated, suddenly softening and +turning to her, as if the remark had pleased him. "There is so +much cant talked in would-be intellectual circles. I am glad you +don't share it. Self-denial is all very well as a means of +strengthening the character. But I can't stand those people who +run down comforts. They have usually some axe to grind. Can you?" + +"Comforts are of two kinds," said Margaret, who was keeping +herself in hand--"those we can share with others, like fire, +weather, or music; and those we can't--food, food, for instance. +It depends." + +"I mean reasonable comforts, of course. I shouldn't like to think +that you--" He bent nearer; the sentence died unfinished. +Margaret's head turned very stupid, and the inside of it seemed +to revolve like the beacon in a lighthouse. He did not kiss her, +for the hour was half-past twelve, and the car was passing by the +stables of Buckingham Palace. But the atmosphere was so charged +with emotion that people only seemed to exist on her account, and +she was surprised that Crane did not realise this, and turn +round. Idiot though she might be, surely Mr. Wilcox was more--how +should one put it?--more psychological than usual. Always a good +judge of character for business purposes, he seemed this +afternoon to enlarge his field, and to note qualities outside +neatness, obedience, and decision. + +"I want to go over the whole house," she announced when they +arrived. "As soon as I get back to Swanage, which will be +to-morrow afternoon, I'll talk it over once more with Helen and +Tibby, and wire you 'yes' or 'no.'" + +"Right. The dining-room." And they began their survey. + +The dining-room was big, but over-furnished. Chelsea would have +moaned aloud. Mr. Wilcox had eschewed those decorative schemes +that wince, and relent, and refrain, and achieve beauty by +sacrificing comfort and pluck. After so much self-colour and +self-denial, Margaret viewed with relief the sumptuous dado, the +frieze, the gilded wall-paper, amid whose foliage parrots sang. +It would never do with her own furniture, but those heavy chairs, +that immense sideboard loaded with presentation plate, stood up +against its pressure like men. The room suggested men, and +Margaret, keen to derive the modern capitalist from the warriors +and hunters of the past, saw it as an ancient guest-hall, where +the lord sat at meat among his thanes. Even the Bible--the Dutch +Bible that Charles had brought back from the Boer War--fell into +position. Such a room admitted loot. + +"Now the entrance-hall." + +The entrance-hall was paved. + +"Here we fellows smoke." + +We fellows smoked in chairs of maroon leather. It was as if a +motor-car had spawned. "Oh, jolly!" said Margaret, sinking into +one of them. + +"You do like it?" he said, fixing his eyes on her upturned face, +and surely betraying an almost intimate note. "It's all rubbish +not making oneself comfortable. Isn't it?" + +"Ye--es. Semi-rubbish. Are those Cruikshanks?" + +"Gillrays. Shall we go on upstairs?" + +"Does all this furniture come from Howards End?" + +"The Howards End furniture has all gone to Oniton." + +"Does-- However, I'm concerned with the house, not the furniture. +How big is this smoking-room?" + +"Thirty by fifteen. No, wait a minute. Fifteen and a half." + +"Ah, well. Mr. Wilcox, aren't you ever amused at the solemnity +with which we middle classes approach the subject of houses?" + +They proceeded to the drawing-room. Chelsea managed better here. +It was sallow and ineffective. One could visualise the ladies +withdrawing to it, while their lords discussed life's realities +below, to the accompaniment of cigars. Had Mrs. Wilcox's +drawing-room at Howards End looked thus? Just as this thought +entered Margaret's brain, Mr. Wilcox did ask her to be his wife, +and the knowledge that she had been right so overcame her that +she nearly fainted. + +But the proposal was not to rank among the world's great love +scenes. + +"Miss Schlegel"--his voice was firm--"I have had you up on false +pretences. I want to speak about a much more serious matter than +a house." + +Margaret almost answered: "I know--" + +"Could you be induced to share my--is it probable--" + +"Oh, Mr. Wilcox!" she interrupted, taking hold of the piano and +averting her eyes. "I see, I see. I will write to you afterwards +if I may." + +He began to stammer. "Miss Schlegel--Margaret you don't +understand." + +"Oh yes! Indeed, yes!" said Margaret. + +"I am asking you to be my wife." + +So deep already was her sympathy, that when he said, "I am asking +you to be my wife," she made herself give a little start. She +must show surprise if he expected it. An immense joy came over +her. It was indescribable. It had nothing to do with humanity, +and most resembled the all-pervading happiness of fine weather. +Fine weather is due to the sun, but Margaret could think of no +central radiance here. She stood in his drawing-room happy, and +longing to give happiness. On leaving him she realised that the +central radiance had been love. + +"You aren't offended, Miss Schlegel?" + +"How could I be offended?" + +There was a moment's pause. He was anxious to get rid of her, and +she knew it. She had too much intuition to look at him as he +struggled for possessions that money cannot buy. He desired +comradeship and affection, but he feared them, and she, who had +taught herself only to desire, and could have clothed the +struggle with beauty, held back, and hesitated with him. + +"Good-bye," she continued. "You will have a letter from me--I am +going back to Swanage to-morrow." + +"Thank you." + +"Good-bye, and it's you I thank." + +"I may order the motor round, mayn't I?" + +"That would be most kind." + +"I wish I had written. Ought I to have written?" + +"Not at all." + +"There's just one question--" + +She shook her head. He looked a little bewildered as they parted. + +They parted without shaking hands; she had kept the interview, +for his sake, in tints of the quietest grey. she thrilled with +happiness ere she reached her house. Others had loved her in the +past, if one apply to their brief desires so grave a word, but +the others had been "ninnies"--young men who had nothing to do, +old men who could find nobody better. And she had often 'loved,' +too, but only so far as the facts of sex demanded: mere yearnings +for the masculine sex to be dismissed for what they were worth, +with a sigh. Never before had her personality been touched. She +was not young or very rich, and it amazed her that a man of any +standing should take her seriously as she sat, trying to do +accounts in her empty house, amidst beautiful pictures and noble +books, waves of emotion broke, as if a tide of passion was +flowing through the night air. She shook her head, tried to +concentrate her attention, and failed. In vain did she repeat: +"But I've been through this sort of thing before." She had +never been through it; the big machinery, as opposed to the +little, had been set in motion, and the idea that Mr. Wilcox +loved, obsessed her before she came to love him in return. + +She would come to no decision yet. "oh, sir, this is so sudden"-- +that prudish phrase exactly expressed her when her time came. +Premonitions are not preparation. She must examine more closely +her own nature and his; she must talk it over judicially with +Helen. It had been a strange love-scene--the central radiance +unacknowledged from first to last. She, in his place, would have +said Ich liebe dich, but perhaps it was not his habit to open the +heart. He might have done it if she had pressed him--as a matter +of duty, perhaps; England expects every man to open his heart +once; but the effort would have jarred him, and never, if she +could avoid it, should he lose those defences that he had chosen +to raise against the world. He must never be bothered with +emotional talk, or with a display of sympathy. He was an elderly +man now, and it would be futile and impudent to correct him. + +Mrs. Wilcox strayed in and out, ever a welcome ghost; surveying +the scene, thought Margaret, without one hint of bitterness. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +If one wanted to show a foreigner England, perhaps the wisest +course would be to take him to the final section of the Purbeck +Hills, and stand him on their summit, a few miles to the east of +Corfe. Then system after system of our island would roll together +under his feet. Beneath him is the valley of the Frome, and all +the wild lands that come tossing down from Dorchester, black and +gold, to mirror their gorse in the expanses of Poole. The valley +of the Stour is beyond, unaccountable stream, dirty at Blandford, +pure at Wimborne--the Stour, sliding out of fat fields, to marry +the Avon beneath the tower of Christ church. The valley of the +Avon--invisible, but far to the north the trained eye may see +Clearbury Ring that guards it, and the imagination may leap +beyond that on to Salisbury Plain itself, and beyond the Plain to +all the glorious downs of Central England. Nor is Suburbia +absent. Bournemouth's ignoble coast cowers to the right, +heralding the pine-trees that mean, for all their beauty, red +houses, and the Stock Exchange, and extend to the gates of London +itself. So tremendous is the City's trail! But the cliffs of +Freshwater it shall never touch, and the island will guard the +Island's purity till the end of time. Seen from the west the +Wight is beautiful beyond all laws of beauty. It is as if a +fragment of England floated forward to greet the foreigner--chalk +of our chalk, turf of our turf, epitome of what will follow. And +behind the fragment lies Southampton, hostess to the nations, and +Portsmouth, a latent fire, and all around it, with double and +treble collision of tides, swirls the sea. How many villages +appear in this view! How many castles! How many churches, +vanished or triumphant! How many ships, railways, and roads! What +incredible variety of men working beneath that lucent sky to what +final end! The reason fails, like a wave on the Swanage beach; +the imagination swells, spreads, and deepens, until it becomes +geographic and encircles England. + +So Frieda Mosebach, now Frau Architect Liesecke, and mother to +her husband's baby, was brought up to these heights to be +impressed, and, after a prolonged gaze, she said that the hills +were more swelling here than in Pomerania, which was true, but +did not seem to Mrs. Munt apposite. Poole Harbour was dry, which +led her to praise the absence of muddy foreshore at Friedrich +Wilhelms Bad, Rugen, where beech-trees hang over the tideless +Baltic, and cows may contemplate the brine. Rather unhealthy Mrs. +Munt thought this would be, water being safer when it moved +about. + +"And your English lakes--Vindermere, Grasmere they, then, +unhealthy?" + +"No, Frau Liesecke; but that is because they are fresh water, and +different. Salt water ought to have tides, and go up and down a +great deal, or else it smells. Look, for instance, at an +aquarium." + +"An aquarium! Oh, MEESIS Munt, you mean to tell me that fresh +aquariums stink less than salt? Why, then Victor, my +brother-in-law, collected many tadpoles--" "You are not to say +'stink,'" interrupted Helen; "at least, you may say it, but you +must pretend you are being funny while you say it." + +"Then 'smell.' And the mud of your Pool down there--does it not +smell, or may I say 'stink,' ha, ha?" + +"There always has been mud in Poole Harbour," said Mrs. Munt, +with a slight frown. "The rivers bring it down, and a most +valuable oyster-fishery depends upon it." + +"Yes, that is so," conceded Frieda; and another international +incident was closed. + +"'Bournemouth is,'" resumed their hostess, quoting a local rhyme +to which she was much attached--"'Bournemouth is, Poole was, and +Swanage is to be the hmst important town of all and biggest of +the three.' Now, Frau Liesecke, I have shown you Bournemouth, and +I have shown you Poole, so let us walk backward a little, and +look down again at Swanage." + +"Aunt Juley, wouldn't that be Meg's train?" + +A tiny puff of smoke had been circling the harbour, and now was +bearing southwards towards them over the black and the gold. + +"Oh, dearest Margaret, I do hope she won't be overtired." + +"Oh, I do wonder--I do wonder whether she's taken the house." + +"I hope she hasn't been hasty." + +"So do I--oh, SO do I." + +"Will it be as beautiful as Wickham Place?" Frieda asked. + +"I should think it would. Trust Mr. Wilcox for doing himself +proud. All those Ducie Street houses are beautiful in their +modern way, and I can't think why he doesn't keep on with it. But +it's really for Evie that he went there, and now that Evie's +going to be married--" + +"Ah!" + +"You've never seen Miss Wilcox, Frieda. How absurdly matrimonial +you are!" + +"But sister to that Paul?" + +"Yes." + +"And to that Charles," said Mrs. Munt with feeling. "Oh, Helen, +Helen, what a time that was!" + +Helen laughed. "Meg and I haven't got such tender hearts. If +there's a chance of a cheap house, we go for it." + +"Now look, Frau Liesecke, at my niece's train. You see, it is +coming towards us--coming, coming; and, when it gets to Corfe, it +will actually go THROUGH the downs, on which we are standing, so +that, if we walk over, as I suggested, and look down on Swanage, +we shall see it coming on the other side. Shall we?" + +Frieda assented, and in a few minutes they had crossed the ridge +and exchanged the greater view for the lesser. Rather a dull +valley lay below, backed by the slope of the coastward downs. +They were looking across the Isle of Purbeck and on to Swanage, +soon to be the most important town of all, and ugliest of the +three. Margaret's train reappeared as promised, and was greeted +with approval by her aunt. It came to a standstill in the middle +distance, and there it had been planned that Tibby should meet +her, and drive her, and a tea-basket, up to join them. + +"You see," continued Helen to her cousin, "the Wilcoxes collect +houses as your Victor collects tadpoles. They have, one, Ducie +Street; two, Howards End, where my great rumpus was; three, a +country seat in Shropshire; four, Charles has a house in Hilton; +and five, another near Epsom; and six, Evie will have a house +when she marries, and probably a pied-a-terre in the country-- +which makes seven. Oh yes, and Paul a hut in Africa makes eight. +I wish we could get Howards End. That was something like a dear +little house! Didn't you think so, Aunt Juley?" + +"I had too much to do, dear, to look at it," said Mrs. Munt, with +a gracious dignity. "I had everything to settle and explain, and +Charles Wilcox to keep in his place besides. It isn't likely I +should remember much. I just remember having lunch in your +bedroom." + +"Yes, so do I. But, oh dear, dear, how dreadful it all seems! And +in the autumn there began that anti-Pauline movement--you, and +Frieda, and Meg, and Mrs. Wilcox, all obsessed with the idea that +I might yet marry Paul." + +"You yet may," said Frieda despondently. + +Helen shook her head. "The Great Wilcox Peril will never return. +If I'm certain of anything it's of that." + +"One is certain of nothing but the truth of one's own emotions." + +The remark fell damply on the conversation. But Helen slipped her +arm round her cousin, somehow liking her the better for making +it. It was not an original remark, nor had Frieda appropriated it +passionately, for she had a patriotic rather than a philosophic +mind. Yet it betrayed that interest in the universal which the +average Teuton possesses and the average Englishman does not. It +was, however illogically, the good, the beautiful, the true, as +opposed to the respectable, the pretty, the adequate. It was a +landscape of Bocklin's beside a landscape of Leader's, strident +and ill-considered, but quivering into supernatural life. It +sharpened idealism, stirred the soul. It may have been a bad +preparation for what followed. + +"Look!" cried Aunt Juley, hurrying away from generalities over +the narrow summit of the down. "Stand where I stand, and you will +see the pony-cart coming. I see the pony-cart coming." + +They stood and saw the pony-cart coming. Margaret and Tibby were +presently seen coming in it. Leaving the outskirts of Swanage, it +drove for a little through the budding lanes, and then began the +ascent. + +"Have you got the house?" they shouted, long before she could +possibly hear. + +Helen ran down to meet her. The highroad passed over a saddle, +and a track went thence at right angles alone the ridge of the +down. + +"Have you got the house?" + +Margaret shook her head. + +"Oh, what a nuisance! So we're as we were?" + +"Not exactly." + +She got out, looking tired. + +"Some mystery," said Tibby. "We are to be enlightened presently." + +Margaret came close up to her and whispered that she had had a +proposal of marriage from Mr. Wilcox. + +Helen was amused. She opened the gate on to the downs so that her +brother might lead the pony through. "It's just like a widower," +she remarked. "They've cheek enough for anything, and invariably +select one of their first wife's friends." + +Margaret's face flashed despair. + +"That type--" She broke off with a cry. "Meg, not anything wrong +with you?" + +"Wait one minute," said Margaret, whispering always. + +"But you've never conceivably--you've never--" She pulled herself +together. "Tibby, hurry up through; I can't hold this gate +indefinitely. Aunt Juley! I say, Aunt Juley, make the tea, will +you, and Frieda; we've got to talk houses, and will come on +afterwards." And then, turning her face to her sister's, she +burst into tears. + +Margaret was stupefied. She heard herself saying, "Oh, really--" +She felt herself touched with a hand that trembled. + +"Don't," sobbed Helen, "don't, don't, Meg, don't!" She seemed +incapable of saying any other word. Margaret, trembling herself, +led her forward up the road, till they strayed through another +gate on to the down. + +"Don't, don't do such a thing! I tell you not to--don't! I know-- +don't!" + +"What do you know?" + +"Panic and emptiness," sobbed Helen. "Don't!" + +Then Margaret thought, "Helen is a little selfish. I have never +behaved like this when there has seemed a chance of her +marrying." She said: "But we would still see each other very-- +often, and you--" + +"It's not a thing like that," sobbed Helen. And she broke right +away and wandered distractedly upwards, stretching her hands +towards the view and crying. + +"What's happened to you?" called Margaret, following through the +wind that gathers at sundown on the northern slopes of hills. +"But it's stupid!" And suddenly stupidity seized her, and the +immense landscape was blurred. But Helen turned back. + +"I don't know what's happened to either of us," said Margaret, +wiping her eyes. "We must both have done mad." Then Helen wiped +hers, and they even laughed a little. + +"Look here, sit down." + +"All right; I'll sit down if you'll sit down." + +"There. (One kiss.) Now, whatever, whatever is the matter?" + +"I do mean what I said. Don't; it wouldn't do." + +"Oh, Helen, stop saying 'don't'! It's ignorant. It's as if your +head wasn't out of the slime. 'Don't' is probably what Mrs. Bast +says all the day to Mr. Bast." + +Helen was silent. + +"Well?" + +"Tell me about it first, and meanwhile perhaps I'll have got my +head out of the slime." + +"That's better. Well, where shall I begin? When I arrived at +Waterloo--no, I'll go back before that, because I'm anxious you +should know everything from the first. The 'first' was about ten +days ago. It was the day Mr. Bast came to tea and lost his +temper. I was defending him, and Mr. Wilcox became jealous about +me, however slightly. I thought it was the involuntary thing, +which men can't help any more than we can. You know--at least, I +know in my own case--when a man has said to me, 'So-and-so's a +pretty girl,' I am seized with a momentary sourness against So- +and-so, and long to tweak her ear. It's a tiresome feeling, but +not an important one, and one easily manages it. But it wasn't +only this in Mr. Wilcox's case, I gather now." + +"Then you love him?' + +Margaret considered. "It is wonderful knowing that a real man +cares for you," she said. "The mere fact of that grows more +tremendous. Remember, I've known and liked him steadily for +nearly three years." + +"But loved him?" + +Margaret peered into her past. It is pleasant to analyse feelings +while they are still only feelings, and unembodied in the social +fabric. With her arm round Helen, and her eyes shifting over the +view, as if this country or that could reveal the secret of her +own heart, she meditated honestly, and said, "No." + +"But you will?" + +"Yes," said Margaret, "of that I'm pretty sure. Indeed, I began +the moment he spoke to me." + +"And have settled to marry him?" + +"I had, but am wanting a long talk about it now. What is it +against him, Helen? You must try and say." + +Helen, in her turn, looked outwards. "It is ever since Paul," she +said finally. + +"But what has Mr. Wilcox to do with Paul?" + +"But he was there, they were all there that morning when I came +down to breakfast, and saw that Paul was frightened--the man who +loved me frightened and all his paraphernalia fallen, so that I +knew it was impossible, because personal relations are the +important thing for ever and ever, and not this outer life of +telegrams and anger." + +She poured the sentence forth in one breath, but her sister +understood it, because it touched on thoughts that were familiar +between them. + +"That's foolish. In the first place, I disagree about the outer +life. Well, we've often argued that. The real point is that there +is the widest gulf between my love-making and yours. Yours was +romance; mine will be prose. I'm not running it down--a very good +kind of prose, but well considered, well thought out. For +instance, I know all Mr. Wilcox's faults. He's afraid of emotion. +He cares too much about success, too little about the past. His +sympathy lacks poetry, and so isn't sympathy really. I'd even say +"--she looked at the shining lagoons--"that, spiritually, he's +not as honest as I am. Doesn't that satisfy you?" + +"No, it doesn't," said Helen. "It makes me feel worse and worse. +You must be mad." + +Margaret made a movement of irritation. + +"I don't intend him, or any man or any woman, to be all my life-- +good heavens, no! There are heaps of things in me that he +doesn't, and shall never, understand." + +Thus she spoke before the wedding ceremony and the physical +union, before the astonishing glass shade had fallen that +interposes between married couples and the world. She was to keep +her independence more than do most women as yet. Marriage was to +alter her fortunes rather than her character, and she was not far +wrong in boasting that she understood her future husband. Yet he +did alter her character--a little. There was an unforeseen +surprise, a cessation of the winds and odours of life, a social +pressure that would have her think conjugally. + +"So with him," she continued. "There are heaps of things in him-- +more especially things that he does that will always be hidden +from me. He has all those public qualities which you so despise +and which enable all this--" She waved her hand at the landscape, +which confirmed anything. "If Wilcoxes hadn't worked and died in +England for thousands of years, you and I couldn't sit here +without having our throats cut. There would be no trains, no +ships to carry us literary people about in, no fields even. Just +savagery. No--perhaps not even that. Without their spirit life +might never have moved out of protoplasm. More and more do I +refuse to draw my income and sneer at those who guarantee it. +There are times when it seems to me--" + +"And to me, and to all women. So one kissed Paul." + +"That's brutal." said 'Margaret. "Mine is an absolutely different +case. I've thought things out." + +"It makes no difference thinking things out. They come to the +same." + +"Rubbish!" + +There was a long silence, during which the tide returned into +Poole Harbour. "One would lose something," murmured Helen, +apparently to herself. The water crept over the mud-flats towards +the gorse and the blackened heather. Branksea Island lost its +immense foreshores, and became a sombre episode of trees. Frome +was forced inward towards Dorchester, Stour against Wimborne, +Avon towards Salisbury, and over the immense displacement the sun +presided, leading it to triumph ere he sank to rest. England was +alive, throbbing through all her estuaries, crying for joy +through the mouths of all her gulls, and the north wind, with +contrary motion, blew stronger against her rising seas. What did +it mean? For what end are her fair complexities, her changes of +soil, her sinuous coast? Does she belong to those who have +moulded her and made her feared by other lands, or to those who +have added nothing to her power, but have somehow seen her, seen +the whole island at once, lying as a jewel in a silver sea, +sailing as a ship of souls, with all the brave world's fleet +accompanying her towards eternity? + + + +CHAPTER XX + +Margaret had often wondered at the disturbance that takes place +in the world's waters, when Love, who seems so tiny a pebble, +slips in. Whom does Love concern beyond the beloved and the +lover? Yet his impact deluges a hundred shores. No doubt the +disturbance is really the spirit of the generations, welcoming +the new generation, and chafing against the ultimate Fate, who +holds all the seas in the palm of her hand. But Love cannot +understand this. He cannot comprehend another's infinity; he is +conscious only of his own--flying sunbeam, falling rose, pebble +that asks for one quiet plunge below the fretting interplay of +space and time. He knows that he will survive at the end of +things, and be gathered by Fate as a jewel from the slime, and be +handed with admiration round the assembly of the gods. "Men did +produce this" they will say, and, saying, they will give men +immortality. But meanwhile--what agitations meanwhile! The +foundations of Property and Propriety are laid bare, twin rocks; +Family Pride flounders to the surface, puffing and blowing and +refusing to be comforted; Theology, vaguely ascetic, gets up a +nasty ground swell. Then the lawyers are aroused--cold brood--and +creep out of their holes. They do what they can; they tidy up +Property and Propriety, reassure Theology and Family Pride. +Half-guineas are poured on the troubled waters, the lawyers creep +back, and, if all has gone well, Love joins one man and woman +together in Matrimony. + +Margaret had expected the disturbance, and was not irritated by +it. For a sensitive woman she had steady nerves, and could bear +with the incongruous and the grotesque; and, besides, there was +nothing excessive about her love-affair. Good-humour was the +dominant note of her relations with Mr. Wilcox, or, as I must now +call him, Henry. Henry did not encourage romance, and she was no +girl to fidget for it. An acquaintance had become a lover, might +become a husband, but would retain all that she had noted in the +acquaintance; and love must confirm an old relation rather than +reveal a new one. + +In this spirit she promised to marry him. + +He was in Swanage on the morrow bearing the engagement ring. + +They greeted one another with a hearty cordiality that impressed +Aunt Juley. Henry dined at The Bays, but had engaged a bedroom in +the principal hotel; he was one of those men who know the +principal hotel by instinct. After dinner he asked Margaret if +she wouldn't care for a turn on the Parade. She accepted, and +could not repress a little tremor; it would be her first real +love scene. But as she put on her hat she burst out laughing. +Love was so unlike the article served up in books; the joy, +though genuine was different; the mystery an unexpected mystery. +For one thing, Mr. Wilcox still seemed a stranger. + +For a time they talked about the ring; then she said: "Do you +remember the Embankment at Chelsea? It can't be ten days ago." + +"Yes," he said, laughing. "And you and your sister were head and +ears deep in some Quixotic scheme. Ah well!" + +"I little thought then, certainly. Did you?" + +"I don't know about that; I shouldn't like to say." + +"Why, was it earlier?" she cried. "Did you think of me this way +earlier! How extraordinarily interesting, Henry! Tell me." + +But Henry had no intention of telling. Perhaps he could not have +told, for his mental states became obscure as soon as he had +passed through them. He misliked the very word "interesting," +connoting it with wasted energy and even with morbidity. Hard +facts were enough for him. + +"I didn't think of it," she pursued. "No; when you spoke to me in +the drawing-room, that was practically the first. It was all so +different from what it's supposed to be. On the stage, or in +books, a proposal is--how shall I put it?--a full-blown affair, a +hind of bouquet; it loses its literal meaning. But in life a +proposal really is a proposal--" + +"By the way--" + +"Oh, very well." + +"I am so glad," she answered, a little surprised. "What did you +talk about? Me, presumably." + +"About Greece too." + +"Greece was a very good card, Henry. Tibby's only a boy still, +and one has to pick and choose subjects a little. Well done." + +"I was telling him I have shares in a currant-farm near +Calamata." + +"What a delightful thing to have shares in! Can't we go there for +our honeymoon?" + +"What to do?" + +"To eat the currants. And isn't there marvellous scenery?" + +"Moderately, but it's not the kind of place one could possibly go +to with a lady." + +"Why not?" + +"No hotels." + +"Some ladies do without hotels. Are you aware that Helen and I +have walked alone over the Apennines, with our luggage on our +backs?" + +"I wasn't aware, and, if I can manage it, you will never do such +a thing again." + +She said more gravely: "You haven't found time for a talk with +Helen yet, I suppose?" + +"No." + +"Do, before you go. I am so anxious you two should be friends." + +"Your sister and I have always hit it off," he said negligently. +"But we're drifting away from our business. Let me begin at the +beginning. You know that Evie is going to marry Percy Cahill." + +"Dolly's uncle." + +"Exactly. The girl's madly in love with him. A very good sort of +fellow, but he demands--and rightly--a suitable provision with +her. And in the second place you will naturally understand, there +is Charles. Before leaving town, I wrote Charles a very careful +letter. You see, he has an increasing family and increasing +expenses, and the I. and W. A. is nothing particular just now, +though capable of development." + +"Poor fellow!" murmured Margaret, looking out to sea, and not +understanding. + +"Charles being the elder son, some day Charles will have Howards +End; but I am anxious, in my own happiness, not to be unjust to +others." + +"Of course not," she began, and then gave a little cry. "you mean +money. How stupid I am! Of course not!" + +Oddly enough, he winced a little at the word. "Yes, Money, since +you put it so frankly. I am determined to be just to all--just to +you, just to them. I am determined that my children shall have +me." + +"Be generous to them," she said sharply. "Bother justice!" + +"I am determined--and have already written to Charles to that +effect--" + +"But how much have you got?" + +"What?" + +"How much have you a year? I've six hundred." + +"My income?" + +"Yes. We must begin with how much you have, before we can settle +how much you can give Charles. Justice, and even generosity, +depend on that." + +"I must say you're a downright young woman," he observed, patting +her arm and laughing a little. "What a question to spring on a +fellow!" + +"Don't you know your income? Or don't you want to tell it me?" + +"I--" + +"That's all right"--now she patted him--"don't tell me. I don't +want to know. I can do the sum just as well by proportion. Divide +your income into ten parts. How many parts would you give to +Evie, how many to Charles, how many to Paul?" + +"The fact is, my dear, I hadn't any intention of bothering you +with details. I only wanted to let you know that--well, that +something must be done for the others, and you've understood me +perfectly, so let's pass on to the next point." + +"Yes, we've settled that," said Margaret, undisturbed by his +strategic blunderings. "Go ahead; give away all you can, bearing +in mind that I've a clear six hundred. What a mercy it is to have +all this money about one." + +"We've none too much, I assure you; you're marrying a poor man." + +"Helen wouldn't agree with me here," she continued. "Helen +daren't slang the rich, being rich herself, but she would like +to. There's an odd notion, that I haven't yet got hold of, +running about at the back of her brain, that poverty is somehow +'real.' She dislikes all organisation, and probably confuses +wealth with the technique of wealth. Sovereigns in a stocking +wouldn't bother her; cheques do. Helen is too relentless. One +can't deal in her high-handed manner with the world." + +"There's this other point, and then I must go back to +my hotel and write some letters. What's to be done now about the +house in Ducie Street?" + +"Keep it on--at least, it depends. When do you want to marry me?" + +She raised her voice, as too often, and some youths, who were +also taking the evening air, overheard her. "Getting a bit hot, +eh?" said one. Mr. Wilcox turned on them, and said sharply, "I +say!" There was silence. "Take care I don't report you to the +police." They moved away quietly enough, but were only biding +their time, and the rest of the conversation was punctuated by +peals of ungovernable laughter. + +Lowering his voice and infusing a hint of reproof into it, he +said: "Evie will probably be married in September. We could +scarcely think of anything before then." + +"The earlier the nicer, Henry. Females are not supposed to say +such things, but the earlier the nicer." + +"How about September for us too?" he asked, rather dryly. + +"Right. Shall we go into Ducie Street ourselves in September? Or +shall we try to bounce Helen and Tibby into it? That's rather an +idea. They are so unbusinesslike, we could make them do anything +by judicious management. Look here--yes. We'll do that. And we +ourselves could live at Howards End or Shropshire." + +He blew out his cheeks. "Heavens! how you women do fly round! My +head's in a whirl. Point by point, Margaret. Howards End's +impossible. I let it to Hamar Bryce on a three years' agreement +last March. Don't you remember? Oniton. Well, that is much, much +too far away to rely on entirely. You will be able to be down +there entertaining a certain amount, but we must have a house +within easy reach of Town. Only Ducie Street has huge drawbacks. +There's a mews behind." + +Margaret could not help laughing. It was the first she had heard +of the mews behind Ducie Street. When she was a possible tenant +it had suppressed itself, not consciously, but automatically. The +breezy Wilcox manner, though genuine, lacked the clearness of +vision that is imperative for truth. When Henry lived in Ducie +Street he remembered the mews; when he tried to let he forgot it; +and if any one had remarked that the mews must be either there or +not, he would have felt annoyed, and afterwards have found some +opportunity of stigmatising the speaker as academic. So does my +grocer stigmatise me when I complain of the quality of his +sultanas, and he answers in one breath that they are the best +sultanas, and how can I expect the best sultanas at that price? +It is a flaw inherent in the business mind, and Margaret may do +well to be tender to it, considering all that the business mind +has done for England. + +"Yes, in summer especially, the mews is a serious nuisance. The +smoking-room, too, is an abominable little den. The house +opposite has been taken by operatic people. Ducie Street's going +down, it's my private opinion." + +"How sad! It's only a few years since they built those pretty +houses." + +"Shows things are moving. Good for trade." + +"I hate this continual flux of London. It is an epitome of us at +our worst--eternal formlessness; all the qualities, good, bad, +and indifferent, streaming away--streaming, streaming for ever. +That's why I dread it so. I mistrust rivers, even in scenery. +Now, the sea--" + +"High tide, yes." + +"Hoy toid"--from the promenading youths. + +"And these are the men to whom we give the vote," observed Mr. +Wilcox, omitting to add that they were also the men to whom he +gave work as clerks--work that scarcely encouraged them to grow +into other men. "However, they have their own lives and +interests. Let's get on." + +He turned as he spoke, and prepared to see her back to The Bays. +The business was over. His hotel was in the opposite direction, +and if he accompanied her his letters would be late for the post. +She implored him not to come, but he was obdurate. + +"A nice beginning, if your aunt saw you slip in alone!" + +"But I always do go about alone. Considering I've walked over the +Apennines, it's common sense. You will make me so angry. I don't +the least take it as a compliment." + +He laughed, and lit a cigar. "It isn't meant as a compliment, my +dear. I just won't have you going about in the dark. Such people +about too! It's dangerous." + +"Can't I look after myself? I do wish--" + +"Come along, Margaret; no wheedling." + +A younger woman might have resented his masterly ways, but +Margaret had too firm a grip of life to make a fuss. She was, in +her own way, as masterly. If he was a fortress she was a mountain +peak, whom all might tread, but whom the snows made nightly +virginal. Disdaining the heroic outfit, excitable in her methods, +garrulous, episodical, shrill, she misled her lover much as she +had misled her aunt. He mistook her fertility for Weakness. He +supposed her "as clever as they make them," but no more, not +realising that she was penetrating to the depths of his soul, and +approving of what she found there. + +And if insight were sufficient, if the inner life were the whole +of life, their happiness had been assured. + +They walked ahead briskly. The parade and the road after it were +well lighted, but it was darker in Aunt Juley's garden. As they +were going up by the side-paths, through some rhododendrons, Mr. +Wilcox, who was in front, said "Margaret" rather huskily, turned, +dropped his cigar, and took her in his arms. + +She was startled, and nearly screamed, but recovered herself at +once, and kissed with genuine love the lips that were pressed +against her own. It was their first kiss, and when it was over he +saw her safely to the door and rang the bell for her but +disappeared into the night before the maid answered it. On +looking back, the incident displeased her. It was so isolated. +Nothing in their previous conversation had heralded it, and, +worse still, no tenderness had ensued. If a man cannot lead up to +passion he can at all events lead down from it, and she had +hoped, after her complaisance, for some interchange of gentle +words. But he had hurried away as if ashamed, and for an instant +she was reminded of Helen and Paul. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +Charles had just been scolding his Dolly. She deserved the +scolding, and had bent before it, but her head, though bloody was +unsubdued and her began to mingle with his retreating thunder. + +"You've waked the baby. I knew you would. (Rum-ti-foo, Rackety- +tackety-Tompkin!) I'm not responsible for what Uncle Percy does, +nor for anybody else or anything, so there!" + +"Who asked him while I was away? Who asked my sister down to meet +him? Who sent them out in the motor day after day?" + +"Charles, that reminds me of some poem." + +"Does it indeed? We shall all be dancing to a very different +music presently. Miss Schlegel has fairly got us on toast." + +"I could simply scratch that woman's eyes out, and to say it's my +fault is most unfair. " + +"It's your fault, and five months ago you admitted it." + +"I didn't." + +"You did." + +"Tootle, tootle, playing on the pootle!" exclaimed Dolly, +suddenly devoting herself to the child. + +"It's all very well to turn the conversation, but father would +never have dreamt of marrying as long as Evie was there to make +him comfortable. But you must needs start match-making. Besides, +Cahill's too old." + +"Of course, if you're going to be rude to Uncle Percy." + +"Miss Schlegel always meant to get hold of Howards End, and, +thanks to you, she's got it." + +"I call the way you twist things round and make them hang +together most unfair. You couldn't have been nastier if you'd +caught me flirting. Could he, diddums?" + +"We're in a bad hole, and must make the best of it. I shall +answer the pater's letter civilly. He's evidently anxious to do +the decent thing. But I do not intend to forget these Schlegcls +in a hurry. As long as they're on their best behaviour--Do11y, +are you listening?--we'll behave, too. But if I find them giving +themselves airs or monopolising my father, or at all ill-treating +him, or worrying him with their artistic beastliness, I intend to +put my foot down, yes, firmly. Taking my mother's place! Heaven +knows what poor old Paul will say when the news reaches him." + +The interlude closes. It has taken place in Charles's garden at +Hilton. He and Dolly are sitting in deckchairs, and their motor +is regarding them placidly from its garage across the lawn. A +short-frocked edition of Charles also regards them placidly; a +perambulator edition is squeaking; a third edition is expected +shortly. Nature is turning out Wilcoxes in this peaceful abode, +so that they may inherit the earth. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +Margaret greeted her lord with peculiar tenderness on the morrow. +Mature as he was, she might yet be able to help him to the +building of the rainbow bridge that should connect the prose in +us with the passion. Without it we are meaningless fragments, +half monks, half beasts, unconnected arches that have never +joined into a man. With it love is born, and alights on the +highest curve, glowing against the grey, sober against the fire. +Happy the man who sees from either aspect the glory of these +outspread wings. The roads of his soul lie clear, and he and his +friends shall find easy-going. + +It was hard-going in the roads of Mr. Wilcox's soul. From boyhood +he had neglected them. "I am not a fellow who bothers about my +own inside." Outwardly he was cheerful, reliable, and brave; but +within, all had reverted to chaos, ruled, so far as it was ruled +at all, by an incomplete asceticism. Whether as boy, husband, or +widower, he had always the sneaking belief that bodily passion is +bad, a belief that is desirable only when held passionately. +Religion had confirmed him. The words that were read aloud on +Sunday to him and to other respectable men were the words that +had once kindled the souls of St. Catherine and St. Francis into +a white-hot hatred of the carnal. He could not be as the saints +and love the Infinite with a seraphic ardour, but he could be a +little ashamed of loving a wife. Amabat, amare timebat. And it +was here that Margaret hoped to help him. + +It did not seem so difficult. She need trouble him with no gift of +her own. She would only point out the salvation that was latent +in his own soul, and in the soul of every man. Only connect! That +was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the +passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at +its height. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect and the +beast and the monk, robbed of the isolation that is life to +either, will die. + +Nor was the message difficult to give. It need not take the form +of a good "talking." By quiet indications the bridge would be +built and span their lives with beauty. + +But she failed. For there was one quality in Henry for which she +was never prepared, however much she reminded herself of it: his +obtuseness. He simply did not notice things, and there was no +more to be said. He never noticed that Helen and Frieda were +hostile, or that Tibby was not interested in currant plantations; +he never noticed the lights and shades that exist in the greyest +conversation, the finger-posts, the milestones, the collisions, +the illimitable views. Once--on another occasion--she scolded him +about it. He was puzzled, but replied with a laugh: "My motto is +Concentrate. I've no intention of frittering away my strength on +that sort of thing." "It isn't frittering away the strength," she +protested. "It's enlarging the space in which you may be +strong." He answered: "You're a clever little woman, but my +motto's Concentrate." And this morning he concentrated with a +vengeance. + +They met in the rhododendrons of yesterday. In the daylight the +bushes were inconsiderable and the path was bright in the morning +sun. She was with Helen, who had been ominously quiet since the +affair was settled. "Here we all are!" she cried, and took him by +one hand, retaining her sister's in the other. + +"Here we are. Good-morning, Helen." + +Helen replied, "Good-morning, Mr. Wilcox." + +"Henry, she has had such a nice letter from the queer, cross boy. +Do you remember him? He had a sad moustache, but the back of his +head was young." + +"I have had a letter too. Not a nice one--I want to talk it over +with you"; for Leonard Bast was nothing to him now that she had +given him her word; the triangle of sex was broken for ever. + +"Thanks to your hint, he's clearing out of the Porphyrion." + +"Not a bad business that Porphyrion," he said absently, as he +took his own letter out of his pocket. + +"Not a BAD--"she exclaimed, dropping his hand. "Surely, on +Chelsea Embankment--" + +"Here's our hostess. Good-morning, Mrs. Munt. Fine rhododendrons. +Good-morning, Frau Liesecke; we manage to grow flowers in +England, don't we?" + +"Not a BAD business?" + +"No. My letter's about Howards End. Bryce has been ordered +abroad, and wants to sublet it--I am far from sure that I shall +give him permission. There was no clause in the agreement. In my +opinion, subletting is a mistake. If he can find me another +tenant, whom I consider suitable, I may cancel the agreement. +Morning, Schlegel. Don't you think that's better than +subletting?" + +Helen had dropped her hand now, and he had steered her past the +whole party to the seaward side of the house. Beneath them was +the bourgeois little bay, which must have yearned all through the +centuries for just such a watering-place as Swanage to be built +on its margin. + +The waves were colourless, and the Bournemouth steamer gave a +further touch of insipidity, drawn up against the pier and +hooting wildly for excursionists. + +"When there is a sublet I find that damage--" + +"Do excuse me, but about the Porphyrion. I don't feel easy--might +I just bother you, Henry?" + +Her manner was so serious that he stopped, and asked her a little +sharply what she wanted. + +"You said on Chelsea Embankment, surely, that it was a bad +concern, so we advised this clerk to clear out. He writes this +morning that he's taken our advice, and now you say it's not a +bad concern." + +"A clerk who clears out of any concern, good or bad, without +securing a berth somewhere else first, is a fool, and I've no +pity for him." + +"He has not done that. He's going into a bank in Camden Town, he +says. The salary's much lower, but he hopes to manage--a branch +of Dempster's Bank. Is that all right?" + +"Dempster! Why goodness me, yes." + +"More right than the Porphyrion?" + +"Yes, yes, yes; safe as houses--safer." + +"Very many thanks. I'm sorry--if you sublet--?" + +"If he sublets, I shan't have the same control. In theory there +should be no more damage done at Howards End; in practice there +will be. Things may be done for which no money can compensate. +For instance, I shouldn't want that fine wych-elm spoilt. It +hangs--Margaret, we must go and see the old place some time. +It's pretty in its way. We'll motor down and have lunch with +Charles." + +"I should enjoy that," said Margaret bravely. + +"What about next Wednesday?" + +"Wednesday? No, I couldn't well do that. Aunt Juley expects us to +stop here another week at least." + +"But you can give that up now." + +"Er--no," said Margaret, after a moment's thought. + +"Oh, that'll be all right. I'll speak to her." + +"This visit is a high solemnity. My aunt counts on it year after +year. She turns the house upside down for us; she invites our +special friends--she scarcely knows Frieda, and we can't leave +her on her hands. I missed one day, and she would be so hurt if I +didn't stay the full ten. " + +"But I'll say a word to her. Don't you bother." + +"Henry, I won't go. Don't bully me." + +"You want to see the house, though?" + +"Very much--I've heard so much about it, one way or the other. +Aren't there pigs' teeth in the wych-elm?" + +"PIGS TEETH?" + +"And you chew the bark for toothache." + +"What a rum notion! Of course not!" + +"Perhaps I have confused it with some other tree. There are still +a great number of sacred trees in England, it seems." + +But he left her to intercept Mrs. Munt, whose voice could be +heard in the distance; to be intercepted himself by Helen. + +"Oh. Mr. Wilcox, about the Porphyrion--"she began and went +scarlet all over her face. + +"It's all right," called Margaret, catching them up. "Dempster's +Bank's better." + +"But I think you told us the Porphyrion was bad, and would smash +before Christmas." + +"Did I? It was still outside the Tariff Ring, and had to take +rotten policies. Lately it came in--safe as houses now." + +"In other words, Mr. Bast need never have left it." + +"No, the fellow needn't." + +"--and needn't have started life elsewhere at a greatly reduced +salary." + +"He only says 'reduced,'" corrected Margaret, seeing trouble +ahead. + +"With a man so poor, every reduction must be great. I consider it +a deplorable misfortune." + +Mr. Wilcox, intent on his business with Mrs. Munt, was going +steadily on, but the last remark made him say: "What? What's +that? Do you mean that I'm responsible?" + +"You're ridiculous, Helen." + +"You seem to think--" He looked at his watch. "Let me explain the +point to you. It is like this. You seem to assume, when a +business concern is conducting a delicate negotiation, it ought +to keep the public informed stage by stage. The Porphyrion, +according to you, was bound to say, 'I am trying all I can to get +into the Tariff Ring. I am not sure that I shall succeed, but it +is the only thing that will save me from insolvency, and I am +trying.' My dear Helen--" + +"Is that your point? A man who had little money has less--that's +mine." + +"I am grieved for your clerk. But it is all in the days work. +It's part of the battle of life." + +"A man who had little money--, "she repeated, "has less, owing to +us. Under these circumstances I consider 'the battle of life' a +happy expression. + +"Oh come, come!" he protested pleasantly. 'you're not to blame. +No one's to blame." + +"Is no one to blame for anything?" + +"I wouldn't say that, but you're taking it far too seriously. +Who is this fellow?" + +"We have told you about the fellow twice already," said Helen. +"You have even met the fellow. He is very poor and his wife is an +extravagant imbecile. He is capable of better things. We--we, the +upper classes--thought we would help him from the height of our +superior knowledge--and here's the result!" + +He raised his finger. "Now, a word of advice." + +"I require no more advice." + +"A word of advice. Don't take up that sentimental attitude over +the poor. See that she doesn't, Margaret. The poor are poor, and +one's sorry for them, but there it is. As civilisation moves +forward, the shoe is bound to pinch in places, and it's absurd +to pretend that any one is responsible personally. Neither you, +nor I, nor my informant, nor the man who informed him, nor the +directors of the Porphyrion, are to blame for this clerk's loss +of salary. It's just the shoe pinching--no one can help it; and +it might easily have been worse." + +Helen quivered with indignation. + +"By all means subscribe to charities--subscribe to them largely-- +but don't get carried away by absurd schemes of Social Reform. I +see a good deal behind the scenes, and you can take it from me +that there is no Social Question--except for a few journalists +who try to get a living out of the phrase. There are just rich +and poor, as there always have been and always will be. Point me +out a time when men have been equal--" + +"I didn't say--" + +"Point me out a time when desire for equality has made them +happier. No, no. You can't. There always have been rich and poor. +I'm no fatalist. Heaven forbid! But our civilisation is moulded +by great impersonal forces" (his voice grew complacent; it +always did when he eliminated the personal), "and there always +will be rich and poor. You can't deny it" (and now it was a +respectful voice)--"and you can't deny that, in spite of all, the +tendency of civilisation has on the whole been upward." + +"Owing to God, I suppose," flashed Helen. + +He stared at her. + +"You grab the dollars. God does the rest." + +It was no good instructing the girl if she was going to talk +about God in that neurotic modern way. Fraternal to the last, he +left her for the quieter company of Mrs. Munt. He thought, "She +rather reminds me of Dolly." + +Helen looked out at the sea. + +"Don't ever discuss political economy with Henry," advised her +sister. "It'll only end in a cry." + +"But he must be one of those men who have reconciled science with +religion," said Helen slowly. "I don't like those men. They are +scientific themselves, and talk of the survival of the fittest, +and cut down the salaries of their clerks, and stunt the +independence of all who may menace their comfort, but yet they +believe that somehow good--it is always that sloppy 'somehow' +will be the outcome, and that in some mystical way the Mr. Basts +of the future will benefit because the Mr. Brits of today are in +pain." + +"He is such a man in theory. But oh, Helen, in theory!" + +"But oh, Meg, what a theory!" + +"Why should you put things so bitterly, dearie?" + +"Because I'm an old maid," said Helen, biting her lip. "I can't +think why I go on like this myself." She shook off her sister's +hand and went into the house. Margaret, distressed at the day's +beginning, followed the Bournemouth steamer with her eyes. She +saw that Helen's nerves were exasperated by the unlucky Bast +business beyond the bounds of politeness. There might at any +minute be a real explosion, which even Henry would notice. Henry +must be removed. + +"Margaret!" her aunt called. "Magsy! It isn't true, surely, +what Mr. Wilcox says, that you want to go away early next week?" + +"Not 'want,'" was Margaret's prompt reply; "but there is so much +to be settled, and I do want to see the Charles's." + +"But going away without taking the Weymouth trip, or even the +Lulworth?" said Mrs. Munt, coming nearer. "Without going once +more up Nine Barrows Down?" + +"I'm afraid so." + +Mr. Wilcox rejoined her with, "Good! I did the breaking of the +ice." + +A wave of tenderness came over her. She put a hand on either +shoulder, and looked deeply into the black, bright eyes. What was +behind their competent stare? She knew, but was not disquieted. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +Margaret had no intention of letting things slide, and the +evening before she left Swanage she gave her sister a thorough +scolding. She censured her, not for disapproving of the +engagement, but for throwing over her disapproval a veil of +mystery. Helen was equally frank. "Yes," she said, with the air +of one looking inwards, "there is a mystery. I can't help it. +It's not my fault. It's the way life has been made." Helen in +those days was over-interested in the subconscious self. She +exaggerated the Punch and Judy aspect of life, and spoke of +mankind as puppets, whom an invisible showman twitches into love +and war. Margaret pointed out that if she dwelt on this she, too, +would eliminate the personal. Helen was silent for a minute, and +then burst into a queer speech, which cleared the air. "Go on +and marry him. I think you're splendid; and if any one can pull +it off, you will." Margaret denied that there was anything to +"pull off," but she continued: "Yes, there is, and I wasn't up +to it with Paul. I can do only what's easy. I can only entice +and be enticed. I can't, and won't, attempt difficult relations. +If I marry, it will either be a man who's strong enough to boss +me or whom I'm strong enough to boss. So I shan't ever marry, for +there aren't such men. And Heaven help any one whom I do marry, +for I shall certainly run away from him before you can say 'Jack +Robinson.' There! Because I'm uneducated. But you, you're +different; you're a heroine." + +"Oh, Helen! Am I? Will it be as dreadful for poor Henry as all +that?" + +"You mean to keep proportion, and that's heroic, it's Greek, and +I don't see why it shouldn't succeed with you. Go on and fight +with him and help him. Don't ask me for help, or even for +sympathy. Henceforward I'm going my own way. I mean to be +thorough, because thoroughness is easy. I mean to dislike your +husband, and to tell him so. I mean to make no concessions to +Tibby. If Tibby wants to live with me, he must lump me. I mean to +love you more than ever. Yes, I do. You and I have built up +something real, because it is purely spiritual. There's no veil +of mystery over us. Unreality and mystery begin as soon as one +touches the body. The popular view is, as usual, exactly the +wrong one. Our bothers are over tangible things--money, husbands, +house-hunting. But Heaven will work of itself." + +Margaret was grateful for this expression of affection, and +answered, "Perhaps." All vistas close in the unseen--no one +doubts it--but Helen closed them rather too quickly for her +taste. At every turn of speech one was confronted with reality +and the absolute. Perhaps Margaret grew too old for metaphysics, +perhaps Henry was weaning her from them, but she felt that there +was something a little unbalanced in the mind that so readily +shreds the visible. The business man who assumes that this life +is everything, and the mystic who asserts that it is nothing, +fail, on this side and on that, to hit the truth. "Yes, I see, +dear; it's about half-way between," Aunt Juicy had hazarded in +earlier years. No; truth, being alive, was not half-way between +anything. It was only to be found by continuous excursions into +either realm, and though proportion is the final secret, to +espouse it at the outset is to insure sterility. + +Helen, agreeing here, disagreeing there, would have talked till +midnight, but Margaret, with her packing to do, focussed the +conversation on Henry. She might abuse Henry behind his back, but +please would she always be civil to him in company? "I definitely +dislike him, but I'll do what I can," promised Helen. "Do what +you can with my friends in return." + +This conversation made Margaret easier. Their inner life was so +safe that they could bargain over externals in a way that would +have been incredible to Aunt Juley, and impossible for Tibby or +Charles. There are moments when the inner life actually "pays," +when years of self-scrutiny, conducted for no ulterior motive, +are suddenly of practical use. Such moments are still rare in the +West; that they come at all promises a fairer future. Margaret, +though unable to understand her sister, was assured against +estrangement, and returned to London with a more peaceful mind. + +The following morning, at eleven o'clock, she presented herself +at the offices of the Imperial and West African Rubber Company. +She was glad to go there, for Henry had implied his business +rather than described it, and the formlessness and vagueness that +one associates with Africa itself had hitherto brooded over the +main sources of his wealth. Not that a visit to the office cleared +things up. There was just the ordinary surface scum of ledgers +and polished counters and brass bars that began and stopped for +no possible reason, of electric-light globes blossoming in +triplets, of little rabbit-hutches faced with glass or wire, of +little rabbits. And even when she penetrated to the inner depths, +she found only the ordinary table and Turkey carpet, and though +the map over the fireplace did depict a helping of West Africa, +it was a very ordinary map. Another map hung opposite, on which +the whole continent appeared, looking like a whale marked out +for a blubber, and by its side was a door, shut, but Henry's +voice came through it, dictating a "strong" letter. She might +have been at the Porphyrion, or Dempster's Bank, or her own +wine-merchant's. Everything seems just alike in these days. But +perhaps she was seeing the Imperial side of the company rather +than its West African, and Imperialism always had been one of +her difficulties. + +"One minute!" called Mr. Wilcox on receiving her name. He touched +a bell, the effect of which was to produce Charles. + +Charles had written his father an adequate letter--more adequate +than Evie's, through which a girlish indignation throbbed. And he +greeted his future stepmother with propriety. + +"I hope that my wife--how do you do?--will give you a decent +lunch," was his opening. "I left instructions, but we live in a +rough-and-ready way. She expects you back to tea, too, after you +have had a look at Howards End. I wonder what you'll think of the +place. I wouldn't touch it with tongs myself. Do sit down! It's a +measly little place." + +"I shall enjoy seeing it," said Margaret, feeling, for the first +time, shy. + +"You'll see it at its worst, for Bryce decamped abroad last +Monday without even arranging for a charwoman to clear up after +him. I never saw such a disgraceful mess. It's unbelievable. He +wasn't in the house a month." + +"I've more than a little bone to pick with Bryce," called Henry +from the inner chamber. + +"Why did he go so suddenly?" + +"Invalid type; couldn't sleep." + +"Poor fellow!" + +"Poor fiddlesticks!" said Mr. Wilcox, joining them. "He had the +impudence to put up notice-boards without as much as saying with +your leave or by your leave. Charles flung them down." + +"Yes, I flung them down," said Charles modestly. + +"I've sent a telegram after him, and a pretty sharp one, too. +He, and he in person, is responsible for the upkeep of that house +for the next three years." + +"The keys are at the farm; we wouldn't have the keys." + +"Quite right." + +"Dolly would have taken them, but I was in, fortunately." + +"What's Mr. Bryce like?" asked Margaret. + +But nobody cared. Mr. Bryce was the tenant, who had no right to +sublet; to have defined him further was a waste of time. On his +misdeeds they descanted profusely, until the girl who had been +typing the strong letter game out with it. Mr. Wilcox added his +signature. "Now we'll be off," said he. + +A motor-drive, a form of felicity detested by Margaret, +awaited her. Charles saw them in, civil to the last, and in a +moment the offices of the Imperial and West African Rubber +Company faded away. But it was not an impressive drive. Perhaps +the weather was to blame, being grey and banked high with weary +clouds. Perhaps Hertfordshire is scarcely intended for motorists. +Did not a gentleman once motor so quickly through Westmoreland +that he missed it? and if Westmoreland can be missed, it will +fare ill with a county whose delicate structure particularly +needs the attentive eye. Hertfordshire is England at its +quietest, with little emphasis of river and hill; it is England +meditative. If Drayton were with us again to write a new edition +of his incomparable poem, he would sing the nymphs of +Hertfordshire as indeterminate of feature, with hair obfuscated +by the London smoke. Their eyes would be sad, and averted from +their fate towards the Northern flats, their leader not Isis or +Sabrina, but the slowly flowing Lea. No glory of raiment would be +theirs, no urgency of dance; but they would be real nymphs. + +The chauffeur could not travel as quickly as he had hoped, for +the Great North Road was full of Easter traffic. But he went +quite quick enough for Margaret, a poor-spirited creature, who +had chickens and children on the brain. + +"They're all right," said Mr. Wilcox. "They'll learn--like the +swallows and the telegraph-wires." + +"Yes, but, while they're learning--" + +"The motor's come to stay," he answered. "One must get about. +There's a pretty church--oh, you aren't sharp enough. Well, look +out, if the road worries you--right outward at the scenery." + +She looked at the scenery. It heaved and merged like porridge. +Presently it congealed. They had arrived. + +Charles's house on the left; on the right the swelling forms of +the Six Hills. Their appearance in such a neighbourhood surprised +her. They interrupted the stream of residences that was +thickening up towards Hilton. Beyond them she saw meadows and a +wood, and beneath them she settled that soldiers of the best kind +lay buried. She hated war and liked soldiers--it was one of her +amiable inconsistencies. + +But here was Dolly, dressed up to the nines, standing at the door +to greet them, and here were the first drops of the rain. They +ran in gaily, and after a long wait in the drawing-room, sat down +to the rough-and-ready lunch, every dish of which concealed or +exuded cream. Mr. Bryce was the chief topic of conversation. +Dolly described his visit with the key, while her father-in-law +gave satisfaction by chaffing her and contradicting all she said. +It was evidently the custom to laugh at Dolly. He chaffed +Margaret too, and Margaret roused from a grave meditation was +pleased and chaffed him back. Dolly seemed surprised and eyed her +curiously. After lunch the two children came down. Margaret +disliked babies, but hit it off better with the two-year-old, and +sent Dolly into fits of laughter by talking sense to him. "Kiss +them now, and come away," said Mr. Wilcox. She came, but refused +to kiss them; it was such hard luck on the little things, she +said, and though Dolly proffered Chorly-worly and Porgly-woggles +in turn, she was obdurate. + +By this time it was raining steadily. The car came round with the +hood up, and again she lost all sense of space. In a few minutes +they stopped, and Crane opened the door of the car. + +"What's happened?" asked Margaret. + +"What do you suppose?" said Henry. + +A little porch was close up against her face. + +"Are we there already?" + +"We are." + +"Well, I never! In years ago it seemed so far away." + +Smiling, but somehow disillusioned, she jumped out, and her +impetus carried her to the front-door. She was about to open it, +when Henry said: "That's no good; it's locked. Who's got the +key?" + +As he had himself forgotten to call for the key at the farm, no +one replied. He also wanted to know who had left the front gate +open, since a cow had strayed in from the road, and was spoiling +the croquet lawn. Then he said rather crossly: "Margaret, you +wait in the dry. I'll go down for the key. It isn't a hundred +yards." + +"Mayn't I come too?" + +"No; I shall be back before I'm gone." + +Then the car turned away, and it was as if a curtain had risen. +For the second time that day she saw the appearance of the earth. + +There were the greengage-trees that Helen had once described, +there the tennis lawn, there the hedge that would be glorious +with dog-roses in June, but the vision now was of black and +palest green. Down by the dell-hole more vivid colours were +awakening, and Lent lilies stood sentinel on its margin, or +advanced in battalions over the grass. Tulips were a tray of +jewels. She could not see the wych-elm tree, but a branch of the +celebrated vine, studded with velvet knobs had covered the perch. +She was struck by the fertility of the soil; she had seldom been +in a garden where the flowers looked so well, and even the weeds +she was idly plucking out of the porch were intensely green. Why +had poor Mr. Bryce fled from all this beauty? For she had already +decided that the place was beautiful. + +"Naughty cow! Go away!" cried Margaret to the cow, but without +indignation. + +Harder came the rain, pouring out of a windless sky, and +spattering up from the notice-boards of the house-agents, which +lay in a row on the lawn where Charles had hurled them. She must +have interviewed Charles in another world--where one did have +interviews. How Helen would revel in such a notion! Charles dead, +all people dead, nothing alive but houses and gardens. The +obvious dead, the intangible alive, and no connection at all +between them! Margaret smiled. Would that her own fancies were as +clear-cut! Would that she could deal as high-handedly with the +world! Smiling and sighing, she laid her hand upon the door. It +opened. The house was not locked up at all. + +She hesitated. Ought she to wait for Henry? He felt strongly +about property, and might prefer to show her over himself. On the +other hand, he had told her to keep in the dry, and the porch was +beginning to drip. So she went in, and the draught from inside +slammed the door behind. + +Desolation greeted her. Dirty finger-prints were on the +hall-windows, flue and rubbish on its unwashed boards. The +civilisation of luggage had been here for a month, and then +decamped. Dining-room and drawing-room--right and left--were +guessed only by their wallpapers. They were just rooms where one +could shelter from the rain. Across the ceiling of each ran a +great beam. The dining-room and hall revealed theirs openly, but +the drawing-room's was match-boarded--because the facts of life +must be concealed from ladies? Drawing-room, dining-room, and +hall--how petty the names sounded! Here were simply three rooms +where children could play and friends shelter from the rain. Yes, +and they were beautiful. + +Then she opened one of the doors opposite--there were two--and +exchanged wall-papers for whitewash. It was the servants' part, +though she scarcely realised that: just rooms again, where +friends might shelter. The garden at the back was full of +flowering cherries and plums. Farther on were hints of the meadow +and a black cliff of pines. Yes, the meadow was beautiful. + +Penned in by the desolate weather, she recaptured the sense of +space which the motor had tried to rob from her. She remembered +again that ten square miles are not ten times as wonderful as one +square mile, that a thousand square miles are not practically the +same as heaven. The phantom of bigness, which London encourages, +was laid for ever when she paced from the hall at Howards End to +its kitchen and heard the rain run this way and that where the +watershed of the roof divided it. + +Now Helen came to her mind, scrutinising half Wessex from the +ridge of the Purbeck Downs, and saying: "You will have to lose +something." She was not so sure. For instance she would double +her kingdom by opening the door that concealed the stairs. + +Now she thought of the map of Africa; of empires; of her father; +of the two supreme nations, streams of whose life warmed her +blood, but, mingling, had cooled her brain. She paced back into +the hall, and as she did so the house reverberated. + +"Is that you, Henry?" she called. + +There was no answer, but the house reverberated again. + +"Henry, have you got in?" + +But it was the heart of the house beating, faintly at first, then +loudly, martially. It dominated the rain. + +It is the starved imagination, not the well-nourished, that is +afraid. Margaret flung open the door to the stairs. A noise as of +drums seemed to deafen her. A woman, an old woman, was +descending, with figure erect, with face impassive, with lips +that parted and said dryly: + +"Oh! Well, I took you for Ruth Wilcox." + +Margaret stammered: "I--Mrs. Wilcox--I?" + +"In fancy, of course--in fancy. You had her way of walking. +Good-day." And the old woman passed out into the rain. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +"It gave her quite a turn," said Mr. Wilcox, when retailing the +incident to Dolly at tea-time. "None of you girls have any +nerves, really. Of course, a word from me put it all right, but +silly old Miss Avery--she frightened you, didn't she, Margaret? +There you stood clutching a bunch of weeds. She might have said +something, instead of coming down the stairs with that alarming +bonnet on. I passed her as I came in. Enough to make the car shy. +I believe Miss Avery goes in for being a character; some old +maids do." He lit a cigarette. "It is their last resource. Heaven +knows what she was doing in the place; but that's Bryce's +business, not mine." + +"I wasn't as foolish as you suggest," said Margaret "She only +startled me, for the house had been silent so long." + +"Did you take her for a spook?" asked Dolly, for whom "spooks"' +and "going to church" summarised the unseen. + +"Not exactly." + +"She really did frighten you," said Henry, who was far from +discouraging timidity in females. "Poor Margaret! And very +naturally. Uneducated classes are so stupid." + +"Is Miss Avery uneducated classes?" Margaret asked, and found +herself looking at the decoration scheme of Dolly's drawing-room. + +"She's just one of the crew at the farm. People like that always +assume things. She assumed you'd know who she was. She left all +the Howards End keys in the front lobby, and assumed that you'd +seen them as you came in, that you'd lock up the house when you'd +done, and would bring them on down to her. And there was her +niece hunting for them down at the farm. Lack of education makes +people very casual. Hilton was full of women like Miss Avery +once." + +"I shouldn't have disliked it, perhaps." + +"Or Miss Avery giving me a wedding present," said Dolly. + +Which was illogical but interesting. Through Dolly, Margaret was +destined to learn a good deal. + +"But Charles said I must try not to mind, because she had known +his grandmother." + +"As usual, you've got the story wrong, my good Dorothea." + +"I meant great-grandmother--the one who left Mrs. Wilcox the +house. Weren't both of them and Miss Avery friends when Howards +End, too, was a farm?" + +Her father-in-law blew out a shaft of smoke. His attitude to his +dead wife was curious. He would allude to her, and hear her +discussed, but never mentioned her by name. Nor was he interested +in the dim, bucolic past. Dolly was--for the following reason. + +"Then hadn't Mrs. Wilcox a brother--or was it an uncle? Anyhow, +he popped the question, and Miss Avery, she said `No.' Just +imagine, if she'd said 'Yes,' she would have been Charles's aunt. +(Oh, I say, that's rather good! 'Charlie's Aunt'! I must chaff +him about that this evening.) And the man went out and was +killed. Yes, I 'm certain I've got it right now. Tom Howard--he +was the last of them." + +"I believe so," said Mr. Wilcox negligently. + +"I say! Howards End--Howards Ended!" Dolly. "I'm rather on the +spot this evening, eh?" + +"I wish you'd ask whether Crane's ended." + +"Oh, Mr. Wilcox, how can you?" + +"Because, if he has had enough tea, we ought to go--Dolly's a +good little woman," he continued, "but a little of her goes a +long way. I couldn't live near her if you paid me." + +Margaret smiled. Though presenting a firm front to outsiders, no +Wilcox could live near, or near the possessions of, any other +Wilcox. They had the colonial spirit, and were always making for +some spot where the white man might carry his burden unobserved. +Of course, Howards End was impossible, so long as the younger +couple were established in Hilton. His objections to the house +were plain as daylight now. + +Crane had had enough tea, and was sent to the garage, where their +car had been trickling muddy water over Charles's. The downpour +had surely penetrated the Six Hills by now, bringing news of our +restless civilisation. "Curious mounds," said Henry, "but in with +you now; another time." He had to be up in London by seven--if +possible, by six-thirty. Once more she lost the sense of space; +once more trees, houses, people, animals, hills, merged and +heaved into one dirtiness, and she was at Wickham Place. + +Her evening was pleasant. The sense of flux which had haunted her +all the year disappeared for a time. She forgot the luggage and +the motor-cars, and the hurrying men who know so much and connect +so little. She recaptured the sense of space, which is the basis +of all earthly beauty, and, starting from Howards End, she +attempted to realise England. She failed--visions do not come +when we try, though they may come through trying. But an +unexpected love of the island awoke in her, connecting on this +side with the joys of the flesh, on that with the inconceivable. +Helen and her father had known this love, poor Leonard Bast was +groping after it, but it had been hidden from Margaret till this +afternoon. It had certainly come through the house and old Miss +Avery. Through them: the notion of "through" persisted; her mind +trembled towards a conclusion which only the unwise have put into +words. Then, veering back into warmth, it dwelt on ruddy bricks, +flowering plum-trees, and all the tangible joys of spring. + +Henry, after allaying her agitation, had taken her over his +property, and had explained to her the use and dimensions of the +various rooms. He had sketched the history of the little estate. +"It is so unlucky," ran the monologue, "that money wasn't put +into it about fifty years ago. Then it had four--five--times the +land--thirty acres at least. One could have made something out of +it then--a small park, or at all events shrubberies, and rebuilt +the house farther away from the road. What's the good of taking +it in hand now? Nothing but the meadow left, and even that was +heavily mortgaged when I first had to do with things--yes, and +the house too. Oh, it was no joke." She saw two women as he +spoke, one old, the other young, watching their inheritance melt +away. She saw them greet him as a deliverer. "Mismanagement did +it--besides, the days for small farms are over. It doesn't pay-- +except with intensive cultivation. Small holdings, back to the +land--ah! philanthropic bunkum. Take it as a rule that nothing +pays on a small scale. Most of the land you see (they were +standing at an upper window, the only one which faced west) +belongs to the people at the Park--they made their pile over +copper--good chaps. Avery's Farm, Sishe's--what they call the +Common, where you see that ruined oak--one after the other fell +in, and so did this, as near as is no matter." But Henry had +saved it; without fine feelings or deep insight, but he had saved +it, and she loved him for the deed. "When I had more control I +did what I could--sold off the two and a half animals, and the +mangy pony, and the superannuated tools; pulled down the +outhouses; drained; thinned out I don't know how many +guelder-roses and elder-trees; and inside the house I turned the +old kitchen into a hall, and made a kitchen behind where the +dairy was. Garage and so on came later. But one could still tell +it's been an old farm. And yet it isn't the place that would +fetch one of your artistic crew." No, it wasn't; and if he did +not quite understand it, the artistic crew would still less; it +was English, and the wych-elm that she saw from the window was an +English tree. No report had prepared her for its peculiar glory. +It was neither warrior, nor lover, nor god; in none of these +roles do the English excel. It was a comrade bending over the +house, strength and adventure in its roots, but in its utmost +fingers tenderness, and the girth, that a dozen men could not +have spanned, became in the end evanescent, till pale bud +clusters seemed to float in the air. It was a comrade. House and +tree transcended any similes of sex. Margaret thought of them +now, and was to think of them through many a windy night and +London day, but to compare either to man, to woman, always +dwarfed the vision. Yet they kept within limits of the human. +Their message was not of eternity, but of hope on this side of +the grave. As she stood in the one, gazing at the other, truer +relationship had gleamed. + +Another touch, and the account of her day is finished. They +entered the garden for a minute, and to Mr. Wilcox's surprise she +was right. Teeth, pigs' teeth, could be seen in the bark of the +wych-elm tree--just the white tips of them showing. "Extraordinary!" +he cried. "Who told you?" + +"I heard of it one winter in London," was her answer, for she, +too, avoided mentioning Mrs. Wilcox by name. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +Evie heard of her father's engagement when she was in for a +tennis tournament, and her play went simply to pot. That she +should marry and leave him had seemed natural enough; that he, +left alone, should do the same was deceitful; and now Charles and +Dolly said that it was all her fault. "But I never dreamt of such +a thing," she grumbled. "Dad took me to call now and then, and +made me ask her to Simpson's. Well, I'm altogether off dad." It +was also an insult to their mother's memory; there they were +agreed, and Evie had the idea of returning Mrs. Wilcox's lace and +jewellery "as a protest." Against what it would protest she was +not clear; but being only eighteen, the idea of renunciation +appealed to her, the more as she did not care for jewellery or +lace. Dolly then suggested that she and Uncle Percy should +pretend to break off their engagement, and then perhaps Mr. +Wilcox would quarrel with Miss Schlegel, and break off his; or +Paul might be cabled for. But at this point Charles told them not +to talk nonsense. So Evie settled to marry as soon as possible; +it was no good hanging about with these Schlegels eyeing her. The +date of her wedding was consequently put forward from September +to August, and in the intoxication of presents she recovered much +of her good-humour. + +Margaret found that she was expected to figure at this function, +and to figure largely; it would be such an opportunity, said +Henry, for her to get to know his set. Sir James Bidder would be +there, and all the Cahills and the Fussells, and his +sister-in-law, Mrs. Warrington Wilcox, had fortunately got back +from her tour round the world. Henry she loved, but his set +promised to be another matter. He had not the knack of +surrounding himself with nice people--indeed, for a man of +ability and virtue his choice had been singularly unfortunate; he +had no guiding principle beyond a certain preference for +mediocrity; he was content to settle one of the greatest things +in life haphazard, and so, while his investments went right, his +friends generally went wrong. She would be told, "Oh, So-and-so's +a good sort--a thundering good sort," and find, on meeting him, +that he was a brute or a bore. If Henry had shown real affection, +she would have understood, for affection explains everything. But +he seemed without sentiment. The "thundering good sort" might at +any moment become "a fellow for whom I never did have much use, +and have less now," and be shaken off cheerily into oblivion. +Margaret had done the same as a schoolgirl. Now she never forgot +any one for whom she had once cared; she connected, though the +connection might be bitter, and she hoped that some day Henry +would do the same. + +Evie was not to be married from Ducie Street. She had a fancy for +something rural, and, besides, no one would be in London then, so +she left her boxes for a few weeks at Oniton Grange, and her +banns were duly published in the parish church, and for a couple +of days the little town, dreaming between the ruddy hills, was +roused by the clang of our civilisation, and drew up by the +roadside to let the motors pass. Oniton had been a discovery of +Mr. Wilcox's--a discovery of which he was not altogether proud. +It was up towards the Welsh border, and so difficult of access +that he had concluded it must be something special. A ruined +castle stood in the grounds. But having got there, what was one +to do? The shooting was bad, the fishing indifferent, and +womenfolk reported the scenery as nothing much. The place turned +out to be in the wrong part of Shropshire, and though he never +ran down his own property to others, he was only waiting to get +it off his hands, and then to let fly. Evie's marriage was its +last appearance in public. As soon as a tenant was found, it +became a house for which he never had had much use, and had less +now, and, like Howards End, faded into Limbo. + +But on Margaret Oniton was destined to make a lasting impression. +She regarded it as her future home, and was anxious to start +straight with the clergy, etc., and, if possible, to see +something of the local life. It was a market-town--as tiny a one +as England possesses--and had for ages served that lonely valley, +and guarded our marches against the Celt. In spite of the +occasion, in spite of the numbing hilarity that greeted her as +soon as she got into the reserved saloon at Paddington, her +senses were awake and watching, and though Oniton was to prove +one of her innumerable false starts, she never forgot it, or the +things that happened there. + +The London party only numbered eight--the Fussells, father and +son, two Anglo-Indian ladies named Mrs. Plynlimmon and Lady +Edser, Mrs. Warrington Wilcox and her daughter, and, lastly, the +little girl, very smart and quiet, who figures at so many +weddings, and who kept a watchful eye on Margaret, the +bride-elect. Dolly was absent--a domestic event detained her at +Hilton; Paul had cabled a humorous message; Charles was to meet +them with a trio of motors at Shrewsbury; Helen had refused her +invitation; Tibby had never answered his. The management was +excellent, as was to be expected with anything that Henry +undertook; one was conscious of his sensible and generous brain +in the background. They were his guests as soon as they reached +the train; a special label for their luggage; a courier; a +special lunch; they had only to look pleasant and, where +possible, pretty. Margaret thought with dismay of her own +nuptials--presumably under the management of Tibby. "Mr. Theobald +Schlegel and Miss Helen Schlegel request the pleasure of Mrs. +Plynlimmon's company on the occasion of the marriage of their +sister Margaret." The formula was incredible, but it must soon be +printed and sent, and though Wickham Place need not compete with +Oniton, it must feed its guests properly, and provide them with +sufficient chairs. Her wedding would either be ramshackly or +bourgeois--she hoped the latter. Such an affair as the present, +staged with a deftness that was almost beautiful, lay beyond her +powers and those of her friends. + +The low rich purr of a Great Western express is not the worst +background for conversation, and the journey passed pleasantly +enough. Nothing could have exceeded the kindness of the two men. +They raised windows for some ladies, and lowered them for others, +they rang the bell for the servant, they identified the colleges +as the train slipped past Oxford, they caught books or bag-purses +in the act of tumbling on to the floor. Yet there was nothing +finicking about their politeness--it had the public-school touch, +and, though sedulous, was virile. More battles than Waterloo have +been won on our playing-fields, and Margaret bowed to a charm of +which she did not wholly approve, and said nothing when the +Oxford colleges were identified wrongly. "Male and female created +He them"; the journey to Shrewsbury confirmed this questionable +statement, and the long glass saloon, that moved so easily and +felt so comfortable, became a forcing-house for the idea of sex. + +At Shrewsbury came fresh air. Margaret was all for sight-seeing, +and while the others were finishing their tea at the Raven, she +annexed a motor and hurried over the astonishing city. Her +chauffeur was not the faithful Crane, but an Italian, who dearly +loved making her late. Charles, watch in hand, though with a +level brow, was standing in front of the hotel when they +returned. It was perfectly all right, he told her; she was by no +means the last. And then he dived into the coffee-room, and she +heard him say, "For God's sake, hurry the women up; we shall +never be off," and Albert Fussell reply, "Not I; I've done my +share," and Colonel Fussell opine that the ladies were getting +themselves up to kill. Presently Myra (Mrs. Warrington's +daughter) appeared, and as she was his cousin, Charles blew her +up a little; she had been changing her smart travelling hat for a +smart motor hat. Then Mrs. Warrington herself, leading the quiet +child; the two Anglo-Indian ladies were always last. Maids, +courier, heavy luggage, had already gone on by a branch-line to a +station nearer Oniton, but there were five hat-boxes and four +dressing-bags to be packed, and five dust-cloaks to be put on, +and to be put off at the last moment, because Charles declared +them not necessary. The men presided over everything with +unfailing good-humour. By half-past five the party was ready, and +went out of Shrewsbury by the Welsh Bridge. + +Shropshire had not the reticence of Hertfordshire. Though robbed +of half its magic by swift movement, it still conveyed the sense +of hills. They were nearing the buttresses that force the Severn +eastward and make it an English stream, and the sun, sinking over +the Sentinels of Wales, was straight in their eyes. Having picked +up another guest, they turned southward, avoiding the greater +mountains, but conscious of an occasional summit, rounded and +mild, whose colouring differed in quality from that of the lower +earth, and whose contours altered more slowly. Quiet mysteries +were in progress behind those tossing horizons: the West, as +ever, was retreating with some secret which may not be worth the +discovery, but which no practical man will ever discover. + +They spoke of Tariff Reform. + +Mrs. Warrington was just back from the Colonies. Like many other +critics of Empire, her mouth had been stopped with food, and she +could only exclaim at the hospitality with which she had been +received, and warn the Mother Country against trifling with young +Titans. "They threaten to cut the painter," she cried, "and where +shall we be then? Miss Schlegel, you'll undertake to keep Henry +sound about Tariff Reform? It is our last hope." + +Margaret playfully confessed herself on the other side, and they +began to quote from their respective handbooks while the motor +carried them deep into the hills. Curious these were rather than +impressive, for their outlines lacked beauty, and the pink fields +on their summits suggested the handkerchiefs of a giant spread +out to dry. An occasional outcrop of rock, an occasional wood, an +occasional "forest," treeless and brown, all hinted at wildness +to follow, but the main colour was an agricultural green. The air +grew cooler; they had surmounted the last gradient, and Oniton +lay below them with its church, its radiating houses, its castle, +its river-girt peninsula. Close to the castle was a grey mansion +unintellectual but kindly, stretching with its grounds across the +peninsula's neck--the sort of mansion that was built all over +England in the beginning of the last century, while architecture +was still an expression of the national character. That was the +Grange, remarked Albert, over his shoulder, and then he jammed +the brake on, and the motor slowed down and stopped. "I'm sorry," +said he, turning round. "Do you mind getting out--by the door on +the right. Steady on." + +"What's happened?" asked Mrs. Warrington. + +Then the car behind them drew up, and the voice of Charles was +heard saying: "Get the women out at once." There was a concourse +of males, and Margaret and her companions were hustled out and +received into the second car. What had happened? As it started +off again, the door of a cottage opened, and a girl screamed +wildly at them. + +"What is it?" the ladies cried. + +Charles drove them a hundred yards without speaking. Then he +said: "It's all right. Your car just touched a dog." + +"But stop!" cried Margaret, horrified. + +"It didn't hurt him." + +"Didn't really hurt him?" asked Myra. + +"No." + +"Do PLEASE stop!" said Margaret, leaning forward. She was +standing up in the car, the other occupants holding her knees to +steady her. "I want to go back, please." + +Charles took no notice. + +"We've left Mr. Fussell behind," said another; "and Angelo, and +Crane." + +"Yes, but no woman." + +"I expect a little of "--Mrs. Warrington scratched her palm-- +"will be more to the point than one of us!" + +"The insurance company see to that," remarked Charles, "and +Albert will do the talking." + +"I want to go back, though, I say!" repeated Margaret, getting +angry. + +Charles took no notice. The motor, loaded with refugees, +continued to travel very slowly down the hill. "The men are +there," chorused the others. "They will see to it." + +"The men CAN'T see to it. Oh, this is ridiculous! Charles, I ask +you to stop." + +"Stopping's no good," drawled Charles. + +"Isn't it?" said Margaret, and jumped straight out of the car. +She fell on her knees, cut her gloves, shook her hat over her +ear. Cries of alarm followed her. "You've hurt yourself," +exclaimed Charles, jumping after her. + +"Of course I've hurt myself!" she retorted. + +"May I ask what--" + +"There's nothing to ask," said Margaret. + +"Your hand's bleeding." + +"I know." + +"I'm in for a frightful row from the pater." + +"You should have thought of that sooner, Charles." + +Charles had never been in such a position before. It was a woman +in revolt who was hobbling away from him--and the sight was too +strange to leave any room for anger. He recovered himself when +the others caught them up: their sort he understood. He commanded +them to go back. + +Albert Fussell was seen walking towards them. + +"It's all right!" he called. "It was a cat." + +"There!" exclaimed Charles triumphantly. "It's only a rotten +cat." + +"Got room in your car for a little un? I cut as soon as I saw it +wasn't a dog; the chauffeurs are tackling the girl." But Margaret +walked forward steadily. Why should the chauffeurs tackle the +girl? Ladies sheltering behind men, men sheltering behind +servants--the whole system's wrong, and she must challenge it. + +"Miss Schlegel! 'Pon my word, you've hurt your hand." + +"I'm just going to see," said Margaret. "Don't you wait, Mr. +Fussell." + +The second motor came round the corner. "It is all right, madam," +said Crane in his turn. He had taken to calling her madam. + +"What's all right? The cat?" + +"Yes, madam. The girl will receive compensation for it." + +"She was a very ruda girla," said Angelo from the third motor +thoughtfully. + +"Wouldn't you have been rude?" + +The Italian spread out his hands, implying that he had not +thought of rudeness, but would produce it if it pleased her. The +situation became absurd. The gentlemen were again buzzing round +Miss Schlegel with offers of assistance, and Lady Edser began to +bind up her hand. She yielded, apologising slightly, and was led +back to the car, and soon the landscape resumed its motion, the +lonely cottage disappeared, the castle swelled on its cushion of +turf, and they had arrived. No doubt she had disgraced herself. +But she felt their whole journey from London had been unreal. +They had no part with the earth and its emotions. They were dust, +and a stink, and cosmopolitan chatter, and the girl whose cat had +been killed had lived more deeply than they. + +"Oh, Henry," she exclaimed, "I have been so naughty," for she had +decided to take up this line. "We ran over a cat. Charles told me +not to jump out, but I would, and look!" She held out her +bandaged hand. "Your poor Meg went such a flop." + +Mr. Wilcox looked bewildered. In evening dress, he was standing +to welcome his guests in the hall. + +"Thinking it was a dog." added Mrs. Warrington. + +"Ah, a dog's a companion!" said Colonel Fussell "A dog'll +remember you." + +"Have you hurt yourself, Margaret?" + +"Not to speak about; and it's my left hand." + +"Well, hurry up and change." + +She obeyed, as did the others. Mr. Wilcox then turned to his son. + +"Now, Charles, what's happened?' + +Charles was absolutely honest. He described what he believed to +have happened. Albert had flattened out a cat, and Miss Schlegel +had lost her nerve, as any woman might. She had been got safely +into the other car, but when it was in motion had leapt out +again, in spite of all that they could say. After walking a +little on the road, she had calmed down and had said that she was +sorry. His father accepted this explanation, and neither knew +that Margaret had artfully prepared the way for it. It fitted in +too well with their view of feminine nature. In the smoking-room, +after dinner, the Colonel put forward the view that Miss Schlegel +had jumped it out of devilry. Well he remembered as a young man, +in the harbour of Gibraltar once, how a girl--a handsome girl, +too--had jumped overboard for a bet. He could see her now, and +all the lads overboard after her. But Charles and Mr. Wilcox +agreed it was much more probably nerves in Miss Schlegel's case. +Charles was depressed. That woman had a tongue. She would bring +worse disgrace on his father before she had done with them. He +strolled out on to the castle mound to think the matter over. The +evening was exquisite. On three sides of him a little river +whispered, full of messages from the West; above his head the +ruins made patterns against the sky. He carefully reviewed their +dealings with this family, until he fitted Helen, and Margaret, +and Aunt Juley into an orderly conspiracy. Paternity had made him +suspicious. He had two children to look after, and more coming, +and day by day they seemed less likely to grow up rich men. "It +is all very well," he reflected, "the pater's saying that he will +be just to all, but one can't be just indefinitely. Money isn't +elastic. What's to happen if Evie has a family? And, come to +that, so may the pater. There'll not be enough to go round, for +there's none coming in, either through Dolly or Percy. It's +damnable!" He looked enviously at the Grange, whose windows +poured light and laughter. First and last, this wedding would +cost a pretty penny. Two ladies were strolling up and down the +garden terrace, and as the syllables "Imperialism" were wafted to +his ears, he guessed that one of them was his aunt. She might +have helped him, if she too had not had a family to provide for. +"Every one for himself," he repeated--a maxim which had cheered +him in the past, but which rang grimly enough among the ruins of +Oniton. He lacked his father's ability in business, and so had an +ever higher regard for money; unless he could inherit plenty, he +feared to leave his children poor. + +As he sat thinking, one of the ladies left the terrace and walked +into the meadow; he recognised her as Margaret by the white +bandage that gleamed on her arm, and put out his cigar, lest the +gleam should betray him. She climbed up the mound in zigzags, and +at times stooped down, as if she was stroking the turf. It sounds +absolutely incredible, but for a moment Charles thought that she +was in love with him, and had come out to tempt him. Charles +believed in temptresses, who are indeed the strong man's +necessary complement, and having no sense of humour, he could not +purge himself of the thought by a smile. Margaret, who was +engaged to his father, and his sister's wedding-guest, kept on +her way without noticing him, and he admitted that he had wronged +her on this point. But what was she doing? Why was she stumbling +about amongst the rubble and catching her dress in brambles and +burrs? As she edged round the keep, she must have got to windward +and smelt his cigar-smoke, for she exclaimed, "Hullo! Who's +that?" + +Charles made no answer. + +"Saxon or Celt?" she continued, laughing in the darkness. "But it +doesn't matter. Whichever you are, you will have to listen to me. +I love this place. I love Shropshire. I hate London. I am glad +that this will be my home. Ah, dear"--she was now moving back +towards the house--"what a comfort to have arrived!" + +"That woman means mischief," thought Charles, and compressed his +lips. In a few minutes he followed her indoors, as the ground was +getting damp. Mists were rising from the river, and presently it +became invisible, though it whispered more loudly. There had been +a heavy downpour in the Welsh hills. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +Next morning a fine mist covered the peninsula. The weather +promised well, and the outline of the castle mound grew clearer +each moment that Margaret watched it. Presently she saw the keep, +and the sun painted the rubble gold, and charged the white sky +with blue. The shadow of the house gathered itself together, and +fell over the garden. A cat looked up at her window and mewed. +Lastly the river appeared, still holding the mists between its +banks and its overhanging alders, and only visible as far as a +hill, which cut off its upper reaches. + +Margaret was fascinated by Oniton. She had said that she loved +it, but it was rather its romantic tension that held her. The +rounded Druids of whom she had caught glimpses in her drive, the +rivers hurrying down from them to England, the carelessly +modelled masses of the lower hills, thrilled her with poetry. The +house was insignificant, but the prospect from it would be an +eternal joy, and she thought of all the friends she would have to +stop in it, and of the conversion of Henry himself to a rural +life. Society, too, promised favourably. The rector of the parish +had dined with them last night, and she found that he was a +friend of her father's, and so knew what to find in her. She +liked him. He would introduce her to the town. While, on her +other side, Sir James Bidder sat, repeating that she only had to +give the word, and he would whip up the county families for +twenty miles round. Whether Sir James, who was Garden Seeds, had +promised what he could perform, she doubted, but so long as Henry +mistook them for the county families when they did call, she was +content. + +Charles Wilcox and Albert Fussell now crossed the lawn. They were +going for a morning dip, and a servant followed them with their +bathing-suits. She had meant to take a stroll herself before +breakfast, but saw that the day was still sacred to men, and +amused herself by watching their contretemps. In the first place +the key of the bathing-shed could not be found. Charles stood by +the riverside with folded hands, tragical, while the servant +shouted, and was misunderstood by another servant in the garden. +Then came a difficulty about a springboard, and soon three people +were running backwards and forwards over the meadow, with orders +and counter orders and recriminations and apologies. If Margaret +wanted to jump from a motor-car, she jumped; if Tibby thought +paddling would benefit his ankles, he paddled; if a clerk desired +adventure, he took a walk in the dark. But these athletes seemed +paralysed. They could not bathe without their appliances, though +the morning sun was calling and the last mists were rising from +the dimpling stream. Had they found the life of the body after +all? Could not the men whom they despised as milksops beat them, +even on their own ground? + +She thought of the bathing arrangements as they should be in her +day--no worrying of servants, no appliances, beyond good sense. +Her reflections were disturbed by the quiet child, who had come +out to speak to the cat, but was now watching her watch the men. +She called, "Good-morning, dear," a little sharply. Her voice +spread consternation. Charles looked round, and though completely +attired in indigo blue, vanished into the shed, and was seen no +more. + +"Miss Wilcox is up--" the child whispered, and then became +unintelligible. + +"What is that?" it sounded like, "--cut-yoke--sack-back--" + +"I can't hear." + +"--On the bed--tissue-paper--" + +Gathering that the wedding-dress was on view, and that a visit +would be seemly, she went to Evie's room. All was hilarity here. +Evie, in a petticoat, was dancing with one of the Anglo-Indian +ladies, while the other was adoring yards of white satin. They +screamed, they laughed, they sang, and the dog barked. + +Margaret screamed a little too, but without conviction. She could +not feel that a wedding was so funny. Perhaps something was +missing in her equipment. + +Evie gasped: "Dolly is a rotter not to be here! Oh, we would rag +just then!" Then Margaret went down to breakfast. + +Henry was already installed; he ate slowly and spoke little, and +was, in Margaret's eyes, the only member of their party who +dodged emotion successfully. She could not suppose him +indifferent either to the loss of his daughter or to the presence +of his future wife. Yet he dwelt intact, only issuing orders +occasionally--orders that promoted the comfort of his guests. He +inquired after her hand; he set her to pour out the coffee and +Mrs. Warrington to pour out the tea. When Evie came down there +was a moment's awkwardness, and both ladies rose to vacate their +places. "Burton," called Henry, "serve tea and coffee from the +sideboard!" It wasn't genuine tact, but it was tact, of a sort-- +the sort that is as useful as the genuine, and saves even more +situations at Board meetings. Henry treated a marriage like a +funeral, item by item, never raising his eyes to the whole, and +"Death, where is thy sting? Love, where is thy victory?" one +would exclaim at the close. + +After breakfast Margaret claimed a few words with him. It was +always best to approach him formally. She asked for the +interview, because he was going on to shoot grouse to-morrow, and +she was returning to Helen in town. + +"Certainly, dear," said he. "Of course, I have the time. What do +you want?" + +"Nothing." + +"I was afraid something had gone wrong." + +"No; I have nothing to say, but you may talk." + +Glancing at his watch, he talked of the nasty curve at the +lych-gate. She heard him with interest. Her surface could always +respond to his without contempt, though all her deeper being +might be yearning to help him. She had abandoned any plan of +action. Love is the best, and the more she let herself love him, +the more chance was there that he would set his soul in order. +Such a moment as this, when they sat under fair weather by the +walks of their future home, was so sweet to her that its +sweetness would surely pierce to him. Each lift of his eyes, each +parting of the thatched lip from the clean-shaven, must prelude +the tenderness that kills the Monk and the Beast at a single +blow. Disappointed a hundred times, she still hoped. She loved +him with too clear a vision to fear his cloudiness. Whether he +droned trivialities, as to-day, or sprang kisses on her in the +twilight, she could pardon him, she could respond. + +"If there is this nasty curve," she suggested, "couldn't we walk +to the church? Not, of course, you and Evie; but the rest of us +might very well go on first, and that would mean fewer +carriages." + +"One can't have ladies walking through the Market Square. The +Fussells wouldn't like it; they were awfully particular at +Charles's wedding. My--she--our party was anxious to walk, and +certainly the church was just round the corner, and I shouldn't +have minded; but the Colonel made a great point of it." + +"You men shouldn't be so chivalrous," said Margaret thoughtfully. + +"Why not?" + +She knew why not, but said that she did not know. He then +announced that, unless she had anything special to say, he must +visit the wine-cellar, and they went off together in search of +Burton. Though clumsy and a little inconvenient, Oniton was a +genuine country-house. They clattered down flagged passages, +looking into room after room, and scaring unknown maids from the +performance of obscure duties. The wedding-breakfast must be in +readiness when they come back from church, and tea would be +served in the garden. The sight of so many agitated and serious +people made Margaret smile, but she reflected that they were paid +to be serious, and enjoyed being agitated. Here were the lower +wheels of the machine that was tossing Evie up into nuptial +glory. A little boy blocked their way with pig-pails. His mind +could not grasp their greatness, and he said: "By your leave; let +me pass, please." Henry asked him where Burton was. But the +servants were so new that they did not know one another's names. +In the still-room sat the band, who had stipulated for champagne +as part of their fee, and who were already drinking beer. Scents +of Araby came from the kitchen, mingled with cries. Margaret knew +what had happened there, for it happened at Wickham Place. One of +the wedding dishes had boiled over, and the cook was throwing +cedar-shavings to hide the smell. At last they came upon the +butler. Henry gave him the keys, and handed Margaret down the +cellar-stairs. Two doors were unlocked. She, who kept all her +wine at the bottom of the linen-cupboard, was astonished at the +sight. "We shall never get through it!" she cried, and the two +men were suddenly drawn into brotherhood, and exchanged smiles. +She felt as if she had again jumped out of the car while it was +moving. + +Certainly Oniton would take some digesting. It would be no small +business to remain herself, and yet to assimilate such an +establishment. She must remain herself, for his sake as well as +her own, since a shadowy wife degrades the husband whom she +accompanies; and she must assimilate for reasons of common +honesty, since she had no right to marry a man and make him +uncomfortable. Her only ally was the power of Home. The loss of +Wickham Place had taught her more than its possession. Howards +End had repeated the lesson. She was determined to create new +sanctities among these hills. + +After visiting the wine-cellar, she dressed, and then came the +wedding, which seemed a small affair when compared with the +preparations for it. Everything went like one o'clock. Mr. Cahill +materialised out of space, and was waiting for his bride at the +church door. No one dropped the ring or mispronounced the +responses, or trod on Evie's train, or cried. In a few minutes +the clergymen performed their duty, the register was signed, and +they were back in their carriages, negotiating the dangerous +curve by the lych-gate. Margaret was convinced that they had not +been married at all, and that the Norman church had been intent +all the time on other business. + +There were more documents to sign at the house, and the breakfast +to eat, and then a few more people dropped in for the garden +party. There had been a great many refusals, and after all it was +not a very big affair--not as big as Margaret's would be. She +noted the dishes and the strips of red carpet, that outwardly she +might give Henry what was proper. But inwardly she hoped for +something better than this blend of Sunday church and +fox-hunting. If only some one had been upset! But this wedding +had gone off so particularly well--"quite like a durbar" in the +opinion of Lady Edser, and she thoroughly agreed with her. + +So the wasted day lumbered forward, the bride and bridegroom +drove off, yelling with laughter, and for the second time the sun +retreated towards the hills of Wales. Henry, who was more tired +than he owned, came up to her in the castle meadow, and, in tones +of unusual softness, said that he was pleased. Everything had +gone off so well. She felt that he was praising her, too, and +blushed; certainly she had done all she could with his +intractable friends, and had made a special point of kotowing to +the men. They were breaking camp this evening; only the +Warringtons and quiet child would stay the night, and the others +were already moving towards the house to finish their packing. "I +think it did go off well," she agreed. "Since I had to jump out +of the motor, I'm thankful I lighted on my left hand. I am so +very glad about it, Henry dear; I only hope that the guests at +ours may be half as comfortable. You must all remember that we +have no practical person among us, except my aunt, and she is not +used to entertainments on a large scale." + +"I know," he said gravely. "Under the circumstances, it would be +better to put everything into the hands of Harrods or Whiteley's, +or even to go to some hotel." + +"You desire a hotel?" + +"Yes, because--well, I mustn't interfere with you. No doubt you +want to be married from your old home." + +"My old home's falling into pieces, Henry. I only want my new. +Isn't it a perfect evening--" + +"The Alexandrina isn't bad--" + +"The Alexandrina," she echoed, more occupied with the threads of +smoke that were issuing from their chimneys, and ruling the +sunlit slopes with parallels of grey. + +"It's off Curzon Street." + +"Is it? Let's be married from off Curzon Street." + +Then she turned westward, to gaze at the swirling gold. Just +where the river rounded the hill the sun caught it. Fairyland +must lie above the bend, and its precious liquid was pouring +towards them past Charles's bathing-shed. She gazed so long that +her eyes were dazzled, and when they moved back to the house, she +could not recognise the faces of people who were coming out of +it. A parlour-maid was preceding them. + +"Who are those people?" she asked. + +"They're callers!" exclaimed Henry. "It's too late for callers." + +"Perhaps they're town people who want to see the wedding +presents." + +"I'm not at home yet to townees." + +"Well, hide among the ruins, and if I can stop them, I will." + +He thanked her. + +Margaret went forward, smiling socially. She supposed that these +were unpunctual guests, who would have to be content with +vicarious civility, since Evie and Charles were gone, Henry +tired, and the others in their rooms. She assumed the airs of a +hostess; not for long. For one of the group was Helen--Helen in +her oldest clothes, and dominated by that tense, wounding +excitement that had made her a terror in their nursery days. + +"What is it?" she called. "Oh, what's wrong? Is Tibby ill?" + +Helen spoke to her two companions, who fell back. Then she bore +forward furiously. + +"They're starving!" she shouted. "I found them starving!" + +"Who? Why have you come?" + +"The Basts." + +"Oh, Helen!" moaned Margaret. "Whatever have you done now?" + +"He has lost his place. He has been turned out of his bank. Yes, +he's done for. We upper classes have ruined him, and I suppose +you'll tell me it's the battle of life. Starving. His wife is +ill. Starving. She fainted in the train." + +"Helen, are you mad?" + +"Perhaps. Yes. If you like, I'm mad. But I've brought them. I'll +stand injustice no longer. I'll show up the wretchedness that +lies under this luxury, this talk of impersonal forces, this cant +about God doing what we're too slack to do ourselves." + +"Have you actually brought two starving people from London to +Shropshire, Helen?" + +Helen was checked. She had not thought of this, and her hysteria +abated. "There was a restaurant car on the train," she said. + +"Don't be absurd. They aren't starving, and you know it. Now, +begin from the beginning. I won't have such theatrical nonsense. +How dare you! Yes, how dare you!" she repeated, as anger filled +her, "bursting in to Evie's wedding in this heartless way. My +goodness! but you've a perverted notion of philanthropy. Look"-- +she indicated the house--"servants, people out of the windows. +They think it's some vulgar scandal, and I must explain, 'Oh no, +it's only my sister screaming, and only two hangers-on of ours, +whom she has brought here for no conceivable reason.'" + +"Kindly take back that word 'hangers-on,'" said Helen, ominously +calm. + +"Very well," conceded Margaret, who for all her wrath was +determined to avoid a real quarrel. "I, too, am sorry about them, +but it beats me why you've brought them here, or why you're here +yourself." + +"It's our last chance of seeing Mr. Wilcox." + +Margaret moved towards the house at this. She was determined not +to worry Henry. + +"He's going to Scotland. I know he is. I insist on seeing him." + +"Yes, to-morrow." + +"I knew it was our last chance." + +"How do you do, Mr. Bast?" said Margaret, trying to control her +voice. "This is an odd business. What view do you take of it?" + +"There is Mrs. Bast, too," prompted Helen. + +Jacky also shook hands. She, like her husband, was shy, and, +furthermore, ill, and furthermore, so bestially stupid that she +could not grasp what was happening. She only knew that the lady +had swept down like a whirlwind last night, had paid the rent, +redeemed the furniture, provided them with a dinner and a +breakfast, and ordered them to meet her at Paddington next +morning. Leonard had feebly protested, and when the morning came, +had suggested that they shouldn't go. But she, half mesmerised, +had obeyed. The lady had told them to, and they must, and their +bed-sitting-room had accordingly changed into Paddington, and +Paddington into a railway carriage, that shook, and grew hot, and +grew cold, and vanished entirely, and reappeared amid torrents of +expensive scent. "You have fainted," said the lady in an +awe-struck voice. "Perhaps the air will do you good." And perhaps +it had, for here she was, feeling rather better among a lot of +flowers. + +"I'm sure I don't want to intrude," began Leonard, in answer to +Margaret's question. "But you have been so kind to me in the past +in warning me about the Porphyrion that I wondered--why, I +wondered whether--" + +"Whether we could get him back into the Porphyrion again," +supplied Helen. "Meg, this has been a cheerful business. A +bright evening's work that was on Chelsea Embankment." + +Margaret shook her head and returned to Mr. Bast. + +"I don't understand. You left the Porphyrion because we suggested +it was a bad concern, didn't you?" + +"That's right." + +"And went into a bank instead?" + +"I told you all that," said Helen; "and they reduced their staff +after he had been in a month, and now he's penniless, and I +consider that we and our informant are directly to blame." + +"I hate all this," Leonard muttered. + +"I hope you do, Mr. Bast. But it's no good mincing matters. You +have done yourself no good by coming here. If you intend to +confront Mr. Wilcox, and to call him to account for a chance +remark, you will make a very great mistake." + +"I brought them. I did it all," cried Helen. + +"I can only advise you to go at once. My sister has put you in a +false position, and it is kindest to tell you so. It's too late +to get to town, but you'll find a comfortable hotel in Oniton, +where Mrs. Bast can rest, and I hope you'll be my guests there." + +"That isn't what I want, Miss Schlegel," said Leonard. "You're +very kind, and no doubt it's a false position, but you make me +miserable. I seem no good at all." + +"It's work he wants," interpreted Helen. "Can't you see?" + +Then he said: "Jacky, let's go. We're more bother than we're +worth. We're costing these ladies pounds and pounds already to +get work for us, and they never will. There's nothing we're good +enough to do." + +"We would like to find you work," said Margaret rather +conventionally. "We want to--I, like my sister. You're only down +in your luck. Go to the hotel, have a good night's rest, and some +day you shall pay me back the bill, if you prefer it." + +But Leonard was near the abyss, and at such moments men see +clearly. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said. "I +shall never get work now. If rich people fail at one profession, +they can try another. Not I. I had my groove, and I've got out of +it. I could do one particular branch of insurance in one +particular office well enough to command a salary, but that's +all. Poetry's nothing, Miss Schlegel. One's thoughts about this +and that are nothing. Your money, too, is nothing, if you'll +understand me. I mean if a man over twenty once loses his own +particular job, it's all over with him. I have seen it happen to +others. Their friends gave them money for a little, but in the +end they fall over the edge. It's no good. It's the whole world +pulling. There always will be rich and poor." + +He ceased. "Won't you have something to eat?" said Margaret. "I +don't know what to do. It isn't my house, and though Mr. Wilcox +would have been glad to see you at any other time--as I say, I +don't know what to do, but I undertake to do what I can for you. +Helen, offer them something. Do try a sandwich, Mrs. Bast." + +They moved to a long table behind which a servant was still +standing. Iced cakes, sandwiches innumerable, coffee, claret-cup, +champagne, remained almost intact; their overfed guests could do +no more. Leonard refused. Jacky thought she could manage a +little. Margaret left them whispering together, and had a few +more words with Helen. + +She said: "Helen, I like Mr. Bast. I agree that he's worth +helping. I agree that we are directly responsible." + +"No, indirectly. Via Mr. Wilcox." + +"Let me tell you once for all that if you take up that attitude, +I'll do nothing. No doubt you're right logically, and are +entitled to say a great many scathing things about Henry. Only, I +won't have it. So choose." + +Helen looked at the sunset. + +"If you promise to take them quietly to the George I will speak +to Henry about them--in my own way, mind; there is to be none of +this absurd screaming about justice. I have no use for justice. +If it was only a question of money, we could do it ourselves. But +he wants work, and that we can't give him, but possibly Henry +can." + +"It's his duty to," grumbled Helen. + +"Nor am I concerned with duty. I'm concerned with the characters +of various people whom we know, and how, things being as they +are, things may be made a little better. Mr. Wilcox hates being +asked favours; all business men do. But I am going to ask him, at +the risk of a rebuff, because I want to make things a little +better." + +"Very well. I promise. You take it very calmly." + +"Take them off to the George, then, and I'll try. Poor creatures! +but they look tired." As they parted, she added: "I haven't +nearly done with you, though, Helen. You have been most +self-indulgent. I can't get over it. You have less restraint +rather than more as you grow older. Think it over and alter +yourself, or we shan't have happy lives." + +She rejoined Henry. Fortunately he had been sitting down: these +physical matters were important. "Was it townees?" he asked, +greeting her with a pleasant smile. + +"You'll never believe me," said Margaret, sitting down beside +him. "It's all right now, but it was my sister." + +"Helen here?" he cried, preparing to rise. "But she refused the +invitation. I thought hated weddings." + +"Don't get up. She has not come to the wedding. I've bundled her +off to the George." + +Inherently hospitable, he protested. + +"No; she has two of her proteges with her and must keep with +them." + +"Let 'em all come." + +"My dear Henry, did you see them?" + +"I did catch sight of a brown bunch of a woman, certainly." + +"The brown bunch was Helen, but did you catch sight of a +sea-green and salmon bunch?" + +"What! are they out bean-feasting?" + +"No; business. They wanted to see me, and later on I want to talk +to you about them." + +She was ashamed of her own diplomacy. In dealing with a Wilcox, +how tempting it was to lapse from comradeship, and to give him +the kind of woman that he desired! Henry took the hint at once, +and said: "Why later on? Tell me now. No time like the present." + +"Shall I?" + +"If it isn't a long story." + +"Oh, not five minutes; but there's a sting at the end of it, for +I want you to find the man some work in your office." + +"What are his qualifications?" + +"I don't know. He's a clerk." + +"How old?" + +"Twenty-five, perhaps." + +"What's his name?" + +"Bast," said Margaret, and was about to remind him that they had +met at Wickham Place, but stopped herself. It had not been a +successful meeting. + +"Where was he before?" + +"Dempster's Bank." + +"Why did he leave?" he asked, still remembering nothing. + +"They reduced their staff." + +"All right; I'll see him." + +It was the reward of her tact and devotion through the day. Now +she understood why some women prefer influence to rights. Mrs. +Plynlimmon, when condemning suffragettes, had said: "The woman +who can't influence her husband to vote the way she wants ought +to be ashamed of herself." Margaret had winced, but she was +influencing Henry now, and though pleased at her little victory, +she knew that she had won it by the methods of the harem. + +"I should be glad if you took him," she said, "but I don't know +whether he's qualified." + +"I'll do what I can. But, Margaret, this mustn't be taken as a +precedent." + +"No, of course--of course--" + +"I can't fit in your proteges every day. Business would suffer." + +"I can promise you he's the last. He--he's rather a special +case." + +"Proteges always are." + +She let it stand at that. He rose with a little extra touch of +complacency, and held out his hand to help her up. How wide the +gulf between Henry as he was and Henry as Helen thought he ought +to be! And she herself--hovering as usual between the two, now +accepting men as they are, now yearning with her sister for +Truth. Love and Truth--their warfare seems eternal perhaps the +whole visible world rests on it, and if they were one, life +itself, like the spirits when Prospero was reconciled to his +brother, might vanish into air, into thin air. + +"Your protege has made us late," said he. "The Fussells--will +just be starting." + +On the whole she sided with men as they are. Henry would save the +Basts as he had saved Howards End, while Helen and her friends +were discussing the ethics of salvation. His was a slap-dash +method, but the world has been built slap-dash, and the beauty of +mountain and river and sunset may be but the varnish with which +the unskilled artificer hides his joins. Oniton, like herself, +was imperfect. Its apple-trees were stunted, its castle ruinous. +It, too, had suffered in the border warfare between the +Anglo-Saxon and the Celt, between things as they are and as they +ought to be. Once more the west was retreating, once again the +orderly stars were dotting the eastern sky. There is certainly no +rest for us on the earth. But there is happiness, and as Margaret +descended the mound on her lover's arm, she felt that she was +having her share. + +To her annoyance, Mrs. Bast was still in the garden; the husband +and Helen had left her there to finish her meal while they went +to engage rooms. Margaret found this woman repellent. She had +felt, when shaking her hand, an overpowering shame. She +remembered the motive of her call at Wickham Place, and smelt +again odours from the abyss--odours the more disturbing because +they were involuntary. For there was no malice in Jacky. There +she sat, a piece of cake in one hand, an empty champagne glass in +the other, doing no harm to anybody. + +"She's overtired," Margaret whispered. + +"She's something else," said Henry. "This won't do. I can't have +her in my garden in this state." + +"Is she--" Margaret hesitated to add "drunk." Now that she was +going to marry him, he had grown particular. He discountenanced +risque conversations now. + +Henry went up to the woman. She raised her face, which gleamed in +the twilight like a puff-ball. + +"Madam, you will be more comfortable at the hotel," he said +sharply. + +Jacky replied: "If it isn't Hen!" + +"Ne crois pas que le mari lui ressemble," apologised Margaret. +"Il est tout a fait different." + +"Henry!" she repeated, quite distinctly. + +Mr. Wilcox was much annoyed. "I congratulate you on your +proteges," he remarked. + +"Hen, don't go. You do love me, dear, don't you?" + +"Bless us, what a person!" sighed Margaret, gathering up her +skirts. + +Jacky pointed with her cake. "You're a nice boy, you are." She +yawned. "There now, I love you." + +"Henry, I am awfully sorry." + +"And pray why?" he asked, and looked at her so sternly that she +feared he was ill. He seemed more scandalised than the facts +demanded. + +"To have brought this down on you." + +"Pray don't apologise." + +The voice continued. + +"Why does she call you 'Hen'?" said Margaret innocently. "Has she +ever seen you before?" + +"Seen Hen before!" said Jacky. "Who hasn't seen Hen? He's serving +you like me, my boys! You wait-- Still we love 'em." + +"Are you now satisfied?" Henry asked. + +Margaret began to grow frightened. "I don't know what it is all +about," she said. "Let's come in." + +But he thought she was acting. He thought he was trapped. He saw +his whole life crumbling. "Don't you indeed?" he said bitingly. +"I do. Allow me to congratulate you on the success of your plan." + +"This is Helen's plan, not mine." + +"I now understand your interest in the Basts. Very well thought +out. I am amused at your caution, Margaret. You are quite right-- +it was necessary. I am a man, and have lived a man's past. I have +the honour to release you from your engagement." + +Still she could not understand. She knew of life's seamy side as +a theory; she could not grasp it as a fact. More words from Jacky +were necessary--words unequivocal, undenied. + +"So that--" burst from her, and she went indoors. She stopped +herself from saying more. + +"So what?" asked Colonel Fussell, who was getting ready to start +in the hall. + +"We were saying--Henry and I were just having the fiercest +argument, my point being--" Seizing his fur coat from a footman, +she offered to help him on. He protested, and there was a playful +little scene. + +"No, let me do that," said Henry, following. + +"Thanks so much! You see--he has forgiven me!" + +The Colonel said gallantly: "I don't expect there's much to +forgive." + +He got into the car. The ladies followed him after an interval. +Maids, courier, and heavier luggage had been sent on earlier by +the branch-line. Still chattering, still thanking their host and +patronising their future hostess, the guests were borne away. + +Then Margaret continued: "So that woman has been your mistress?" + +"You put it with your usual delicacy," he replied. + +"When, please?" + +"Why?" + +"When, please?" + +"Ten years ago." + +She left him without a word. For it was not her tragedy; it was +Mrs. Wilcox's. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +Helen began to wonder why she had spent a matter of eight pounds +in making some people ill and others angry. Now that the wave of +excitement was ebbing, and had left her, Mr. Bast, and Mrs. Bast +stranded for the night in a Shropshire hotel, she asked herself +what forces had made the wave flow. At all events, no harm was +done. Margaret would play the game properly now, and though Helen +disapproved of her sister's methods, she knew that the Basts +would benefit by them in the long-run. + +"Mr. Wilcox is so illogical," she explained to Leonard, who had +put his wife to bed, and was sitting with her in the empty +coffee-room. "If we told him it was his duty to take you on, he +might refuse to do it. The fact is, he isn't properly educated. I +don't want to set you against him, but you'll find him a trial." + +"I can never thank you sufficiently, Miss Schlegel," was all that +Leonard felt equal to. + +"I believe in personal responsibility. Don't you? And in personal +everything. I hate--I suppose I oughtn't to say that--but the +Wilcoxes are on the wrong tack surely. Or perhaps it isn't their +fault. Perhaps the little thing that says 'I' is missing out of +the middle of their heads, and then it's a waste of time to +blame them. There's a nightmare of a theory that says a special +race is being born which will rule the rest of us in the future +just because it lacks the little thing that says 'I.' Had you +heard that?" + +"I get no time for reading." + +"Had you thought it, then? That there are two kinds of people--our +kind, who live straight from the middle of their heads, and the +other kind who can't, because their heads have no middle? They +can't say 'I.' They AREN'T in fact, and so they're supermen. +Pierpont Morgan has never said 'I' in his life." + +Leonard roused himself. If his benefactress wanted intellectual +conversation, she must have it. She was more important than his +ruined past. "I never got on to Nietzsche," he said. "But I +always understood that those supermen were rather what you may +call egoists." + +"Oh no, that's wrong," replied Helen. "No superman ever said 'I +want,' because 'I want' must lead to the question, 'Who am I?' +and so to Pity and to Justice. He only says 'want.' 'Want +Europe,' if he's Napoleon; 'want wives,' if he's Bluebeard; +'want Botticelli,' if he's Pierpont Morgan. Never the 'I'; and +if you could pierce through the superman, you'd find panic and +emptiness in the middle." + +Leonard was silent for a moment. Then he said: "May I take it, +Miss Schlegel, that you and I are both the sort that say 'I'?" + +"Of course." + +"And your sister, too?" + +"Of course," repeated Helen, a little sharply. She was annoyed +with Margaret, but did not want her discussed. "All presentable +people say 'I.'" + +"But Mr. Wilcox--he is not perhaps--" + +"I don't know that it's any good discussing Mr. Wilcox either." + +"Quite so, quite so," he agreed. Helen asked herself why she had +snubbed him. Once or twice during the day she had encouraged him +to criticise, and then had pulled him up short. Was she afraid of +him presuming? If so, it was disgusting of her. + +But he was thinking the snub quite natural. Everything she did +was natural, and incapable of causing offence. While the Miss +Schlegels were together he had felt them scarcely human--a sort of +admonitory whirligig. But a Miss Schlegel alone was different. +She was in Helen's case unmarried, in Margaret's about to be +married, in neither case an echo of her sister. A light had +fallen at last into this rich upper world, and he saw that it was +full of men and women, some of whom were more friendly to him +than others. Helen had become "his" Miss Schlegel, who scolded +him and corresponded with him, and had swept down yesterday with +grateful vehemence. Margaret, though not unkind, was severe and +remote. He would not presume to help her, for instance. He had +never liked her, and began to think that his original impression +was true, and that her sister did not like her either. Helen was +certainly lonely. She, who gave away so much, was receiving too +little. Leonard was pleased to think that he could spare her +vexation by holding his tongue and concealing what he knew about +Mr. Wilcox. Jacky had announced her discovery when he fetched her +from the lawn. After the first shock, he did not mind for +himself. By now he had no illusions about his wife, and this was +only one new stain on the face of a love that had never been +pure. To keep perfection perfect, that should be his ideal, if +the future gave him time to have ideals. Helen, and Margaret for +Helen's sake, must not know. + +Helen disconcerted him by turning the conversation to his wife. +"Mrs. Bast--does she ever say 'I'?" she asked, half +mischievously, and then, "Is she very tired?" + +"It's better she stops in her room," said Leonard. + +"Shall I sit up with her?" + +"No, thank you; she does not need company." + +"Mr. Bast, what kind of woman is your wife?" + +Leonard blushed up to his eyes. + +"You ought to know my ways by now. Does that question offend +you?" + +"No, oh no, Miss Schlegel, no." + +"Because I love honesty. Don't pretend your marriage has been a +happy one. You and she can have nothing in common." + +He did not deny it, but said shyly: "I suppose that's pretty +obvious; but Jacky never meant to do anybody any harm. When +things went wrong, or I heard things, I used to think it was her +fault, but, looking back, it's more mine. I needn't have married +her, but as I have I must stick to her and keep her." + +"How long have you been married?" + +"Nearly three years." + +"What did your people say?" + +"They will not have anything to do with us. They had a sort of +family council when they heard I was married, and cut us off +altogether." + +Helen began to pace up and down the room. "My good boy, what a +mess!" she said gently. "Who are your people?" + +He could answer this. His parents, who were dead, had been in +trade; his sisters had married commercial travellers; his brother +was a lay-reader. + +"And your grandparents?" + +Leonard told her a secret that he had held shameful up to now. +"They were just nothing at all," he said "agricultural labourers +and that sort." + +"So! From which part?" + +"Lincolnshire mostly, but my mother's father--he, oddly enough, +came from these parts round here." + +"From this very Shropshire. Yes, that is odd. My mother's people +were Lancashire. But why do your brother and your sisters object +to Mrs. Bast?" + +"Oh, I don't know." + +"Excuse me, you do know. I am not a baby. I can bear anything you +tell me, and the more you tell the more I shall be able to help. +Have they heard anything against her?" + +He was silent. + +"I think I have guessed now," said Helen very gravely. + +"I don't think so, Miss Schlegel; I hope not." + +"We must be honest, even over these things. I have guessed. I am +frightfully, dreadfully sorry, but it does not make the least +difference to me. I shall feel just the same to both of you. I +blame, not your wife for these things, but men." + +Leonard left it at that--so long as she did not guess the man. +She stood at the window and slowly pulled up the blinds. The +hotel looked over a dark square. The mists had begun. When she +turned back to him her eyes were shining. "Don't you worry," he +pleaded. "I can't bear that. We shall be all right if I get work. +If I could only get work--something regular to do. Then it +wouldn't be so bad again. I don't trouble after books as I used. +I can imagine that with regular work we should settle down again. +It stops one thinking." + +"Settle down to what?" + +"Oh, just settle down." + +"And that's to be life!" said Helen, with a catch in her throat. +"How can you, with all the beautiful things to see and do--with +music--with walking at night--" + +"Walking is well enough when a man's in work," he answered. "Oh, +I did talk a lot of nonsense once, but there's nothing like a +bailiff in the house to drive it out of you. When I saw him +fingering my Ruskins and Stevensons, I seemed to see life +straight and real, and it isn't a pretty sight. My books are back +again, thanks to you, but they'll never be the same to me again, +and I shan't ever again think night in the woods is wonderful." + +"Why not?" asked Helen, throwing up the window. "Because I see +one must have money." + +"Well, you're wrong." + +"I wish I was wrong, but--the clergyman--he has money of his own, +or else he's paid; the poet or the musician--just the same; the +tramp--he's no different. The tramp goes to the workhouse in the +end, and is paid for with other people's money. Miss Schlegel the +real thing's money, and all the rest is a dream." + +"You're still wrong. You've forgotten Death." + +Leonard could not understand. + +"If we lived forever, what you say would be true. But we have to +die, we have to leave life presently. Injustice and greed would +be the real thing if we lived for ever. As it is, we must hold to +other things, because Death is coming. I love Death--not +morbidly, but because He explains. He shows me the emptiness of +Money. Death and Money are the eternal foes. Not Death and Life. +Never mind what lies behind Death, Mr. Bast, but be sure that the +poet and the musician and the tramp will be happier in it than +the man who has never learnt to say, 'I am I.'" + +"I wonder." + +"We are all in a mist--I know, but I can help you this far--men +like the Wilcoxes are deeper in the mist than any. Sane, sound +Englishmen! building up empires, levelling all the world into +what they call common sense. But mention Death to them and +they're offended, because Death's really Imperial, and He cries +out against them for ever." + +"I am as afraid of Death as any one." + +"But not of the idea of Death." + +"But what is the difference?" + +"Infinite difference," said Helen, more gravely than before. + +Leonard looked at her wondering, and had the sense of great +things sweeping out of the shrouded night. But he could not +receive them, because his heart was still full of little things. +As the lost umbrella had spoilt the concert at Queen's Hall, so +the lost situation was obscuring the diviner harmonies now. +Death, Life, and Materialism were fine words, but would Mr. +Wilcox take him on as a clerk? Talk as one would, Mr. Wilcox was +king of this world, the superman, with his own morality, whose +head remained in the clouds. + +"I must be stupid," he said apologetically. + +While to Helen the paradox became clearer and clearer. "Death +destroys a man: the idea of Death saves him." Behind the coffins +and the skeletons that stay the vulgar mind lies something so +immense that all that is great in us responds to it. Men of the +world may recoil from the charnel-house that they will one day +enter, but Love knows better. Death is his foe, but his peer, and +in their age-long struggle the thews of Love have been +strengthened, and his vision cleared, until there is no one who +can stand against him. + +"So never give in," continued the girl, and restated again and +again the vague yet convincing plea that the Invisible lodges +against the Visible. Her excitement grew as she tried to cut the +rope that fastened Leonard to the earth. Woven of bitter +experience, it resisted her. Presently the waitress entered and +gave her a letter from Margaret. Another note, addressed to +Leonard, was inside. They read them, listening to the murmurings +of the river. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +For many hours Margaret did nothing; then she controlled herself, +and wrote some letters. She was too bruised to speak to Henry; +she could pity him, and even determine to marry him, but as yet +all lay too deep in her heart for speech. On the surface the +sense of his degradation was too strong. She could not command +voice or look, and the gentle words that she forced out through +her pen seemed to proceed from some other person. + +"My dearest boy," she began, "this is not to part us. It is +everything or nothing, and I mean it to be nothing. It happened +long before we ever met, and even if it had happened since, I +should be writing the same, I hope. I do understand." + +But she crossed out "I do understand"; it struck a false note. +Henry could not bear to be understood. She also crossed out, "It +is everything or nothing." Henry would resent so strong a grasp +of the situation. She must not comment; comment is unfeminine. + +"I think that'll about do," she thought. + +Then the sense of his degradation choked her. Was he worth all +this bother? To have yielded to a woman of that sort was +everything, yes, it was, and she could not be his wife. She tried +to translate his temptation into her own language, and her brain +reeled. Men must be different even to want to yield to such a +temptation. Her belief in comradeship was stifled, and she saw +life as from that glass saloon on the Great Western which +sheltered male and female alike from the fresh air. Are the sexes +really races, each with its own code of morality, and their +mutual love a mere device of Nature to keep things going? Strip +human intercourse of the proprieties, and is it reduced to this? +Her judgment told her no. She knew that out of Nature's device we +have built a magic that will win us immortality. Far more +mysterious than the call of sex to sex is the tenderness that we +throw into that call; far wider is the gulf between us and the +farmyard than between the farmyard and the garbage that nourishes +it. We are evolving, in ways that Science cannot measure, to ends +that Theology dares not contemplate. "Men did produce one jewel," +the gods will say, and, saying, will give us immortality. +Margaret knew all this, but for the moment she could not feel it, +and transformed the marriage of Evie and Mr. Cahill into a +carnival of fools, and her own marriage--too miserable to think +of that, she tore up the letter, and then wrote another: + +DEAR MR. BAST, + +"I have spoken to Mr. Wilcox about you, as I promised, and +am sorry to say that he has no vacancy for you. + + Yours truly, + + "M. J. SCHLEGEL." + +She enclosed this in a note to Helen, over which she took less +trouble than she might have done; but her head was aching, and +she could not stop to pick her words: + +"DEAR HELEN, + +"Give him this. The Basts are no good. Henry found the +woman drunk on the lawn. I am having a room got ready for +you here, and will you please come round at once on getting +this? The Basts are not at all the type we should trouble +about. I may go round to them myself in the morning, and do +anything that is fair. + "M." + + +In writing this, Margaret felt that she was being practical. +Something might be arranged for the Basts later on, but they must +be silenced for the moment. She hoped to avoid a conversation +between the woman and Helen. She rang the bell for a servant, but +no one answered it; Mr. Wilcox and the Warringtons were gone to +bed, and the kitchen was abandoned to Saturnalia. Consequently +she went over to the George herself. She did not enter the hotel, +for discussion would have been perilous, and, saying that the +letter was important, she gave it to the waitress. As she +recrossed the square she saw Helen and Mr. Bast looking out of +the window of the coffee-room, and feared she was already too +late. Her task was not yet over; she ought to tell Henry what she +had done. + +This came easily, for she saw him in the hall. The night wind had +been rattling the pictures against the wall, and the noise had +disturbed him. + +"Who's there?" he called, quite the householder. + +Margaret walked in and past him. + +"I have asked Helen to sleep," she said. "She is best here; so +don't lock the front-door." + +"I thought some one had got in," said Henry. + +"At the same time I told the man that we could do nothing for +him. I don't know about later, but now the Basts must clearly +go." + +"Did you say that your sister is sleeping here, after all?" + +"Probably." + +"Is she to be shown up to your room?" + +"I have naturally nothing to say to her; I am going to bed. Will +you tell the servants about Helen? Could some one go to carry her +bag?" + +He tapped a little gong, which had been bought to summon the +servants. + +"You must make more noise than that if you want them to hear." + +Henry opened a door, and down the corridor came shouts of +laughter. "Far too much screaming there," he said, and strode +towards it. Margaret went upstairs, uncertain whether to be glad +that they had met, or sorry. They had behaved as if nothing had +happened, and her deepest instincts told her that this was wrong. +For his own sake, some explanation was due. + +And yet--what could an explanation tell her? A date, a place, a +few details, which she could imagine all too clearly. Now that +the first shock was over, she saw that there was every reason to +premise a Mrs. Bast. Henry's inner life had long laid open to +her--his intellectual confusion, his obtuseness to personal +influence, his strong but furtive passions. Should she refuse him +because his outer life corresponded? Perhaps. Perhaps, if the +dishonour had been done to her, but it was done long before her +day. She struggled against the feeling. She told herself that +Mrs. Wilcox's wrong was her own. But she was not a barren +theorist. As she undressed, her anger, her regard for the dead, +her desire for a scene, all grew weak. Henry must have it as he +liked, for she loved him, and some day she would use her love to +make him a better man. + +Pity was at the bottom of her actions all through this crisis. +Pity, if one may generalise, is at the bottom of woman. When men +like us, it is for our better qualities, and however tender their +liking, we dare not be unworthy of it, or they will quietly let +us go. But unworthiness stimulates woman. It brings out her +deeper nature, for good or for evil. + +Here was the core of the question. Henry must be forgiven, and +made better by love; nothing else mattered. Mrs. Wilcox, that +unquiet yet kindly ghost, must be left to her own wrong. To her +everything was in proportion now, and she, too, would pity the +man who was blundering up and down their lives. Had Mrs. Wilcox +known of his trespass? An interesting question, but Margaret +fell asleep, tethered by affection, and lulled by the murmurs of +the river that descended all the night from Wales. She felt +herself at one with her future home, colouring it and coloured by +it, and awoke to see, for the second time, Oniton Castle +conquering the morning mists. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +"Henry dear--" was her greeting. + +He had finished his breakfast, and was beginning the Times. His +sister-in-law was packing. Margaret knelt by him and took the +paper from him, feeling that it was unusually heavy and thick. +Then, putting her face where it had been, she looked up in his +eyes. + +"Henry dear, look at me. No, I won't have you shirking. Look at +me. There. That's all." + +"You're referring to last evening," he said huskily. "I have +released you from your engagement. I could find excuses, but I +won't. No, I won't. A thousand times no. I'm a bad lot, and must +be left at that." + +Expelled from his old fortress, Mr. Wilcox was building a new +one. He could no longer appear respectable to her, so he defended +himself instead in a lurid past. It was not true repentance. + +"Leave it where you will, boy. It's not going to trouble us; I +know what I'm talking about, and it will make no difference." + +"No difference?" he inquired. "No difference, when you find that +I am not the fellow you thought?" He was annoyed with Miss +Schlegel here. He would have preferred her to be prostrated by +the blow, or even to rage. Against the tide of his sin flowed the +feeling that she was not altogether womanly. Her eyes gazed too +straight; they had read books that are suitable for men only. And +though he had dreaded a scene, and though she had determined +against one, there was a scene, all the same. It was somehow +imperative. + +"I am unworthy of you," he began. "Had I been worthy, I should +not have released you from your engagement. I know what I am +talking about. I can't bear to talk of such things. We had better +leave it." + +She kissed his hand. He jerked it from her, and, rising to his +feet, went on: "You, with your sheltered life, and refined +pursuits, and friends, and books, you and your sister, and women +like you--I say, how can you guess the temptations that lie round +a man?" + +"It is difficult for us," said Margaret; "but if we are worth +marrying, we do guess." + +"Cut off from decent society and family ties, what do you suppose +happens to thousands of young fellows overseas? Isolated. No one +near. I know by bitter experience, and yet you say it makes 'no +difference.'" + +"Not to me." + +He laughed bitterly. Margaret went to the sideboard and helped +herself to one of the breakfast dishes. Being the last down, she +turned out the spirit-lamp that kept them warm. She was tender, +but grave. She knew that Henry was not so much confessing his +soul as pointing out the gulf between the male soul and the +female, and she did not desire to hear him on this point. + +"Did Helen come?" she asked. + +He shook his head. + +"But that won't do at all, at all! We don't want her gossiping +with Mrs. Bast." + +"Good God! no!" he exclaimed, suddenly natural. Then he caught +himself up. "Let them gossip, my game's up, though I thank you +for your unselfishness--little as my thanks are worth." + +"Didn't she send me a message or anything?" + +"I heard of none." + +"Would you ring the bell, please?" + +"What to do?" + +"Why, to inquire." + +He swaggered up to it tragically, and sounded a peal. Margaret +poured herself out some coffee. The butler came, and said that +Miss Schlegel had slept at the George, so far as he had heard. +Should he go round to the George? + +"I'll go, thank you," said Margaret, and dismissed him. + +"It is no good," said Henry. "Those things leak out; you cannot +stop a story once it has started. I have known cases of other +men--I despised them once, I thought that I'm different, I shall +never be tempted. Oh, Margaret--" He came and sat down near her, +improvising emotion. She could not bear to listen to him. "We +fellows all come to grief once in our time. Will you believe +that? There are moments when the strongest man-- 'Let him who +standeth, take heed lest he fall.' That's true, isn't it? If you +knew all, you would excuse me. I was far from good influences-- +far even from England. I was very, very lonely, and longed for a +woman's voice. That's enough. I have told you too much already +for you to forgive me now." + +"Yes, that's enough, dear." + +"I have"--he lowered his voice--"I have been through hell." + +Gravely she considered this claim. Had he? Had he suffered +tortures of remorse, or had it been, "There! that's over. Now for +respectable life again"? The latter, if she read him rightly. A +man who has been through hell does not boast of his virility. He +is humble and hides it, if, indeed, it still exists. Only in +legend does the sinner come forth penitent, but terrible, to +conquer pure woman by his resistless power. Henry was anxious to +be terrible, but had not got it in him. He was a good average +Englishman, who had slipped. The really culpable point--his +faithlessness to Mrs. Wilcox--never seemed to strike him. She +longed to mention Mrs. Wilcox. + +And bit by bit the story was told her. It was a very simple +story. Ten years ago was the time, a garrison town in Cyprus the +place. Now and then he asked her whether she could possibly +forgive him, and she answered, "I have already forgiven you, +Henry." She chose her words carefully, and so saved him from +panic. She played the girl, until he could rebuild his fortress +and hide his soul from the world. When the butler came to clear +away, Henry was in a very different mood--asked the fellow what +he was in such a hurry for, complained of the noise last night in +the servants' hall. Margaret looked intently at the butler. He, +as a handsome young man, was faintly attractive to her as a +woman--an attraction so faint as scarcely to be perceptible, yet +the skies would have fallen if she had mentioned it to Henry. + +On her return from the George the building operations were +complete, and the old Henry fronted her, competent, cynical, and +kind. He had made a clean breast, had been forgiven, and the +great thing now was to forget his failure, and to send it the way +of other unsuccessful investments. Jacky rejoined Howards End and +Dude Street, and the vermilion motor-car, and the Argentine Hard +Dollars, and all the things and people for whom he had never had +much use and had less now. Their memory hampered him. He could +scarcely attend to Margaret, who brought back disquieting news +from the George. Helen and her clients had gone. + +"Well, let them go--the man and his wife, I mean, for the more we +see of your sister the better." + +"But they have gone separately--Helen very early, the Basts just +before I arrived. They have left no message. They have answered +neither of my notes. I don't like to think what it all means." + +"What did you say in the notes?" + +"I told you last night." + +"Oh--ah--yes! Dear, would you like one turn in the garden?" + +Margaret took his arm. The beautiful weather soothed her. But the +wheels of Evie's wedding were still at work, tossing the guests +outwards as deftly as they had drawn them in, and she could not +be with him long. It had been arranged that they should motor to +Shrewsbury, whence he would go north, and she back to London with +the Warringtons. For a fraction of time she was happy. Then her +brain recommenced. + +"I am afraid there has been gossiping of some kind at the George. +Helen would not have left unless she had heard something. I +mismanaged that. It is wretched. I ought to have parted her from +that woman at once." + +"Margaret!" he exclaimed, loosing her arm impressively. + +"Yes--yes, Henry?" + +"I am far from a saint--in fact, the reverse--but you have taken +me, for better or worse. Bygones must be bygones. You have +promised to forgive me. Margaret, a promise is a promise. Never +mention that woman again." + +"Except for some practical reason--never." + +"Practical! You practical!" + +"Yes, I'm practical," she murmured, stooping over the +mowing-machine and playing with the grass which trickled through +her fingers like sand. + +He had silenced her, but her fears made him uneasy. Not for the +first time, he was threatened with blackmail. He was rich and +supposed to be moral; the Basts knew that he was not, and might +find it profitable to hint as much. + +"At all events, you mustn't worry," he said. "This is a man's +business." He thought intently. "On no account mention it to +anybody." + +Margaret flushed at advice so elementary, but he was really +paving the way for a lie. If necessary he would deny that he had +ever known Mrs. Bast, and prosecute her for libel. Perhaps he +never had known her. Here was Margaret, who behaved as if he had +not. There the house. Round them were half a dozen gardeners, +clearing up after his daughter's wedding. All was so solid and +spruce, that the past flew up out of sight like a spring-blind, +leaving only the last five minutes unrolled. + +Glancing at these, he saw that the car would be round during the +next five, and plunged into action. Gongs were tapped, orders +issued, Margaret was sent to dress, and the housemaid to sweep up +the long trickle of grass that she had left across the hall. As +is Man to the Universe, so was the mind of Mr. Wilcox to the +minds of some men--a concentrated light upon a tiny spot, a +little Ten Minutes moving self-contained through its appointed +years. No Pagan he, who lives for the Now, and may be wiser than +all philosophers. He lived for the five minutes that have past, +and the five to come; he had the business mind. + +How did he stand now, as his motor slipped out of Oniton and +breasted the great round hills? Margaret had heard a certain +rumour, but was all right. She had forgiven him, God bless her, +and he felt the manlier for it. Charles and Evie had not heard +it, and never must hear. No more must Paul. Over his children he +felt great tenderness, which he did not try to track to a cause; +Mrs. Wilcox was too far back in his life. He did not connect her +with the sudden aching love that he felt for Evie. Poor little +Evie! he trusted that Cahill would make her a decent husband. + +And Margaret? How did she stand? + +She had several minor worries. Clearly her sister had heard +something. She dreaded meeting her in town. And she was anxious +about Leonard, for whom they certainly were responsible. Nor +ought Mrs. Bast to starve. But the main situation had not +altered. She still loved Henry. His actions, not his disposition, +had disappointed her, and she could bear that. And she loved her +future home. Standing up in the car, just where she had leapt +from it two days before, she gazed back with deep emotion upon +Oniton. Besides the Grange and the Castle keep, she could now +pick out the church and the black-and-white gables of the George. +There was the bridge, and the river nibbling its green peninsula. +She could even see the bathing-shed, but while she was looking +for Charles's new spring-board, the forehead of the hill rose and +hid the whole scene. + +She never saw it again. Day and night the river flows down into +England, day after day the sun retreats into the Welsh mountains, +and the tower chimes, See the Conquering Hero. But the Wilcoxes +have no part in the place, nor in any place. It is not their +names that recur in the parish register. It is not their ghosts +that sigh among the alders at evening. They have swept into the +valley and swept out of it, leaving a little dust and a little +money behind. + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +Tibby was now approaching his last year at Oxford. He had moved +out of college, and was contemplating the Universe, or such +portions of it as concerned him, from his comfortable lodgings in +Long Wall. He was not concerned with much. When a young man is +untroubled by passions and sincerely indifferent to public +opinion his outlook is necessarily limited. Tibby wished neither +to strengthen the position of the rich nor to improve that of the +poor, and so was well content to watch the elms nodding behind +the mildly embattled parapets of Magdalen. There are worse lives. +Though selfish, he was never cruel; though affected in manner, he +never posed. Like Margaret, he disdained the heroic equipment, +and it was only after many visits that men discovered Schlegel to +possess a character and a brain. He had done well in Mods, much +to the surprise of those who attended lectures and took proper +exercise, and was now glancing disdainfully at Chinese in case he +should some day consent to qualify as a Student Interpreter. To +him thus employed Helen entered. A telegram had preceded her. + +He noticed, in a distant way, that his sister had altered. + +As a rule he found her too pronounced, and had never come across +this look of appeal, pathetic yet dignified--the look of a +sailor who has lost everything at sea. + +"I have come from Oniton," she began. "There has been a great +deal of trouble there." + +"Who's for lunch?" said Tibby, picking up the claret, which was +warming in the hearth. Helen sat down submissively at the table. +"Why such an early start?" he asked. + +"Sunrise or something--when I could get away." + +"So I surmise. Why?" + +"I don't know what's to be done, Tibby. I am very much upset at a +piece of news that concerns Meg, and do not want to face her, and +I am not going back to Wickham Place. I stopped here to tell you +this." + +The landlady came in with the cutlets. Tibby put a marker in the +leaves of his Chinese Grammar and helped them. Oxford--the Oxford +of the vacation--dreamed and rustled outside, and indoors the +little fire was coated with grey where the sunshine touched it. +Helen continued her odd story. + +"Give Meg my love and say that I want to be alone. I mean to go +to Munich or else Bonn." + +"Such a message is easily given," said her brother. + +"As regards Wickham Place and my share of the furniture, you and +she are to do exactly as you like. My own feeling is that +everything may just as well be sold. What does one want with +dusty economic books, which have made the world no better, or +with mother's hideous chiffoniers? I have also another commission +for you. I want you to deliver a letter." She got up. "I haven't +written it yet. Why shouldn't I post it, though?" She sat down +again. "My head is rather wretched. I hope that none of your +friends are likely to come in." + +Tibby locked the door. His friends often found it in this +condition. Then he asked whether anything had gone wrong at +Evie's wedding. + +"Not there," said Helen, and burst into tears. + +He had known her hysterical--it was one of her aspects with which +he had no concern--and yet these tears touched him as something +unusual. They were nearer the things that did concern him, such +as music. He laid down his knife and looked at her curiously. +Then, as she continued to sob, he went on with his lunch. + +The time came for the second course, and she was still crying. +Apple Charlotte was to follow, which spoils by waiting. "Do you +mind Mrs. Martlett coming in?" he asked, "or shall I take it from +her at the door?" + +"Could I bathe my eyes, Tibby?" + +He took her to his bedroom, and introduced the pudding in her +absence. Having helped himself, he put it down to warm in the +hearth. His hand stretched towards the Grammar, and soon he was +turning over the pages, raising his eyebrows scornfully, perhaps +at human nature, perhaps at Chinese. To him thus employed Helen +returned. She had pulled herself together, but the grave appeal +had not vanished from her eyes. + +"Now for the explanation," she said. "Why didn't I begin with it? +I have found out something about Mr. Wilcox. He has behaved very +wrongly indeed, and ruined two people's lives. It all came on me +very suddenly last night; I am very much upset, and I do not know +what to do. Mrs. Bast--" + +"Oh, those people!" + +Helen seemed silenced. + +"Shall I lock the door again?" + +"No thanks, Tibbikins. You're being very good to me. I want to +tell you the story before I go abroad. you must do exactly what +you like--treat it as part of the furniture. Meg cannot have +heard it yet, I think. But I cannot face her and tell her that +the man she is going to marry has misconducted himself. I don't +even know whether she ought to be told. Knowing as she does that +I dislike him, she will suspect me, and think that I want to ruin +her match. I simply don't know what to make of such a thing. I +trust your judgment. What would you do?" + +"I gather he has had a mistress," said Tibby. + +Helen flushed with shame and anger. "And ruined two people's +lives. And goes about saying that personal actions count for +nothing, and there always will be rich and poor. He met her when +he was trying to get rich out in Cyprus--I don't wish to make him +worse than he is, and no doubt she was ready enough to meet him. +But there it is. They met. He goes his way and she goes hers. +What do you suppose is the end of such women?" + +He conceded that it was a bad business. + +"They end in two ways: Either they sink till the lunatic asylums +and the workhouses are full of them, and cause Mr. Wilcox to +write letters to the papers complaining of our national +degeneracy, or else they entrap a boy into marriage before it is +too late. She--I can't blame her." + +"But this isn't all," she continued after a long pause, during +which the landlady served them with coffee. "I come now to the +business that took us to Oniton. We went all three. Acting on Mr. +Wilcox's advice, the man throws up a secure situation and takes +an insecure one, from which he is dismissed. There are certain +excuses, but in the main Mr. Wilcox is to blame, as Meg herself +admitted. It is only common justice that he should employ the man +himself. But he meets the woman, and, like the cur that he is, he +refuses, and tries to get rid of them. He makes Meg write. Two +notes came from her late that evening--one for me, one for +Leonard, dismissing him with barely a reason. I couldn't +understand. Then it comes out that Mrs. Bast had spoken to Mr. +Wilcox on the lawn while we left her to get rooms, and was still +speaking about him when Leonard came back to her. This Leonard +knew all along. He thought it natural he should be ruined twice. +Natural! Could you have contained yourself?" + +"It is certainly a very bad business," said Tibby. + +His reply seemed to calm his sister. "I was afraid that I saw it +out of proportion. But you are right outside it, and you must +know. In a day or two--or perhaps a week--take whatever steps you +think fit. I leave it in your hands." + +She concluded her charge. + +"The facts as they touch Meg are all before you," she added; and +Tibby sighed and felt it rather hard that, because of his open +mind, he should be empanelled to serve as a juror. He had never +been interested in human beings, for which one must blame him, +but he had had rather too much of them at Wickham Place. Just as +some people cease to attend when books are mentioned, so Tibby's +attention wandered when "personal relations" came under +discussion. Ought Margaret to know what Helen knew the Basts to +know? Similar questions had vexed him from infancy, and at Oxford +he had learned to say that the importance of human beings has +been vastly overrated by specialists. The epigram, with its faint +whiff of the eighties, meant nothing. But he might have let it +off now if his sister had not been ceaselessly beautiful. + +"You see, Helen--have a cigarette--I don't see what I'm to do." + +"Then there's nothing to be done. I dare say you are right. Let +them marry. There remains the question of compensation." + +"Do you want me to adjudicate that too? Had you not better +consult an expert?" + +"This part is in confidence," said Helen. "It has nothing to do +with Meg, and do not mention it to her. The compensation--I do +not see who is to pay it if I don't, and I have already decided +on the minimum sum. As soon as possible I am placing it to your +account, and when I am in Germany you will pay it over for me. I +shall never forget your kindness, Tibbikins, if you do this." + +"What is the sum?" + +"Five thousand." + +"Good God alive!" said Tibby, and went crimson. + +"Now, what is the good of driblets? To go through life having +done one thing--to have raised one person from the abyss; not +these puny gifts of shillings and blankets--making the grey more +grey. No doubt people will think me extraordinary." + +"I don't care an iota what people think!" cried he, heated to +unusual manliness of diction. "But it's half what you have." + +"Not nearly half." She spread out her hands over her soiled +skirt. "I have far too much, and we settled at Chelsea last +spring that three hundred a year is necessary to set a man on +his feet. What I give will bring in a hundred and fifty between +two. It isn't enough." +He could not recover. He was not angry or even shocked, and he +saw that Helen would still have plenty to live on. But it amazed +him to think what haycocks people can make of their lives. His +delicate intonations would not work, and he could only blurt out +that the five thousand pounds would mean a great deal of bother +for him personally. + +"I didn't expect you to understand me." + +"I? I understand nobody." + +"But you'll do it?" + +"Apparently." + +"I leave you two commissions, then. The first concerns Mr. +Wilcox, and you are to use your discretion. The second concerns +the money, and is to be mentioned to no one, and carried out +literally. You will send a hundred pounds on account to-morrow." + +He walked with her to the station, passing through those streets +whose serried beauty never bewildered him and never fatigued. The +lovely creature raised domes and spires into the cloudless blue, +and only the ganglion of vulgarity round Carfax showed how +evanescent was the phantom, how faint its claim to represent +England. Helen, rehearsing her commission, noticed nothing; the +Basts were in her brain, and she retold the crisis in a +meditative way, which might have made other men curious. She was +seeing whether it would hold. He asked her once why she had taken +the Basts right into the heart of Evie's wedding. She stopped +like a frightened animal and said, "Does that seem to you so +odd?" Her eyes, the hand laid on the mouth, quite haunted him, +until they were absorbed into the figure of St. Mary the Virgin, +before whom he paused for a moment on the walk home. + +It is convenient to follow him in the discharge of his duties. +Margaret summoned him the next day. She was terrified at Helen's +flight, and he had to say that she had called in at Oxford. Then +she said: "Did she seem worried at any rumour about Henry?" He +answered, "Yes." "I knew it was that!" she exclaimed. "I'll +write to her." Tibbv was relieved. + +He then sent the cheque to the address that Helen gave him, and +stated that he was instructed to forward later on five thousand +pounds. An answer came back very civil and quiet in tone--such an +answer as Tibby himself would have given. The cheque was +returned, the legacy refused, the writer being in no need of +money. Tibby forwarded this to Helen, adding in the fulness of +his heart that Leonard Bast seemed somewhat a monumental person +after all. Helen's reply was frantic. He was to take no notice. +He was to go down at once and say that she commanded acceptance. +He went. A scurf of books and china ornaments awaited him. The +Basts had just been evicted for not paying their rent, and had +wandered no one knew whither. Helen had begun bungling with her +money by this time, and had even sold out her shares in the +Nottingham and Derby Railway. For some weeks she did nothing. +Then she reinvested, and, owing to the good advice of her +stockbrokers, became rather richer than she had been before. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +Houses have their own ways of dying, falling as variously as the +generations of men, some with a tragic roar, some quietly, but to +an after-life in the city of ghosts, while from others--and thus +was the death of Wickham Place--the spirit slips before the body +perishes. It had decayed in the spring, disintegrating the girls +more than they knew, and causing either to accost unfamiliar +regions. By September it was a corpse, void of emotion, and +scarcely hallowed by the memories of thirty years of happiness. +Through its round-topped doorway passed furniture, and pictures, +and books, until the last room was gutted and the last van had +rumbled away. It stood for a week or two longer, open-eyed, as if +astonished at its own emptiness. Then it fell. Navvies came, and +spilt it back into the grey. With their muscles and their beery +good temper, they were not the worst of undertakers for a house +which had always been human, and had not mistaken culture for an +end. + +The furniture, with a few exceptions, went down into +Hertfordshire, Mr. Wilcox having most kindly offered Howards End +as a warehouse. Mr. Bryce had died abroad--an unsatisfactory +affair--and as there seemed little guarantee that the rent would +be paid regularly, he cancelled the agreement, and resumed +possession himself. Until he relet the house, the Schlegels were +welcome to stack their furniture in the garage and lower rooms. +Margaret demurred, but Tibby accepted the offer gladly; it saved +him from coming to any decision about the future. The plate and +the more valuable pictures found a safer home in London, but the +bulk of the things went country-ways, and were entrusted to the +guardianship of Miss Avery. + +Shortly before the move, our hero and heroine were married. They +have weathered the storm, and may reasonably expect peace. To +have no illusions and yet to love--what stronger surety can a +woman find? She had seen her husband's past as well as his heart. +She knew her own heart with a thoroughness that commonplace +people believe impossible. The heart of Mrs. Wilcox was alone +hidden, and perhaps it is superstitious to speculate on the +feelings of the dead. They were warned quietly--really quietly, +for as the day approached she refused to go through another +Oniton. Her brother gave her away, her aunt, who was out of +health, presided over a few colourless refreshments. The Wilcoxes +were represented by Charles, who witnessed the marriage +settlement, and by Mr. Cahill. Paul did send a cablegram. In a few +minutes, and without the aid of music, the clergyman made them +man and wife, and soon the glass shade had fallen that cuts off +married couples from the world. She, a monogamist, regretted the +cessation of some of life's innocent odours; he, whose instincts +were polygamous, felt morally braced by the change and less +liable to the temptations that had assailed him in the past. + +They spent their honeymoon near Innsbruck. Henry knew of a +reliable hotel there, and Margaret hoped for a meeting with her +sister. In this she was disappointed. As they came south, Helen +retreated over the Brenner, and wrote an unsatisfactory post-card +from the shores of the Lake of Garda, saying that her plans were +uncertain and had better be ignored. Evidently she disliked +meeting Henry. Two months are surely enough to accustom an +outsider to a situation which a wife has accepted in two days, +and Margaret had again to regret her sister's lack of +self-control. In a long letter she pointed out the need of +charity in sexual matters; so little is known about them; it is +hard enough for those who are personally touched to judge; then +how futile must be the verdict of Society. "I don't say there is +no standard, for that would destroy morality; only that there can +be no standard until our impulses are classified and better +understood." Helen thanked her for her kind letter--rather a +curious reply. She moved south again, and spoke of wintering in +Naples. + +Mr. Wilcox was not sorry that the meeting failed. Helen left him +time to grow skin over his wound. There were still moments when +it pained him. Had he only known that Margaret was awaiting him-- +Margaret, so lively and intelligent, and yet so submissive--he +would have kept himself worthier of her. Incapable of grouping +the past, he confused the episode of Jacky with another episode +that had taken place in the days of his bachelorhood. The two +made one crop of wild oats, for which he was heartily sorry, and +he could not see that those oats are of a darker stock which are +rooted in another's dishonour. Unchastity and infidelity were +as confused to him as to the Middle Ages, his only moral teacher. +Ruth (poor old Ruth!) did not enter into his calculations at all, +for poor old Ruth had never found him out. + +His affection for his present wife grew steadily. Her cleverness +gave him no trouble, and, indeed, he liked to see her reading +poetry or something about social questions; it distinguished her +from the wives of other men. He had only to call, and she clapped +the book up and was ready to do what he wished. Then they would +argue so jollily, and once or twice she had him in quite a tight +corner, but as soon as he grew really serious, she gave in. Man +is for war, woman for the recreation of the warrior, but he does +not dislike it if she makes a show of fight. She cannot win in a +real battle, having no muscles, only nerves. Nerves make her jump +out of a moving motor-car, or refuse to be married fashionably. +The warrior may well allow her to triumph on such occasions; they +move not the imperishable plinth of things that touch his peace. + +Margaret had a bad attack of these nerves during the honeymoon. +He told her--casually, as was his habit--that Oniton Grange was +let. She showed her annoyance, and asked rather crossly why she +had not been consulted. + +"I didn't want to bother you," he replied. "Besides, I have only +heard for certain this morning." + +"Where are we to live?" said Margaret, trying to laugh. "I loved +the place extraordinarily. Don't you believe in having a +permanent home, Henry?" + +He assured her that she misunderstood him. It is home life that +distinguishes us from the foreigner. But he did not believe in a +damp home. + +"This is news. I never heard till this minute that Oniton was +damp." + +"My dear girl!"--he flung out his hand--"have you eyes? have you +a skin? How could it be anything but damp in such a situation? In +the first place, the Grange is on clay, and built where the +castle moat must have been; then there's that detestable little +river, steaming all night like a kettle. Feel the cellar walls; +look up under the eaves. Ask Sir James or any one. Those +Shropshire valleys are notorious. The only possible place for a +house in Shropshire is on a hill; but, for my part, I think the +country is too far from London, and the scenery nothing special." + +Margaret could not resist saying, "Why did you go there, then?" + +"I--because--" He drew his head back and grew rather angry. "Why +have we come to the Tyrol, if it comes to that? One might go on +asking such questions indefinitely." + +One might; but he was only gaining time for a plausible answer. +Out it came, and he believed it as soon as it was spoken. + +"The truth is, I took Oniton on account of Evie. Don't let this +go any further." + +"Certainly not." + +"I shouldn't like her to know that she nearly let me in for a +very bad bargain. No sooner did I sign the agreement than she got +engaged. Poor little girl! She was so keen on it all, and +wouldn't even wait to make proper inquiries about the shooting. +Afraid it would get snapped up--just like all of your sex. Well, +no harm's done. She has had her country wedding, and I've got rid +of my goose to some fellows who are starting a preparatory +school." + +"Where shall we live, then, Henry? I should enjoy living +somewhere." + +"I have not yet decided. What about Norfolk?" + +Margaret was silent. Marriage had not saved her from the sense of +flux. London was but a foretaste of this nomadic civilisation +which is altering human nature so profoundly, and throws upon +personal relations a stress greater than they have ever borne +before. Under cosmopolitanism, if it comes, we shall receive no +help from the earth. Trees and meadows and mountains will only be +a spectacle, and the binding force that they once exercised on +character must be entrusted to Love alone. May Love be equal to +the task! + +"It is now what?" continued Henry. "Nearly October. Let us camp +for the winter at Ducie Street, and look out for something in the +spring." + +"If possible, something permanent. I can't be as young as I was, +for these alterations don't suit me." + +"But, my dear, which would you rather have--alterations or +rheumatism?" + +"I see your point," said Margaret, getting up. "If Oniton is +really damp, it is impossible, and must be inhabited by little +boys. Only, in the spring, let us look before we leap. I will +take warning by Evie, and not hurry you. Remember that you have a +free hand this time. These endless moves must be bad for the +furniture, and are certainly expensive." + +"What a practical little woman it is! What's it been reading? +Theo--theo--how much?" + +"Theosophy." + +So Ducie Street was her first fate--a pleasant enough fate. The +house, being only a little larger than Wickham Place, trained her +for the immense establishment that was promised in the spring. +They were frequently away, but at home life ran fairly regularly. +In the morning Henry went to business, and his sandwich--a relic +this of some prehistoric craving--was always cut by her own hand. +He did not rely upon the sandwich for lunch, but liked to have it +by him in case he grew hungry at eleven. When he had gone, there +was the house to look after, and the servants to humanise, and +several kettles of Helen's to keep on the boil. Her conscience +pricked her a little about the Basts; she was not sorry to have +lost sight of them. No doubt Leonard was worth helping, but being +Henry's wife, she preferred to help some one else. As for +theatres and discussion societies, they attracted her less and +less. She began to "miss" new movements, and to spend her spare +time re-reading or thinking, rather to the concern of her Chelsea +friends. They attributed the change to her marriage, and perhaps +some deep instinct did warn her not to travel further from her +husband than was inevitable. Yet the main cause lay deeper still; +she had outgrown stimulants, and was passing from words to +things. It was doubtless a pity not to keep up with Wedekind or +John, but some closing of the gates is inevitable after thirty, +if the mind itself is to become a creative power. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +She was looking at plans one day in the following spring--they +had finally decided to go down into Sussex and build--when Mrs. +Charles Wilcox was announced. + +"Have you heard the news?" Dolly cried, as soon as she entered +the room. Charles is so ang--I mean he is sure you know about it, +or, rather, that you don't know." + +"Why, Dolly!" said Margaret, placidly kissing her. "Here's a +surprise! How are the boys and the baby?" + +Boys and the baby were well, and in describing a great row that +there had been at the Hilton Tennis Club, Dolly forgot her news. +The wrong people had tried to get in. The rector, as representing +the older inhabitants, had said--Charles had said--the +tax-collector had said--Charles had regretted not saying--and she +closed the description with, "But lucky you, with four courts of +your own at Midhurst." + +"It will be very jolly," replied Margaret. + +"Are those the plans? Does it matter my seeing them?" + +"Of course not." + +"Charles has never seen the plans." + +"They have only just arrived. Here is the ground floor--no, +that's rather difficult. Try the elevation, We are to have a good +many gables and a picturesque sky-line." + +"What makes it smell so funny?" said Dolly, after a moment's +inspection. She was incapable of understanding plans or maps. + +"I suppose the paper." + +"And WHICH way up is it?" + +"Just the ordinary way up. That's the sky-line and the part that +smells strongest is the sky." + +"Well, ask me another. Margaret--oh--what was I going to say? +How's Helen?" + +"Quite well." + +"Is she never coming back to England? Every one thinks it's +awfully odd she doesn't." + +"So it is," said Margaret, trying to conceal her vexation. She +was getting rather sore on this point. "Helen is odd, awfully. +She has now been away eight months." + +"But hasn't she any address?" + +"A poste restante somewhere in Bavaria is her address. Do write +her a line. I will look it up for you." + +"No, don't bother. That's eight months she has been away, +surely?" + +"Exactly. She left just after Evie's wedding. It would be eight +months." + +"Just when baby was born, then?" + +"Just so." + +Dolly sighed, and stared enviously round the drawing-room. She +was beginning to lose her brightness and good looks. The +Charles's were not well off, for Mr. Wilcox, having brought up +his children with expensive tastes, believed in letting them +shift for themselves. After all, he had not treated them +generously. Yet another baby was expected, she told Margaret, and +they would have to give up the motor. Margaret sympathised, but +in a formal fashion, and Dolly little imagined that the +stepmother was urging Mr. Wilcox to make them a more liberal +allowance. She sighed again, and at last the particular grievance +was remembered. "Oh, yes," she cried, "that is it: Miss Avery has +been unpacking your packing-cases." + +"Why has she done that? How unnecessary!" + +"Ask another. I suppose you ordered her to." + +"I gave no such orders. Perhaps she was airing the things. She +did undertake to light an occasional fire." + +"It was far more than an air," said Dolly solemnly. "The floor +sounds covered with books. Charles sent me to know what is to be +done, for he feels certain you don't know." + +"Books!" cried Margaret, moved by the holy word. "Dolly, are you +serious? Has she been touching our books?" + +"Hasn't she, though! What used to be the hall's full of them. +Charles thought for certain you knew of it." + +"I am very much obliged to you, Dolly. What can have come over +Miss Avery? I must go down about it at once. Some of the books +are my brother's, and are quite valuable. She had no right to +open any of the cases." + +"I say she's dotty. She was the one that never got married, you +know. Oh, I say, perhaps, she thinks your books are +wedding-presents to herself. Old maids are taken that way +sometimes. Miss Avery hates us all like poison ever since her +frightful dust-up with Evie." + +"I hadn't heard of that," said Margaret. A visit from Dolly had +its compensations. + +"Didn't you know she gave Evie a present last August, and Evie +returned it, and then--oh, goloshes! You never read such a letter +as Miss Avery wrote." + +"But it was wrong of Evie to return it. It wasn't like her to do +such a heartless thing." + +"But the present was so expensive." + +"Why does that make any difference, Dolly?" + +"Still, when it costs over five pounds--I didn't see it, but it +was a lovely enamel pendant from a Bond Street shop. You can't +very well accept that kind of thing from a farm woman. Now, can +you?" + +"You accepted a present from Miss Avery when you were married." + +"Oh, mine was old earthenware stuff--not worth a halfpenny. +Evie's was quite different. You'd have to ask any one to the +wedding who gave you a pendant like that. Uncle Percy and Albert +and father and Charles all said it was quite impossible, and when +four men agree, what is a girl to do? Evie didn't want to upset +the old thing, so thought a sort of joking letter best, and +returned the pendant straight to the shop to save Miss Avery +trouble." + +"But Miss Avery said--" + +Dolly's eyes grew round. "It was a perfectly awful letter. +Charles said it was the letter of a madman. In the end she had +the pendant back again from the shop and threw it into the +duck-pond." + +"Did she give any reasons?" + +"We think she meant to be invited to Oniton, and so climb into +society." + +"She's rather old for that," said Margaret pensively. + +"May she not have given the present to Evie in remembrance of her +mother?" + +"That's a notion. Give every one their due, eh? Well, I suppose I +ought to be toddling. Come along, Mr. Muff--you want a new coat, +but I don't know who'll give it you, I'm sure;" and addressing +her apparel with mournful humour, Dolly moved from the room. + +Margaret followed her to ask whether Henry knew about Miss +Avery's rudeness. + +"Oh yes." + +"I wonder, then, why he let me ask her to look after the house." + +"But she's only a farm woman," said Dolly, and her explanation +proved correct. Henry only censured the lower classes when it +suited him. He bore with Miss Avery as with Crane--because he +could get good value out of them. "I have patience with a man who +knows his job," he would say, really having patience with the +job, and not the man. Paradoxical as it may sound, he had +something of the artist about him; he would pass over an insult +to his daughter sooner than lose a good charwoman for his wife. + +Margaret judged it better to settle the little trouble herself. +Parties were evidently ruffled. With Henry's permission, she +wrote a pleasant note to Miss Avery, asking her to leave the +cases untouched. Then, at the first convenient opportunity, she +went down herself, intending to repack her belongings and store +them properly in the local warehouse; the plan had been +amateurish and a failure. Tibby promised to accompany her, but at +the last moment begged to be excused. So, for the second time in +her life, she entered the house alone. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +The day of her visit was exquisite, and the last of unclouded +happiness that she was to have for many months. Her anxiety about +Helen's extraordinary absence was still dormant, and as for a +possible brush with Miss Avery-that only gave zest to the +expedition. She had also eluded Dolly's invitation to luncheon. +Walking straight up from the station, she crossed the village +green and entered the long chestnut avenue that connects it with +the church. The church itself stood in the village once. But it +there attracted so many worshippers that the devil, in a pet, +snatched it from its foundations, and poised it on an +inconvenient knoll, three quarters of a mile away. If this story +is true, the chestnut avenue must have been planted by the +angels. No more tempting approach could be imagined for the +lukewarm Christian, and if he still finds the walk too long, the +devil is defeated all the same, Science having built Holy +Trinity, a Chapel of Ease, near the Charles's and roofed it with +tin. + +Up the avenue Margaret strolled slowly, stopping to watch the sky +that gleamed through the upper branches of the chestnuts, or to +finger the little horseshoes on the lower branches. Why has not +England a great mythology? our folklore has never advanced beyond +daintiness, and the greater melodies about our country-side have +all issued through the pipes of Greece. Deep and true as the +native imagination can be, it seems to have failed here. It has +stopped with the witches and the fairies. It cannot vivify one +fraction of a summer field, or give names to half a dozen stars. +England still waits for the supreme moment of her literature--for +the great poet who shall voice her, or, better still for the +thousand little poets whose voices shall pass into our common +talk. + +At the church the scenery changed. The chestnut avenue opened +into a road, smooth but narrow, which led into the untouched +country. She followed it for over a mile. Its little hesitations +pleased her. Having no urgent destiny, it strolled downhill or up +as it wished, taking no trouble about the gradients, or about the +view, which nevertheless expanded. The great estates that +throttle the south of Hertfordshire were less obtrusive here, and +the appearance of the land was neither aristocratic nor suburban. +To define it was difficult, but Margaret knew what it was not: it +was not snobbish. Though its contours were slight, there was a +touch of freedom in their sweep to which Surrey will never +attain, and the distant brow of the Chilterns towered like a +mountain. "Left to itself," was Margaret's opinion, "this county +would vote Liberal." The comradeship, not passionate, that is our +highest gift as a nation, was promised by it, as by the low brick +farm where she called for the key. + +But the inside of the farm was disappointing. A most finished +young person received her. "Yes, Mrs. Wilcox; no, Mrs. Wilcox; oh +yes, Mrs. Wilcox, auntie received your letter quite duly. Auntie +has gone up to your little place at the present moment. Shall I +send the servant to direct you?" Followed by: "Of course, auntie +does not generally look after your place; she only does it to +oblige a neighbour as something exceptional. It gives her +something to do. She spends quite a lot of her time there. My +husband says to me sometimes, "Where's auntie?' I say, 'Need you +ask? She's at Howards End.' Yes, Mrs. Wilcox. Mrs. Wilcox, could +I prevail upon you to accept a piece of cake? Not if I cut it for +you?" + +Margaret refused the cake, but unfortunately this gave her +gentility in the eyes of Miss Avery's niece. + +"I cannot let you go on alone. Now don't. You really mustn't. I +will direct you myself if it comes to that. I must get my hat. +Now"--roguishly--"Mrs. Wilcox, don't you move while I'm gone." + +Stunned, Margaret did not move from the best parlour, over which +the touch of art nouveau had fallen. But the other rooms looked +in keeping, though they conveyed the peculiar sadness of a rural +interior. Here had lived an elder race, to which we look back +with disquietude. The country which we visit at week-ends was +really a home to it, and the graver sides of life, the deaths, +the partings, the yearnings for love, have their deepest +expression in the heart of the fields. All was not sadness. The +sun was shining without. The thrush sang his two syllables on the +budding guelder-rose. Some children were playing uproariously in +heaps of golden straw. It was the presence of sadness at all that +surprised Margaret, and ended by giving her a feeling of +completeness. In these English farms, if anywhere, one might see +life steadily and see it whole, group in one vision its +transitoriness and its eternal youth, connect--connect without +bitterness until all men are brothers. But her thoughts were +interrupted by the return of Miss Avery's niece, and were so +tranquillising that she suffered the interruption gladly. + +It was quicker to go out by the back door, and, after due +explanations, they went out by it. The niece was now mortified by +innumerable chickens, who rushed up to her feet for food, and by +a shameless and maternal sow. She did not know what animals were +coming to. But her gentility withered at the touch of the sweet +air. The wind was rising, scattering the straw and ruffling the +tails of the ducks as they floated in families over Evie's +pendant. One of those delicious gales of spring, in which leaves +still in bud seem to rustle, swept over the land and then fell +silent. "Georgie," sang the thrush. "Cuckoo," came furtively from +the cliff of pine-trees. "Georgie, pretty Georgie," and the other +birds joined in with nonsense. The hedge was a half-painted +picture which would be finished in a few days. Celandines grew on +its banks, lords and ladies and primroses in the defended +hollows; the wild rose-bushes, still bearing their withered hips, +showed also the promise of blossom. Spring had come, clad in no +classical garb, yet fairer than all springs; fairer even than she +who walks through the myrtles of Tuscany with the graces before +her and the zephyr behind. + +The two women walked up the lane full of outward civility. But +Margaret was thinking how difficult it was to be earnest about +furniture on such a day, and the niece was thinking about hats. +Thus engaged, they reached Howards End. Petulant cries of +"Auntie!" severed the air. There was no reply, and the front door +was locked. + +"Are you sure that Miss Avery is up here?" asked Margaret. + +"Oh, yes, Mrs. Wilcox, quite sure. She is here daily." + +Margaret tried to look in through the dining-room window, but the +curtain inside was drawn tightly. So with the drawing-room and +the hall. The appearance of these curtains was familiar, yet she +did not remember their being there on her other visit; her +impression was that Mr. Bryce had taken everything away. They +tried the back. Here again they received no answer, and could see +nothing; the kitchen-window was fitted with a blind, while the +pantry and scullery had pieces of wood propped up against them, +which looked ominously like the lids of packing-cases. Margaret +thought of her books, and she lifted up her voice also. At the +first cry she succeeded. + +"Well, well!" replied some one inside the house. "If it isn't +Mrs. Wilcox come at last!" + +"Have you got the key, auntie?" + +"Madge, go away," said Miss Avery, still invisible. + +"Auntie, it's Mrs. Wilcox--" + +Margaret supported her. "Your niece and I have come together." + +"Madge, go away. This is no moment for your hat." + +The poor woman went red. "Auntie gets more eccentric lately," she +said nervously. + +"Miss Avery!" called Margaret. "I have come about the furniture. +Could you kindly let me in?" + +"Yes, Mrs. Wilcox," said the voice, "of course." But after that +came silence. They called again without response. They walked +round the house disconsolately. + +"I hope Miss Avery is not ill," hazarded Margaret. + +"Well, if you'll excuse me," said Madge, "perhaps I ought to be +leaving you now. The servants need seeing to at the farm. Auntie +is so odd at times." Gathering up her elegancies, she retired +defeated, and, as if her departure had loosed a spring, the front +door opened at once. + +Miss Avery said, "Well, come right in, Mrs. Wilcox!" quite +pleasantly and calmly. + +"Thank you so much," began Margaret, but broke off at the sight +of an umbrella-stand. It was her own. + +"Come right into the hall first," said Miss Avery. She drew the +curtain, and Margaret uttered a cry of despair. For an appalling +thing had happened. The hall was fitted up with the contents of +the library from Wickham Place. The carpet had been laid, the big +work-table drawn up near the window; the bookcases filled the +wall opposite the fireplace, and her father's sword--this is what +bewildered her particularly--had been drawn from its scabbard and +hung naked amongst the sober volumes. Miss Avery must have worked +for days. + +"I'm afraid this isn't what we meant," she began. "Mr. Wilcox and +I never intended the cases to be touched. For instance, these +books are my brother's. We are storing them for him and for my +sister, who is abroad. When you kindly undertook to look after +things, we never expected you to do so much." + +"The house has been empty long enough," said the old woman. + +Margaret refused to argue. "I dare say we didn't explain," she +said civilly. "It has been a mistake, and very likely our +mistake." + +"Mrs. Wilcox, it has been mistake upon mistake for fifty years. +The house is Mrs. Wilcox's, and she would not desire it to stand +empty any longer." + +To help the poor decaying brain, Margaret said: + +"Yes, Mrs. Wilcox's house, the mother of Mr. Charles." + +"Mistake upon mistake," said Miss Avery. "Mistake upon mistake." + +"Well, I don't know," said Margaret, sitting down in one of her +own chairs. "I really don't know what's to be done." She could +not help laughing. + +The other said: "Yes, it should be a merry house enough." + +"I don't know--I dare say. Well, thank you very much, Miss Avery. +Yes, that's all right. Delightful." + +"There is still the parlour." She went through the door opposite +and drew a curtain. Light flooded the drawing-room furniture from +Wickham Place. "And the dining-room." More curtains were drawn, +more windows were flung open to the spring. "Then through here--" +Miss Avery continued passing and reprising through the hall. Her +voice was lost, but Margaret heard her pulling up the kitchen +blind. "I've not finished here yet," she announced, returning. +"There's still a deal to do. The farm lads will carry your great +wardrobes upstairs, for there is no need to go into expense at +Hilton." + +"It is all a mistake," repeated Margaret, feeling that she must +put her foot down. "A misunderstanding. Mr. Wilcox and I are not +going to live at Howards End." + +"Oh, indeed! On account of his hay fever?" + +"We have settled to build a new home for ourselves in Sussex, and +part of this furniture--my part--will go down there presently." +She looked at Miss Avery intently, trying to understand the kink +in her brain. + +Here was no maundering old woman. Her wrinkles were shrewd and +humorous. She looked capable of scathing wit and also of high but +unostentatious nobility. "You think that you won't come back to +live here, Mrs. Wilcox, but you will." + +"That remains to be seen," said Margaret, smiling. "We have no +intention of doing so for the present. We happen to need a much +larger house. Circumstances oblige us to give big parties. Of +course, some day--one never knows, does one?" + +Miss Avery retorted: "Some day! Tcha! tcha! Don't talk about some +day. You are living here now." + +"Am I?" + +"You are living here, and have been for the last ten minutes, if +you ask me." + +It was a senseless remark, but with a queer feeling of disloyalty +Margaret rose from her chair. She felt that Henry had been +obscurely censured. They went into the dining-room, where the +sunlight poured in upon her mother's chiffonier, and upstairs, +where many an old god peeped from a new niche. The furniture +fitted extraordinarily well. In the central room--over the hall, +the room that Helen had slept in four years ago--Miss Avery had +placed Tibby's old bassinette. + +"The nursery," she said. + +Margaret turned away without speaking. + +At last everything was seen. The kitchen and lobby were still +stacked with furniture and straw, but, as far as she could make +out, nothing had been broken or scratched. A pathetic display of +ingenuity! Then they took a friendly stroll in the garden. It had +gone wild since her last visit. The gravel sweep was weedy, and +grass had sprung up at the very jaws of the garage. And Evie's +rockery was only bumps. Perhaps Evie was responsible for Miss +Avery's oddness. But Margaret suspected that the cause lay +deeper, and that the girl's silly letter had but loosed the +irritation of years. + +"It's a beautiful meadow," she remarked. It was one of those +open-air drawing-rooms that have been formed, hundreds of years +ago, out of the smaller fields. So the boundary hedge zigzagged +down the hill at right angles, and at the bottom there was a +little green annex--a sort of powder-closet for the cows. + +"Yes, the maidy's well enough," said Miss Avery, "for those, that +is, who don't suffer from sneezing." And she cackled maliciously. +"I've seen Charlie Wilcox go out to my lads in hay time--oh, they +ought to do this--they mustn't do that--he'd learn them to be +lads. And just then the tickling took him. He has it from his +father, with other things. There's not one Wilcox that can stand +up against a field in June--I laughed fit to burst while he was +courting Ruth." + +"My brother gets hay fever too," said Margaret. + +"This house lies too much on the land for them. Naturally, they +were glad enough to slip in at first. But Wilcoxes are better +than nothing, as I see you've found." + +Margaret laughed. + +"They keep a place going, don't they? Yes, it is just that." + +"They keep England going, it is my opinion." + +But Miss Avery upset her by replying: "Ay, they breed like +rabbits. Well, well, it's a funny world. But He who made it knows +what He wants in it, I suppose. If Mrs. Charlie is expecting her +fourth, it isn't for us to repine." + +"They breed and they also work," said Margaret, conscious of some +invitation to disloyalty, which was echoed by the very breeze and +by the songs of the birds. "It certainly is a funny world, but so +long as men like my husband and his sons govern it, I think it'll +never be a bad one--never really bad." + +"No, better'n nothing," said Miss Avery, and turned to the +wych-elm. + +On their way back to the farm she spoke of her old friend much +more clearly than before. In the house Margaret had wondered +whether she quite distinguished the first wife from the second. +Now she said: "I never saw much of Ruth after her grandmother +died, but we stayed civil. It was a very civil family. Old Mrs. +Howard never spoke against anybody, nor let any one be turned +away without food. Then it was never 'Trespassers will be +prosecuted' in their land, but would people please not come in? +Mrs. Howard was never created to run a farm." + +"Had they no men to help them?" Margaret asked. + +Miss Avery replied: "Things went on until there were no men." + +"Until Mr. Wilcox came along," corrected Margaret, anxious that +her husband should receive his dues. + +"I suppose so; but Ruth should have married a--no disrespect to +you to say this, for I take it you were intended to get Wilcox +any way, whether she got him first or no." + +"Whom should she have married?" + +"A soldier!" exclaimed the old woman. "Some real soldier." + +Margaret was silent. It was a criticism of Henry's character far +more trenchant than any of her own. She felt dissatisfied. + +"But that's all over," she went on. "A better time is coming now, +though you've kept me long enough waiting. In a couple of weeks +I'll see your light shining through the hedge of an evening. Have +you ordered in coals?" + +"We are not coming," said Margaret firmly. She respected Miss +Avery too much to humour her. "No. Not coming. Never coming. It +has all been a mistake. The furniture must be repacked at once, +and I am very sorry, but I am making other arrangements, and must +ask you to give me the keys." + +"Certainly, Mrs. Wilcox," said Miss Avery, and resigned her +duties with a smile. + +Relieved at this conclusion, and having sent her compliments to +Madge, Margaret walked back to the station. She had intended to +go to the furniture warehouse and give directions for removal, +but the muddle had turned out more extensive than she expected, +so she decided to consult Henry. It was as well that she did +this. He was strongly against employing the local man whom he had +previously recommended, and advised her to store in London after +all. + +But before this could be done an unexpected trouble fell upon +her. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +It was not unexpected entirely. Aunt Juley's health had been bad +all winter. She had had a long series of colds and coughs, and +had been too busy to get rid of them. She had scarcely promised +her niece "to really take my tiresome chest in hand," when she +caught a chill and developed acute pneumonia. Margaret and Tibby +went down to Swanage. Helen was telegraphed for, and that spring +party that after all gathered in that hospitable house had all +the pathos of fair memories. On a perfect day, when the sky +seemed blue porcelain, and the waves of the discreet little bay +beat gentlest of tattoos upon the sand, Margaret hurried up +through the rhododendrons, confronted again by the senselessness +of Death. One death may explain itself, but it throws no light +upon another; the groping inquiry must begin anew. Preachers or +scientists may generalise, but we know that no generality is +possible about those whom we love; not one heaven awaits them, +not even one oblivion. Aunt Juley, incapable of tragedy, slipped +out of life with odd little laughs and apologies for having +stopped in it so long. She was very weak; she could not rise to +the occasion, or realise the great mystery which all agree must +await her; it only seemed to her that she was quite done up--more +done up than ever before; that she saw and heard and felt less +every moment; and that, unless something changed, she would soon +feel nothing. Her spare strength she devoted to plans: could not +Margaret take some steamer expeditions? were mackerel cooked as +Tibby liked them? She worried herself about Helen's absence, and +also that she should be the cause of Helen's return. The nurses +seemed to think such interests quite natural, and perhaps hers +was an average approach to the Great Gate. But Margaret saw Death +stripped of any false romance; whatever the idea of Death may +contain, the process can be trivial and hideous. + +"Important--Margaret dear, take the Lulworth when Helen comes." + +"Helen won't be able to stop, Aunt Juley. She has telegraphed +that she can only get away just to see you. She must go back to +Germany as soon as you are well." + +"How very odd of Helen! Mr. Wilcox--" + +"Yes, dear?" + +"Can he spare you?" + +Henry wished her to come, and had been very kind. Yet again +Margaret said so. + +Mrs. Munt did not die. Quite outside her will, a more dignified +power took hold of her and checked her on the downward slope. She +returned, without emotion, as fidgety as ever. On the fourth day +she was out of danger. + +"Margaret--important," it went on: "I should like you to have +some companion to take walks with. Do try Miss Conder." + +"I have been for a little walk with Miss Conder." + +"But she is not really interesting. If only you had Helen." + +"I have Tibby, Aunt Juley." + +"No, but he has to do his Chinese. Some real companion is what +you need. Really, Helen is odd." + +"Helen is odd, very," agreed Margaret. + +"Not content with going abroad, why does she want to go back +there at once?" + +"No doubt she will change her mind when she sees us. She has not +the least balance." + +That was the stock criticism about Helen, but Margaret's voice +trembled as she made it. By now she was deeply pained at her +sister's behaviour. It may be unbalanced to fly out of England, +but to stay away eight months argues that the heart is awry as +well as the head. A sick-bed could recall Helen, but she was deaf +to more human calls; after a glimpse at her aunt, she would +retire into her nebulous life behind some poste restante. She +scarcely existed; her letters had become dull and infrequent; she +had no wants and no curiosity. And it was all put down to poor +Henry's account! Henry, long pardoned by his wife, was still too +infamous to be greeted by his sister-in-law. It was morbid, and, +to her alarm, Margaret fancied that she could trace the growth of +morbidity back in Helen's life for nearly four years. The flight +from Oniton; the unbalanced patronage of the Basts; the explosion +of grief up on the Downs--all connected with Paul, an +insignificant boy whose lips had kissed hers for a fraction of +time. Margaret and Mrs. Wilcox had feared that they might kiss +again. Foolishly--the real danger was reaction. Reaction against +the Wilcoxes had eaten into her life until she was scarcely sane. +At twenty-five she had an idee fixe. What hope was there for her +as an old woman? + +The more Margaret thought about it the more alarmed she became. +For many months she had put the subject away, but it was too big +to be slighted now. There was almost a taint of madness. Were all +Helen's actions to be governed by a tiny mishap, such as may +happen to any young man or woman? Can human nature be constructed +on lines so insignificant? The blundering little encounter at +Howards End was vital. It propagated itself where graver +intercourse lay barren; it was stronger than sisterly intimacy, +stronger than reason or books. In one of her moods Helen had +confessed that she still "enjoyed" it in a certain sense. Paul +had faded, but the magic of his caress endured. And where there +is enjoyment of the past there may also be reaction--propagation +at both ends. + +Well, it is odd and sad that our minds should be such seed-beds, +and we without power to choose the seed. But man is an odd, sad +creature as yet, intent on pilfering the earth, and heedless of +the growths within himself. He cannot be bored about psychology. +He leaves it to the specialist, which is as if he should leave +his dinner to be eaten by a steam-engine. He cannot be bothered +to digest his own soul. Margaret and Helen have been more +patient, and it is suggested that Margaret has succeeded--so far +as success is yet possible. She does understand herself, she has +some rudimentary control over her own growth. Whether Helen has +succeeded one cannot say. + +The day that Mrs. Munt rallied Helen's letter arrived. She had +posted it at Munich, and would be in London herself on the +morrow. It was a disquieting letter, though the opening was +affectionate and sane. + +"DEAREST MEG, + +"Give Helen's love to Aunt Juley. Tell her that I love, and have +loved her ever since I can remember. I shall be in London +Thursday. + +"My address will be care of the bankers. I have not yet settled +on a hotel, so write or wire to me there and give me detailed +news. If Aunt Juley is much better, or if, for a terrible reason, +it would be no good my coming down to Swanage, you must not think +it odd if I do not come. I have all sorts of plans in my head. I +am living abroad at present, and want to get back as quickly as +possible. Will you please tell me where our furniture is? I +should like to take out one or two books; the rest are for you. + +"Forgive me, dearest Meg. This must read like rather a tiresome +letter, but all letters are from your loving + + "HELEN." + +It was a tiresome letter, for it tempted Margaret to tell a lie. +If she wrote that Aunt Juley was still in danger her sister would +come. Unhealthiness is contagious. We cannot be in contact with +those who are in a morbid state without ourselves deteriorating. +To "act for the best" might do Helen good, but would do herself +harm, and, at the risk of disaster, she kept her colours flying a +little longer. She replied that their aunt was much better, and +awaited developments. + +Tibby approved of her reply. Mellowing rapidly, he was a +pleasanter companion than before. Oxford had done much for him. +He had lost his peevishness, and could hide his indifference to +people and his interest in food. But he had not grown more human. +The years between eighteen and twenty-two, so magical for most, +were leading him gently from boyhood to middle age. He had never +known young-manliness, that quality which warms the heart till +death, and gives Mr. Wilcox an imperishable charm. He was frigid, +through no fault of his own, and without cruelty. He thought +Helen wrong and Margaret right, but the family trouble was for +him what a scene behind footlights is for most people. He had +only one suggestion to make, and that was characteristic. + +"Why don't you tell Mr. Wilcox?" + +"About Helen?" + +"Perhaps he has come across that sort of thing." + +"He would do all he could, but--" + +"Oh, you know best. But he is practical." + +It was the student's belief in experts. Margaret demurred for one +or two reasons. Presently Helen's answer came. She sent a +telegram requesting the address of the furniture, as she would +now return at once. Margaret replied, "Certainly not; meet me at +the bankers' at four." She and Tibby went up to London. Helen was +not at the bankers', and they were refused her address. Helen had +passed into chaos. + +Margaret put her arm round her brother. He was all that she had +left, and never had he seemed more unsubstantial. + +"Tibby love, what next?" + +He replied: "It is extraordinary." + +"Dear, your judgment's often clearer than mine. Have you any +notion what's at the back?" + +"None, unless it's something mental." + +"Oh--that!" said Margaret. "Quite impossible." But the suggestion +had been uttered, and in a few minutes she took it up herself. +Nothing else explained. And London agreed with Tibby. The mask +fell off the city, and she saw it for what it really is--a +caricature of infinity. The familiar barriers, the streets along +which she moved, the houses between which she had made her little +journeys for so many years, became negligible suddenly. Helen +seemed one with grimy trees and the traffic and the +slowly-flowing slabs of mud. She had accomplished a hideous act +of renunciation and returned to the One. Margaret's own faith +held firm. She knew the human soul will be merged, if it be +merged at all, with the stars and the sea. Yet she felt that her +sister had been going amiss for many years. It was symbolic the +catastrophe should come now, on a London afternoon, while rain +fell slowly. + +Henry was the only hope. Henry was definite. He might know of +some paths in the chaos that were hidden from them, and she +determined to take Tibby's advice and lay the whole matter in his +hands. They must call at his office. He could not well make it +worse. She went for a few moments into St. Paul's, whose dome +stands out of the welter so bravely, as if preaching the gospel +of form. But within, St. Paul's is as its surroundings--echoes +and whispers, inaudible songs, invisible mosaics, wet footmarks, +crossing and recrossing the floor. Si monumentum requiris, +circumspice; it points us back to London. There was no hope of +Helen here. + +Henry was unsatisfactory at first. That she had expected. He was +overjoyed to see her back from Swanage, and slow to admit the +growth of a new trouble. When they told him of their search, he +only chaffed Tibby and the Schlegels generally, and declared that +it was "just like Helen" to lead her relatives a dance. + +"That is what we all say," replied Margaret. "But why should it +be just like Helen? Why should she be allowed to be so queer, and +to grow queerer?" + +"Don't ask me. I'm a plain man of business. I live and let live. +My advice to you both is, don't worry. Margaret, you've got black +marks again under your eyes. You know that's strictly forbidden. +First your aunt--then your sister. No, we aren't going to have +it. Are we, Theobald?" He rang the bell. "I'll give you some tea, +and then you go straight to Ducie Street. I can't have my girl +looking as old as her husband." + +"All the same, you have not quite seen our point," said Tibby. + +Mr. Wilcox, who was in good spirits, retorted, "I don't suppose I +ever shall." He leant back, laughing at the gifted but ridiculous +family, while the fire flickered over the map of Africa. Margaret +motioned to her brother to go on. Rather diffident, he obeyed +her. + +"Margaret's point is this," he said. "Our sister may be mad." + +Charles, who was working in the inner room, looked round. + +"Come in, Charles," said Margaret kindly. "Could you help us at +all? We are again in trouble." + +"I'm afraid I cannot. What are the facts? We are all mad more or +less, you know, in these days." + +"The facts are as follows," replied Tibby, who had at times a +pedantic lucidity. "The facts are that she has been in England +for three days and will not see us. She has forbidden the bankers +to give us her address. She refuses to answer questions. Margaret +finds her letters colourless. There are other facts, but these +are the most striking." + +"She has never behaved like this before, then?" asked Henry. + +"Of course not!" said his wife, with a frown. + +"Well, my dear, how am I to know?" + +A senseless spasm of annoyance came over her. "You know quite +well that Helen never sins against affection," she said. "You +must have noticed that much in her, surely." + +"Oh yes; she and I have always hit it off together." + +"No, Henry--can't you see?--I don't mean that." + +She recovered herself, but not before Charles had observed her. +Stupid and attentive, he was watching the scene. + +"I was meaning that when she was eccentric in the past, one could +trace it back to the heart in the long-run. She behaved oddly +because she cared for some one, or wanted to help them. There's +no possible excuse for her now. She is grieving us deeply, and +that is why I am sure that she is not well. 'Mad' is too terrible +a word, but she is not well. I shall never believe it. I +shouldn't discuss my sister with you if I thought she was well-- +trouble you about her, I mean." + +Henry began to grow serious. Ill-health was to him something +perfectly definite. Generally well himself, he could not realise +that we sink to it by slow gradations. The sick had no rights; +they were outside the pale; one could lie to them remorselessly. +When his first wife was seized, he had promised to take her down +into Hertfordshire, but meanwhile arranged with a nursing-home +instead. Helen, too, was ill. And the plan that he sketched out +for her capture, clever and well-meaning as it was, drew its +ethics from the wolf-pack. + +"You want to get hold of her?" he said. "That's the problem, +isn't it? She has got to see a doctor." + +"For all I know she has seen one already." + +"Yes, yes; don't interrupt." He rose to his feet and thought +intently. The genial, tentative host disappeared, and they saw +instead the man who had carved money out of Greece and Africa, +and bought forests from the natives for a few bottles of gin. +"I've got it," he said at last. "It's perfectly easy. Leave it +to me. We'll send her down to Howards End." + +"How will you do that?" + +"After her books. Tell her that she must unpack them herself. +Then you can meet her there." + +"But, Henry, that's just what she won't let me do. It's part of +her--whatever it is--never to see me." + +"Of course you won't tell her you're going. When she is there, +looking at the cases, you'll just stroll in. If nothing is wrong +with her, so much the better. But there'll be the motor round the +corner, and we can run her to a specialist in no time." + +Margaret shook her head. "It's quite impossible." + +"Why?" + +"It doesn't seem impossible to me," said Tibby; "it is surely a +very tippy plan." + +"It is impossible, because--" She looked at her husband sadly. +"It's not the particular language that Helen and I talk, if you +see my meaning. It would do splendidly for other people, whom I +don't blame." + +"But Helen doesn't talk," said Tibby. "That's our whole +difficulty. She won't talk your particular language, and on that +account you think she's ill." + +"No, Henry; it's sweet of you, but I couldn't." + +"I see," he said; "you have scruples." + +"I suppose so." + +"And sooner than go against them you would have your sister +suffer. You could have got her down to Swanage by a word, but you +had scruples. And scruples are all very well. I am as scrupulous +as any man alive, I hope; but when it is a case like this, when +there is a question of madness--" + +"I deny it's madness." + +"You said just now--" + +"It's madness when I say it, but not when you say it." + +Henry shrugged his shoulders. "Margaret! Margaret!" he groaned. +"No education can teach a woman logic. Now, my dear, my time is +valuable. Do you want me to help you or not?" + +"Not in that way." + +"Answer my question. Plain question, plain answer. Do--" + +Charles surprised them by interrupting. "Pater, we may as well +keep Howards End out of it," he said. + +"Why, Charles?" + +Charles could give no reason; but Margaret felt as if, over +tremendous distance, a salutation had passed between them. + +"The whole house is at sixes and sevens," he said crossly. "We +don't want any more mess." + +"Who's 'we'?" asked his father. "My boy, pray who's 'we'?" + +"I am sure I beg your pardon," said Charles. "I appear always to +be intruding." + +By now Margaret wished she had never mentioned her trouble to her +husband. Retreat was impossible. He was determined to push the +matter to a satisfactory conclusion, and Helen faded as he +talked. Her fair, flying hair and eager eyes counted for nothing, +for she was ill, without rights, and any of her friends might +hunt her. Sick at heart, Margaret joined in the chase. She wrote +her sister a lying letter, at her husband's dictation; she said +the furniture was all at Howards End, but could be seen on Monday +next at 3 P.M., when a charwoman would be in attendance. It was a +cold letter, and the more plausible for that. Helen would think +she was offended. And on Monday next she and Henry were to lunch +with Dolly, and then ambush themselves in the garden. + +After they had gone, Mr. Wilcox said to his son: "I can't have +this sort of behaviour, my boy. Margaret's too sweet-natured to +mind, but I mind for her." + +Charles made no answer. + +"Is anything wrong with you, Charles, this afternoon?" + +"No, pater; but you may be taking on a bigger business than you +reckon. " + +"How?" + +"Don't ask me." + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +One speaks of the moods of spring, but the days that are her true +children have only one mood; they are all full of the rising and +dropping of winds, and the whistling of birds. New flowers may +come out, the green embroidery of the hedges increase, but the +same heaven broods overhead, soft, thick, and blue, the same +figures, seen and unseen, are wandering by coppice and meadow. +The morning that Margaret had spent with Miss Avery, and the +afternoon she set out to entrap Helen, were the scales of a +single balance. Time might never have moved, rain never have +fallen, and man alone, with his schemes and ailments, was +troubling Nature until he saw her through a veil of tears. + +She protested no more. Whether Henry was right or wrong, he was +most kind, and she knew of no other standard by which to judge +him. She must trust him absolutely. As soon as he had taken up a +business, his obtuseness vanished. He profited by the slightest +indications, and the capture of Helen promised to be staged as +deftly as the marriage of Evie. + +They went down in the morning as arranged, and he discovered that +their victim was actually in Hilton. On his arrival he called at +all the livery-stables in the village, and had a few minutes' +serious conversation with the proprietors. What he said, Margaret +did not know--perhaps not the truth; but news arrived after lunch +that a lady had come by the London train, and had taken a fly to +Howards End. + +"She was bound to drive," said Henry. "There will be her books." + +"I cannot make it out," said Margaret for the hundredth time. + +"Finish your coffee, dear. We must be off." + +"Yes, Margaret, you know you must take plenty," said Dolly. + +Margaret tried, but suddenly lifted her hand to her eyes. Dolly +stole glances at her father-in-law which he did not answer. In +the silence the motor came round to the door. + +"You're not fit for it," he said anxiously. "Let me go alone. I +know exactly what to do." + +"Oh yes, I am fit," said Margaret, uncovering her face. "Only +most frightfully worried. I cannot feel that Helen is really +alive. Her letters and telegrams seem to have come from some one +else. Her voice isn't in them. I don't believe your driver really +saw her at the station. I wish I'd never mentioned it. I know +that Charles is vexed. Yes, he is--" She seized Dolly's hand and +kissed it. "There, Dolly will forgive me. There. Now we'll be +off." + +Henry had been looking at her closely. He did not like this +breakdown. + +"Don't you want to tidy yourself?" he asked. + +"Have I time?" + +"Yes, plenty." + +She went to the lavatory by the front door, and as soon as the +bolt slipped, Mr. Wilcox said quietly: + +"Dolly, I'm going without her." + +Dolly's eyes lit up with vulgar excitement. She followed him on +tiptoe out to the car. + +"Tell her I thought it best." + +"Yes, Mr. Wilcox, I see." + +"Say anything you like. All right." + +The car started well, and with ordinary luck would have got away. +But Porgly-woggles, who was playing in the garden, chose this +moment to sit down in the middle of the path. Crane, in trying to +pass him, ran one wheel over a bed of wallflowers. Dolly +screamed. Margaret, hearing the noise, rushed out hatless, and +was in time to jump on the footboard. She said not a single word; +he was only treating her as she had treated Helen, and her rage +at his dishonesty only helped to indicate what Helen would feel +against them. She thought, "I deserve it; I am punished for +lowering my colours." And she accepted his apologies with a +calmness that astonished him. + +"I still consider you are not fit for it," he kept saying. + +"Perhaps I was not at lunch. But the whole thing is spread +clearly before me now." + +"I was meaning to act for the best." + +"Just lend me your scarf, will you. This wind takes one's hair +so." + +"Certainly, dear girl. Are you all right now?" + +"Look! My hands have stopped trembling." + +"And have quite forgiven me? Then listen. Her cab should already +have arrived at Howards End. (We're a little late, but no +matter.) Our first move will be to send it down to wait at the +farm, as, if possible, one doesn't want a scene before servants. +A certain gentleman"--he pointed at Crane's back--"won't drive +in, but will wait a little short of the front gate, behind the +laurels. Have you still the keys of the house?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, they aren't wanted. Do you remember how the house stands?" + +"Yes." + + "If we don't find her in the porch, we can stroll round into the +garden. Our object--" + +Here they stopped to pick up the doctor. + +"I was just saying to my wife, Mansbridge, that our main object +is not to frighten Miss Schlegel. The house, as you know, is my +property, so it should seem quite natural for us to be there. The +trouble is evidently nervous--wouldn't you say so, Margaret?" + +The doctor, a very young man, began to ask questions about Helen. +Was she normal? Was there anything congenital or hereditary? Had +anything occurred that was likely to alienate her from her +family? + +"Nothing," answered Margaret, wondering what would have happened +if she had added: "Though she did resent my husband's +immorality." + +"She always was highly strung," pursued Henry, leaning back in +the car as it shot past the church. "A tendency to spiritualism +and those things, though nothing serious. Musical, literary, +artistic, but I should say normal--a very charming girl." + +Margaret's anger and terror increased every moment. How dare +these men label her sister! What horrors lay ahead! What +impertinences that shelter under the name of science! The pack +was turning on Helen, to deny her human rights, and it seemed to +Margaret that all Schlegels were threatened with her. "Were they +normal?" What a question to ask! And it is always those who know +nothing about human nature, who are bored by psychology--and +shocked by physiology, who ask it. However piteous her sister's +state, she knew that she must be on her side. They would be mad +together if the world chose to consider them so. + +It was now five minutes past three. The car slowed down by the +farm, in the yard of which Miss Avery was standing. Henry asked +her whether a cab had gone past. She nodded, and the next moment +they caught sight of it, at the end of the lane. The car ran +silently like a beast of prey. So unsuspicious was Helen that she +was sitting in the porch, with her back to the road. She had +come. Only her head and shoulders were visible. She sat framed in +the vine, and one of her hands played with the buds. The wind +ruffled her hair, the sun glorified it; she was as she had always +been. + +Margaret was seated next to the door. Before her husband could +prevent her, she slipped out. She ran to the garden gate, which +was shut, passed through it, and deliberately pushed it in his +face. The noise alarmed Helen. Margaret saw her rise with an +unfamiliar movement, and, rushing into the porch, learnt the +simple explanation of all their fears--her sister was with child. + +"Is the truant all right?" called Henry. + +She had time to whisper: "Oh, my darling--" The keys of the house +were in her hand. She unlocked Howards End and thrust Helen into +it. "Yes, all right," she said, and stood with her back to the +door. + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +"Margaret, you look upset!" said Henry. + +Mansbridge had followed. Crane was at the gate, and the flyman +had stood up on the box. Margaret shook her head at them; she +could not speak any more. She remained clutching the keys, as if +all their future depended on them. Henry was asking more +questions. She shook her head again. His words had no sense. She +heard him wonder why she had let Helen in. "You might have given +me a knock with the gate," was another of his remarks. Presently +she heard herself speaking. She, or someone for her, said, "Go +away." Henry came nearer. He repeated, "Margaret, you look upset +again. My dear, give me the keys. What are you doing with Helen?" + +"Oh, dearest, do go away, and I will manage it all." + +"Manage what?" + +He stretched out his hand for the keys. She might have obeyed if +it had not been for the doctor. + +"Stop that at least," she said piteously; the doctor had turned +back, and was questioning the driver of Helen's cab. A new +feeling came over her; she was fighting for women against men. +She did not care about rights, but if men came into Howards End, +it should be over her body. + +"Come, this is an odd beginning," said her husband. + +The doctor came forward now, and whispered two words to Mr. +Wilcox--the scandal was out. Sincerely horrified, Henry stood +gazing at the earth. + +"I cannot help it," said Margaret. "Do wait. It's not my fault. +Please all four of you go away now." + +Now the flyman was whispering to Crane. + +"We are relying on you to help us, Mrs. Wilcox," said the young +doctor. "Could you go in and persuade your sister to come out?" + +"On what grounds?" said Margaret, suddenly looking him straight +in the eyes. + +Thinking it professional to prevaricate, he murmured something +about a nervous breakdown. + +"I beg your pardon, but it is nothing of the sort. You are not +qualified to attend my sister, Mr. Mansbridge. If we require your +services, we will let you know." + +"I can diagnose the case more bluntly if you wish," he retorted. + +"You could, but you have not. You are, therefore, not qualified +to attend my sister." + +"Come, come, Margaret!" said Henry, never raising his eyes. "This +is a terrible business, an appalling business. It's doctor's +orders. Open the door." + +"Forgive me, but I will not." + +"I don't agree." + +Margaret was silent. + +"This business is as broad as it's long," contributed the +doctor. "We had better all work together. You need us, Mrs. +Wilcox, and we need you." + +"Quite so," said Henry. + +"I do not need you in the least," said Margaret. + +The two men looked at each other anxiously. + +"No more does my sister, who is still many weeks from her +confinement." + +"Margaret, Margaret!" + +"Well, Henry, send your doctor away. What possible use is he +now?" + +Mr. Wilcox ran his eye over the house. He had a vague feeling +that he must stand firm and support the doctor. He himself might +need support, for there was trouble ahead. + +"It all turns on affection now," said Margaret. "Affection. Don't +you see?" Resuming her usual methods, she wrote the word on the +house with her finger. "Surely you see. I like Helen very much, +you not so much. Mr. Mansbridge doesn't know her. That's all. +And affection, when reciprocated, gives rights. Put that down in +your note-book, Mr. Mansbridge. It's a useful formula." + +Henry told her to be calm. + +"You don't know what you want yourselves," said Margaret, folding +her arms. "For one sensible remark I will let you in. But you +cannot make it. You would trouble my sister for no reason. I will +not permit it. I'll stand here all the day sooner." + +"Mansbridge," said Henry in a low voice, "perhaps not now." + +The pack was breaking up. At a sign from his master, Crane also +went back into the car. + +"Now, Henry, you," she said gently. None of her bitterness had +been directed at him. "Go away now, dear. I shall want your +advice later, no doubt. Forgive me if I have been cross. But, +seriously, you must go." + +He was too stupid to leave her. Now it was Mr. Mansbridge who +called in a low voice to him. + +"I shall soon find you down at Dolly's," she called, as the gate +at last clanged between them. The fly moved out of the way, the +motor backed, turned a little, backed again, and turned in the +narrow road. A string of farm carts came up in the middle; but +she waited through all, for there was no hurry. When all was over +and the car had started, she opened the door. "Oh, my darling!" +she said. "My darling, forgive me." Helen was standing in the +hall. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +Margaret bolted the door on the inside. Then she would have +kissed her sister, but Helen, in a dignified voice, that came +strangely from her, said: + +"Convenient! You did not tell me that the books were unpacked. I +have found nearly everything that I want." + +"I told you nothing that was true." + +"It has been a great surprise, certainly. Has Aunt Juley been +ill?" + +"Helen, you wouldn't think I'd invent that?" + +"I suppose not," said Helen, turning away, and crying a very +little. "But one loses faith in everything after this." + +"We thought it was illness, but even then--I haven't behaved +worthily." + +Helen selected another book. + +"I ought not to have consulted any one. What would our father +have thought of me?" + +She did not think of questioning her sister, or of rebuking her. +Both might be necessary in the future, but she had first to purge +a greater crime than any that Helen could have committed--that +want of confidence that is the work of the devil. + +"Yes, I am annoyed," replied Helen. "My wishes should have been +respected. I would have gone through this meeting if it was +necessary, but after Aunt Juley recovered, it was not necessary. +Planning my life, as I now have to do." + +"Come away from those books," called Margaret. "Helen, do talk +to me." + +"I was just saying that I have stopped living haphazard. One +can't go through a great deal of--"she left out the noun-- +"without planning one's actions in advance. I am going to have a +child in June, and in the first place conversations, discussions, +excitement, are not good for me. I will go through them if +necessary, but only then. In the second place I have no right to +trouble people. I cannot fit in with England as I know it. I have +done something that the English never pardon. It would not be +right for them to pardon it. So I must live where I am not +known." + +"But why didn't you tell me, dearest?" + +"Yes," replied Helen judicially. "I might have, but decided to +wait." + +"I believe you would never have told me." + +"Oh yes, I should. We have taken a flat in Munich." + +Margaret glanced out of the window. + +"By 'we' I mean myself and Monica. But for her, I am and have +been and always wish to be alone." + +"I have not heard of Monica." + +"You wouldn't have. She's an Italian--by birth at least. She +makes her living by journalism. I met her originally on Garda. +Monica is much the best person to see me through." + +"You are very fond of her, then." + +"She has been extraordinarily sensible with me." + +Margaret guessed at Monica's type--"Italiano Inglesiato" +they had named it--the crude feminist of the South, whom one +respects but avoids. And Helen had turned to it in her need! + +"You must not think that we shall never meet," said Helen, with a +measured kindness. "I shall always have a room for you when you +can be spared, and the longer you can be with me the better. But +you haven't understood yet, Meg, and of course it is very +difficult for you. This is a shock to you. It isn't to me, who +have been thinking over our futures for many months, and they +won't be changed by a slight contretemps, such as this. I cannot +live in England." + +"Helen, you've not forgiven me for my treachery. You COULDN'T +talk like this to me if you had." + +"Oh, Meg dear, why do we talk at all?" She dropped a book and +sighed wearily. Then, recovering herself, she said: "Tell me, how +is it that all the books are down here?" + +"Series of mistakes." + +"And a great deal of furniture has been unpacked." + +"All." + +"Who lives here, then?" + +"No one." + +"I suppose you are letting it, though." + +"The house is dead," said Margaret, with a frown. "Why worry on +about it?" + +"But I am interested. You talk as if I had lost all my interest +in life. I am still Helen, I hope. Now this hasn't the feel of a +dead house. The hall seems more alive even than in the old days, +when it held the Wilcoxes' own things." + +"Interested, are you? Very well, I must tell you, I suppose. My +husband lent it on condition we--but by a mistake all our things +were unpacked, and Miss Avery, instead of--" She stopped. "Look +here, I can't go on like this. I warn you I won't. Helen, why +should you be so miserably unkind to me, simply because you hate +Henry?" + +"I don't hate him now," said Helen. "I have stopped being a +schoolgirl, and, Meg, once again, I'm not being unkind. But as +for fitting in with your English life--no, put it out of your +head at once. Imagine a visit from me at Ducie Street! It's +unthinkable." + +Margaret could not contradict her. It was appalling to see her +quietly moving forward with her plans, not bitter or excitable, +neither asserting innocence nor confessing guilt, merely desiring +freedom and the company of those who would not blame her. She had +been through--how much? Margaret did not know. But it was enough +to part her from old habits as well as old friends. + +"Tell me about yourself," said Helen, who had chosen her books, +and was lingering over the furniture. + +"There's nothing to tell." + +"But your marriage has been happy, Meg?" + +"Yes, but I don't feel inclined to talk." + +"You feel as I do." + +"Not that, but I can't." + +"No more can I. It is a nuisance, but no good trying." + +Something had come between them. Perhaps it was Society, which +henceforward would exclude Helen. Perhaps it was a third life, +already potent as a spirit. They could find no meeting-place. +Both suffered acutely, and were not comforted by the knowledge +that affection survived. + +"Look here, Meg, is the coast clear?" + +"You mean that you want to go away from me?" + +"I suppose so--dear old lady! it isn't any use. I knew we should +have nothing to say. Give my love to Aunt Juley and Tibby, and +take more yourself than I can say. Promise to come and see me in +Munich later." + +"Certainly, dearest." + +"For that is all we can do." + +It seemed so. Most ghastly of all was Helen's common sense; +Monica had been extraordinarily good for her. + +"I am glad to have seen you and the things." She looked at the +bookcase lovingly, as if she was saying farewell to the past. + +Margaret unbolted the door. She remarked: "The car has gone, and +here's your cab." + +She led the way to it, glancing at the leaves and the sky. The +spring had never seemed more beautiful. The driver, who was +leaning on the gate, called out, "Please, lady, a message," and +handed her Henry's visiting-card through the bars. + +"How did this come?" she asked. + +Crane had returned with it almost at once. + +She read the card with annoyance. It was covered with +instructions in domestic French. When she and her sister had +talked she was to come back for the night to Dolly's. Il faut +dormir sur ce sujet." while Helen was to be found une comfortable +chambre a l'hotel. The final sentence displeased her greatly +until she remembered that the Charles's had only one spare room, +and so could not invite a third guest. + +"Henry would have done what he could," she interpreted. + +Helen had not followed her into the garden. The door once open, +she lost her inclination to fly. She remained in the hall, going +from bookcase to table. She grew more like the old Helen, +irresponsible and charming. + +"This IS Mr. Wilcox's house?" she inquired. + +"Surely you remember Howards End?" + +"Remember? I who remember everything! But it looks to be ours +now." + +"Miss Avery was extraordinary," said Margaret, her own spirits +lightening a little. Again she was invaded by a slight feeling of +disloyalty. But it brought her relief, and she yielded to it. +"She loved Mrs. Wilcox, and would rather furnish her home with +our things than think of it empty. In consequence here are all +the library books." + +"Not all the books. She hasn't unpacked the Art books, in which +she may show her sense. And we never used to have the sword +here." + +"The sword looks well, though." + +"Magnificent." + +"Yes, doesn't it?" + +"Where's the piano, Meg?" + +"I warehoused that in London. Why?" + +"Nothing." + +"Curious, too, that the carpet fits." + +"The carpet's a mistake," announced Helen. "I know that we had it +in London, but this floor ought to be bare. It is far too +beautiful." + +"You still have a mania for under-furnishing. Would you care to +come into the dining-room before you start? There's no carpet +there. They went in, and each minute their talk became more +natural. + +"Oh, WHAT a place for mother's chiffonier!" cried Helen. + +"Look at the chairs, though." + +"Oh, look at them! Wickham Place faced north, didn't it?" + +"North-west." + +"Anyhow, it is thirty years since any of those chairs have felt +the sun. Feel. Their dear little backs are quite warm." + +"But why has Miss Avery made them set to partners? I shall just--" + +"Over here, Meg. Put it so that any one sitting will see the +lawn." + +Margaret moved a chair. Helen sat down in it. + +"Ye--es. The window's too high." + +"Try a drawing-room chair." + +"No, I don't like the drawing-room so much. The beam has been +match-boarded. It would have been so beautiful otherwise." + +"Helen, what a memory you have for some things! You're perfectly +right. It's a room that men have spoilt through trying to make it +nice for women. Men don't know what we want--,I + +"And never will." + +"I don't agree. In two thousand years they'll know. Look where +Tibby spilt the soup." + +"Coffee. It was coffee surely." + +Helen shook her head. "Impossible. Tibby was far too young to be +given coffee at that time." + +"Was father alive?" + +"Yes." + +"Then you're right and it must have been soup. I thinking of much +later--that unsuccessful visit of Aunt Juley's, when she didn't +realise that Tibby had grown up. It was coffee then, for he threw +it down on purpose. There was some rhyme, 'Tea, coffee--coffee +tea,' that she said to him every morning at breakfast. Wait a +minute--how did it go?" + +"I know--no, I don't. What a detestable boy Tibby was!" + +"But the rhyme was simply awful. No decent person could put up +with it." + +"Ah, that greengage-tree," cried Helen, as if the garden was also +part of their childhood. Why do I connect it with dumb-bells? And +there come the chickens. The grass wants cutting. I love +yellowhammers." + +Margaret interrupted her. "I have got it," she announced. + + "'Tea, tea, coffee, tea, + Or chocolaritee.' + +"That every morning for three weeks. No wonder Tibby was wild." + +"Tibby is moderately a dear now," said Helen. + +"There! I knew you'd say that in the end. Of course he's a dear." + +A bell rang. + +"Listen! what's that?" + +Helen said, "Perhaps the Wilcoxes are beginning the siege." + +"What nonsense--listen!" + +And the triviality faded from their faces, though it left +something behind--the knowledge that they never could be parted +because their love was rooted in common things. Explanations and +appeals had failed; they had tried for a common meeting-ground, +and had only made each other unhappy. And all the time their +salvation was lying round them--the past sanctifying the present; +the present, with wild heart-throb, declaring that there would +after all be a future with laughter and the voices of children. +Helen, still smiling, came up to her sister. She said, "It is +always Meg." They looked into each other's eyes. The inner life +had paid. + +Solemnly the clapper tolled. No one was in the front. Margaret +went to the kitchen, and struggled between packing-cases to the +window. Their visitor was only a little boy with a tin can. And +triviality returned. + +"Little boy, what do you want?" + +"Please, I am the milk." + +"Did Miss Avery send you?" said Margaret, rather sharply. + +"Yes, please." + +"Then take it back and say we require no milk." While she called +to Helen, "No, it's not the siege, but possibly an attempt to +provision us against one." + +"But I like milk," cried Helen. "Why send it away?" + +"Do you? Oh, very well. But we've nothing to put it in, and he +wants the can." + +"Please, I'm to call in the morning for the can," said the boy. + +"The house will be locked up then." + +"In the morning would I bring eggs too?" + +"Are you the boy whom I saw playing in the stacks last week?" + +The child hung his head. + +"Well, run away and do it again." + +"Nice little boy," whispered Helen. "I say, what's your name? +Mine's Helen." + +"Tom." + +That was Helen all over. The Wilcoxes, too, would ask a child its +name, but they never told their names in return. + +"Tom, this one here is Margaret. And at home we've another called +Tibby. " + +"Mine are lop-eareds," replied Tom, supposing Tibby to be a +rabbit. + +"You're a very good and rather a clever little boy. Mind you come +again.--Isn't he charming?" + +"Undoubtedly," said Margaret. "He is probably the son of Madge, +and Madge is dreadful. But this place has wonderful powers." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I don't know." + +"Because I probably agree with you." + +"It kills what is dreadful and makes what is beautiful live." + +"I do agree," said Helen, as she sipped the milk. "But you said +that the house was dead not half an hour ago." + +"Meaning that I was dead. I felt it." + +"Yes, the house has a surer life than we, even if it was empty, +and, as it is, I can't get over that for thirty years the sun has +never shone full on our furniture. After all, Wickham Place was a +grave. Meg, I've a startling idea." + +"What is it?" + +"Drink some milk to steady you." + +Margaret obeyed. + +"No, I won't tell you yet," said Helen, "because you may laugh or +be angry. Let's go upstairs first and give the rooms an airing." + +They opened window after window, till the inside, too, was +rustling to the spring. Curtains blew, picture frames tapped +cheerfully. Helen uttered cries of excitement as she found this +bed obviously in its right place, that in its wrong one. She was +angry with Miss Avery for not having moved the wardrobes up. +"Then one would see really." She admired the view. She was the +Helen who had written the memorable letters four years ago. As +they leant out, looking westward, she said: "About my idea. +Couldn't you and I camp out in this house for the night?" + +"I don't think we could well do that," said Margaret. + +"Here are beds, tables, towels--" + +"I know; but the house isn't supposed to be slept in, and Henry's +suggestion was--" + +"I require no suggestions. I shall not alter anything in my +plans. But it would give me so much pleasure to have one night +here with you. It will be something to look back on. Oh, Meg +lovey, do let's!" + +"But, Helen, my pet," said Margaret, "we can't without getting +Henry's leave. Of course, he would give it, but you said yourself +that you couldn't visit at Ducie Street now, and this is equally +intimate." + +"Ducie Street is his house. This is ours. Our furniture, our sort +of people coming to the door. Do let us camp out, just one night, +and Tom shall feed us on eggs and milk. Why not? It's a moon." + +Margaret hesitated. "I feel Charles wouldn't like it," she said +at last. "Even our furniture annoyed him, and I was going to +clear it out when Aunt Juley's illness prevented me. I sympathise +with Charles. He feels it's his mother's house. He loves it in +rather an untaking way. Henry I could answer for--not Charles." + +"I know he won't like it," said Helen. "But I am going to pass +out of their lives. What difference will it make in the long run +if they say, 'And she even spent the night at Howards End'?" + +"How do you know you'll pass out of their lives? We have thought +that twice before." + +"Because my plans--" + +"--which you change in a moment." + +"Then because my life is great and theirs are little," said +Helen, taking fire. "I know of things they can't know of, and so +do you. We know that there's poetry. We know that there's death. +They can only take them on hearsay. We know this is our house, +because it feels ours. Oh, they may take the title-deeds and the +door-keys, but for this one night we are at home." + +"It would be lovely to have you once more alone," said Margaret. +"It may be a chance in a thousand." + +"Yes, and we could talk." She dropped her voice. "It won't be a +very glorious story. But under that wych-elm--honestly, I see +little happiness ahead. Cannot I have this one night with you?" + +"I needn't say how much it would mean to me." + +"Then let us." + +"It is no good hesitating. Shall I drive down to Hilton now and +get leave?" + +"Oh, we don't want leave." + +But Margaret was a loyal wife. In spite of imagination and +poetry--perhaps on account of them--she could sympathise with the +technical attitude that Henry would adopt. If possible, she would +be technical, too. A night's lodging--and they demanded no more-- +need not involve the discussion of general principles. + +"Charles may say no," grumbled Helen. + +"We shan't consult him." + +"Go if you like; I should have stopped without leave." + +It was the touch of selfishness, which was not enough to mar +Helen's character, and even added to its beauty. She would have +stopped without leave and escaped to Germany the next morning. +Margaret kissed her. + +"Expect me back before dark. I am looking forward to it so much. +It is like you to have thought of such a beautiful thing." + +"Not a thing, only an ending," said Helen rather sadly; and the +sense of tragedy closed in on Margaret again as soon as she left +the house. + +She was afraid of Miss Avery. It is disquieting to fulfil a +prophecy, however superficially. She was glad to see no watching +figure as she drove past the farm, but only little Tom, turning +somersaults in the straw. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +The tragedy began quietly enough, and, like many another talk, by +the man's deft assertion of his superiority. Henry heard her +arguing with the driver, stepped out and settled the fellow, who +was inclined to be rude, and then led the way to some chairs on +the lawn. Dolly, who had not been "told," ran out with offers of +tea. He refused them, and ordered them to wheel baby's +perambulator away, as they desired to be alone. + +"But the diddums can't listen; he isn't nine months old," she +pleaded. + +"That's not what I was saying," retorted her father-in-law. + +Baby was wheeled out of earshot, and did not hear about the +crisis till later years. It was now the turn of Margaret. + +"Is it what we feared?" he asked. + +"It is." + +"Dear girl," he began, "there is a troublesome business ahead of +us, and nothing but the most absolute honesty and plain speech +will see us through." Margaret bent her head. "I am obliged to +question you on subjects we'd both prefer to leave untouched. As +you know, I am not one of your Bernard Shaws who consider nothing +sacred. To speak as I must will pain me, but there are occasions +-- We are husband and wife, not children. I am a man of the +world, and you are a most exceptional woman." + +All Margaret's senses forsook her. She blushed, and looked past +him at the Six Hills, covered with spring herbage. Noting her +colour, he grew still more kind. + +"I see that you feel as I felt when-- My poor little wife! Oh, be +brave! Just one or two questions, and I have done with you. Was +your sister wearing a wedding-ring?" + +Margaret stammered a "No." + +There was an appalling silence. + +"Henry, I really came to ask a favour about Howards End." + +"One point at a time. I am now obliged to ask for the name of her +seducer." + +She rose to her feet and held the chair between them. Her colour +had ebbed, and she was grey. It did not displease him that she +should receive his question thus. + +"Take your time," he counselled her. "Remember that this is far +worse for me than for you." + +She swayed; he feared she was going to faint. Then speech came, +and she said slowly: "Seducer? No; I do not know her seducer's +name." + +"Would she not tell you?" + +"I never even asked her who seduced her," said Margaret, dwelling +on the hateful word thoughtfully. + +"That is singular." Then he changed his mind. "Natural perhaps, +dear girl, that you shouldn't ask. But until his name is known, +nothing can be done. Sit down. How terrible it is to see you so +upset! I knew you weren't fit for it. I wish I hadn't taken you." + +Margaret answered, "I like to stand, if you don't mind, for it +gives me a pleasant view of the Six Hills." + +"As you like." + +"Have you anything else to ask me, Henry?" + +"Next you must tell me whether you have gathered anything. I have +often noticed your insight, dear. I only wish my own was as good. +You may have guessed something, even though your sister said +nothing. The slightest hint would help us." + +"Who is 'we'?" + +"I thought it best to ring up Charles." + +"That was unnecessary," said Margaret, growing warmer. "This news +will give Charles disproportionate pain." + +"He has at once gone to call on your brother." + +"That too was unnecessary." + +"Let me explain, dear, how the matter stands. You don't think +that I and my son are other than gentlemen? It is in Helen's +interests that we are acting. It is still not too late to save +her name." + +Then Margaret hit out for the first time. "Are we to make her +seducer marry her?" she asked. + +"If possible, yes." + +"But, Henry, suppose he turned out to be married already? One has +heard of such cases." + +"In that case he must pay heavily for his misconduct, and be +thrashed within an inch of his life." + +So her first blow missed. She was thankful of it. What had +tempted her to imperil both of their lives. Henry's obtuseness +had saved her as well as himself. Exhausted with anger, she sat +down again, blinking at him as he told her as much as he thought +fit. At last she said: "May I ask you my question now?" + +"Certainly, my dear." + +"To-morrow Helen goes to Munich--" + +"Well, possibly she is right." + +"Henry, let a lady finish. To-morrow she goes; to-night, with +your permission, she would like to sleep at Howards End." + +It was the crisis of his life. Again she would have recalled the +words as soon as they were uttered. She had not led up to them +with sufficient care. She longed to warn him that they were far +more important than he supposed. She saw him weighing them, as if +they were a business proposition. + +"Why Howards End?" he said at last. "Would she not be more +comfortable, as I suggested, at the hotel?" + +Margaret hastened to give him reasons. "It is an odd request, but +you know what Helen is and what women in her state are." He +frowned, and moved irritably. "She has the idea that one night in +your house would give her pleasure and do her good. I think +she's right. Being one of those imaginative girls, the presence +of all our books and furniture soothes her. This is a fact. It is +the end of her girlhood. Her last words to me were, 'A beautiful +ending.'" + +"She values the old furniture for sentimental reasons, in fact." + +"Exactly. You have quite understood. It is her last hope of being +with it." + +"I don't agree there, my dear! Helen will have her share of the +goods wherever she goes--possibly more than her share, for you +are so fond of her that you'd give her anything of yours that she +fancies, wouldn't you? and I'd raise no objection. I could +understand it if it was her old home, because a home, or a +house," he changed the word, designedly; he had thought of a +telling point--"because a house in which one has once lived +becomes in a sort of way sacred, I don't know why. Associations +and so on. Now Helen has no associations with Howards End, though +I and Charles and Evie have. I do not see why she wants to stay +the night there. She will only catch cold." + +"Leave it that you don't see," cried Margaret. "Call it fancy. +But realise that fancy is a scientific fact. Helen is fanciful, +and wants to." + +Then he surprised her--a rare occurrence. He shot an unexpected +bolt. "If she wants to sleep one night she may want to sleep two. +We shall never get her out of the house, perhaps." + +"Well?" said Margaret, with the precipice in sight. "And suppose +we don't get her out of the house? Would it matter? She would do +no one any harm." + +Again the irritated gesture. + +"No, Henry," she panted, receding. "I didn't mean that. We will +only trouble Howards End for this one night. I take her to +London to-morrow--" + +"Do you intend to sleep in a damp house, too?" + +"She cannot be left alone." + +"That's quite impossible! Madness. You must be here to meet +Charles." + +"I have already told you that your message to Charles was +unnecessary, and I have no desire to meet him." + +"Margaret--my Margaret." + +"What has this business to do with Charles? If it concerns me +little, it concerns you less, and Charles not at all." + +"As the future owner of Howards End," said Mr. Wilcox arching his +fingers, "I should say that it did concern Charles." + +"In what way? Will Helen's condition depreciate the property?" + +"My dear, you are forgetting yourself." + +"I think you yourself recommended plain speaking." + +They looked at each other in amazement. The precipice was at +their feet now. + +"Helen commands my sympathy," said Henry. "As your husband, I +shall do all for her that I can, and I have no doubt that she +will prove more sinned against than sinning. But I cannot treat +her as if nothing has happened. I should be false to my position +in society if I did." + +She controlled herself for the last time. "No, let us go back to +Helen's request," she said. "It is unreasonable, but the request +of an unhappy girl. Tomorrow she will go to Germany, and trouble +society no longer. To-night she asks to sleep in your empty +house--a house which you do not care about, and which you have +not occupied for over a year. May she? Will you give my sister +leave? Will you forgive her as you hope to be forgiven, and as +you have actually been forgiven? Forgive her for one night only. +That will be enough." + +"As I have actually been forgiven--?" + +"Never mind for the moment what I mean by that," said Margaret. +"Answer my question." + +Perhaps some hint of her meaning did dawn on him. If so, he +blotted it out. Straight from his fortress he answered: "I seem +rather unaccommodating, but I have some experience of life, and +know how one thing leads to another. I am afraid that your sister +had better sleep at the hotel. I have my children and the memory +of my dear wife to consider. I am sorry, but see that she leaves +my house at once." + +"You have mentioned Mrs. Wilcox." + +"I beg your pardon?" + +"A rare occurrence. In reply, may I mention Mrs. Bast?" + +"You have not been yourself all day," said Henry, and rose from +his seat with face unmoved. Margaret rushed at him and seized +both his hands. She was transfigured. + +"Not any more of this!" she cried. "You shall see the connection +if it kills you, Henry! You have had a mistress--I forgave you. +My sister has a lover--you drive her from the house. Do you see +the connection? Stupid, hypocritical, cruel--oh, contemptible!--a +man who insults his wife when she's alive and cants with her +memory when she's dead. A man who ruins a woman for his pleasure, +and casts her off to ruin other men. And gives bad financial +advice, and then says he is not responsible. These men are you. +You can't recognise them, because you cannot connect. I've had +enough of your unneeded kindness. I've spoilt you long enough. +All your life you have been spoiled. Mrs. Wilcox spoiled you. No +one has ever told what you are--muddled, criminally muddled. Men +like you use repentance as a blind, so don't repent. Only say to +yourself, 'What Helen has done, I've done.'" + +"The two cases are different," Henry stammered. His real retort +was not quite ready. His brain was still in a whirl, and he +wanted a little longer. + +"In what way different? You have betrayed Mrs. Wilcox, Helen only +herself. You remain in society, Helen can't. You have had only +pleasure, she may die. You have the insolence to talk to me of +differences, Henry?" + +Oh, the uselessness of it! Henry's retort came. + +"I perceive you are attempting blackmail. It is scarcely a pretty +weapon for a wife to use against her husband. My rule through +life has been never to pay the least attention to threats, and I +can only repeat what I said before: I do not give you and your +sister leave to sleep at Howards End." + +Margaret loosed his hands. He went into the house, wiping first +one and then the other on his handkerchief. For a little she +stood looking at the Six Hills, tombs of warriors, breasts of the +spring. Then she passed out into what was now the evening. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +Charles and Tibby met at Ducie Street, where the latter was +staying. Their interview was short and absurd. They had nothing +in common but the English language, and tried by its help to +express what neither of them understood. Charles saw in Helen the +family foe. He had singled her out as the most dangerous of the +Schlegels, and, angry as he was, looked forward to telling his +wife how right he had been. His mind was made up at once; the +girl must be got out of the way before she disgraced them +farther. If occasion offered she might be married to a villain, +or, possibly, to a fool. But this was a concession to morality, +it formed no part of his main scheme. Honest and hearty was +Charles's dislike, and the past spread itself out very clearly +before him; hatred is a skilful compositor. As if they were heads +in a note-book, he ran through all the incidents of the +Schlegels' campaign: the attempt to compromise his brother, his +mother's legacy, his father's marriage, the introduction of the +furniture, the unpacking of the same. He had not yet heard of the +request to sleep at Howards End; that was to be their +master-stroke and the opportunity for his. But he already felt +that Howards End was the objective, and, though he disliked the +house, was determined to defend it. + +Tibby, on the other hand, had no opinions. He stood above the +conventions: his sister had a right to do what she thought right. +It is not difficult to stand above the conventions when we leave +no hostages among them; men can always be more unconventional +than women, and a bachelor of independent means need encounter no +difficulties at all. Unlike Charles, Tibby had money enough; his +ancestors had earned it for him, and if he shocked the people in +one set of lodgings he had only to move into another. His was the +leisure without sympathy--an attitude as fatal as the strenuous; +a little cold culture may be raised on it, but no art. His +sisters had seen the family danger, and had never forgotten to +discount the gold islets that raised them from the sea. Tibby +gave all the praise to himself, and so despised the struggling +and the submerged. + +Hence the absurdity of the interview; the gulf between them was +economic as well as spiritual. But several facts passed; Charles +pressed for them with an impertinence that the undergraduate +could not withstand. On what date had Helen gone abroad? To whom? +(Charles was anxious to fasten the scandal on Germany.) Then, +changing his tactics, he said roughly: "I suppose you realise +that you are your sister's protector?" + +"In what sense?" + +"If a man played about with my sister, I'd send a bullet through +him, but perhaps you don't mind." + +"I mind very much," protested Tibby. + +"Who d'ye suspect, then? Speak out man. One always suspects some +one." + +"No one. I don't think so." Involuntarily he blushed. He had +remembered the scene in his Oxford rooms. + +"You are hiding something," said Charles. As interviews go, he +got the best of this one. "When you saw her last, did she mention +any one's name? Yes or no!" he thundered, so that Tibby started. + +"In my rooms she mentioned some friends, called the Basts." + +"Who are the Basts?" + +"People--friends of hers at Evie's wedding." + +"I don't remember. But, by great Scott, I do! My aunt told me +about some rag-tsag. Was she full of them when you saw her? Is +there a man? Did she speak of the man? Or--look here--have you +had any dealings with him?" + +Tibby was silent. Without intending it, he had betrayed his +sister's confidence; he was not enough interested in human life +to see where things will lead to. He had a strong regard for +honesty, and his word, once given, had always been kept up to +now. He was deeply vexed, not only for the harm he had done +Helen, but for the flaw he had discovered in his own equipment. + +"I see--you are in his confidence. They met at your rooms. Oh, +what a family, what a family! God help the poor pater--s" + +And Tibby found himself alone. + + + +CHAPTER XL + +Leonard--he would figure at length in a newspaper report, but +that evening he did not count for much. The foot of the tree was +in shadow, since the moon was still hidden behind the house. But +above, to right, to left, down the long meadow the moonlight was +streaming. Leonard seemed not a man, but a cause. + +Perhaps it was Helen's way of falling in love--a curious way to +Margaret, whose agony and whose contempt of Henry were yet +imprinted with his image. Helen forgot people. They were husks +that had enclosed her emotion. She could pity, or sacrifice +herself, or have instincts, but had she ever loved in the noblest +way, where man and woman, having lost themselves in sex, desire +to lose sex itself in comradeship? + +Margaret wondered, but said no word of blame. This was Helen's +evening. Troubles enough lay ahead of her--the loss of friends +and of social advantages, the agony, the supreme agony, of +motherhood, which is not even yet a matter of common knowledge. +For the present let the moon shine brightly and the breezes of +the spring blow gently, dying away from the gale of the day, and +let the earth, that brings increase, bring peace. Not even to +herself dare she blame Helen. + +She could not assess her trespass by any moral code; it was +everything or nothing. Morality can tell us that murder is worse +than stealing, and group most sins in an order all must approve, +but it cannot group Helen. The surer its pronouncements on this +point, the surer may we be that morality is not speaking. Christ +was evasive when they questioned Him. It is those that cannot +connect who hasten to cast the first stone. + +This was Helen's evening--won at what cost, and not to be marred +by the sorrows of others. Of her own tragedy Margaret never +uttered a word. + +"One isolates," said Helen slowly. "I isolated Mr. Wilcox from +the other forces that were pulling Leonard downhill. +Consequently, I was full of pity, and almost of revenge. For +weeks I had blamed Mr. Wilcox only, and so, when your letters +came-- " + +"I need never have written them," sighed Margaret. "They never +shielded Henry. How hopeless it is to tidy away the past, even +for others!" + +"I did not know that it was your own idea to dismiss the Basts." + +"Looking back, that was wrong of me." + +"Looking back, darling, I know that it was right. It is right to +save the man whom one loves. I am less enthusiastic about justice +now. But we both thought you wrote at his dictation. It seemed +the last touch of his callousness. Being very much wrought up by +this time--and Mrs. Bast was upstairs. I had not seen her, and +had talked for a long time to Leonard--I had snubbed him for no +reason, and that should have warned me I was in danger. So when +the notes came I wanted us to go to you for an explanation. He +said that he guessed the explanation--he knew of it, and you +mustn't know. I pressed him to tell me. He said no one must know; +it was something to do with his wife. Right up to the end we were +Mr. Bast and Miss Schlegel. I was going to tell him that he must +be frank with me when I saw his eyes, and guessed that Mr. +Wilcox had ruined him in two ways, not one. I drew him to me. +I made him tell me. I felt very lonely myself. He is not to +blame. He would have gone on worshipping me. I want never to +see him again, though it sounds appalling. I wanted to give +him money and feel finished. Oh, Meg, the little that is known +about these things!" + +She laid her face against the tree. + +"The little, too, that is known about growth! Both times it was +loneliness, and the night, and panic afterwards. Did Leonard grow +out of Paul?" + +Margaret did not speak for a moment. So tired was she that her +attention had actually wandered to the teeth--the teeth that had +been thrust into the tree's bark to medicate it. From where she +sat she could see them gleam. She had been trying to count them. +"Leonard is a better growth than madness," she said. "I was +afraid that you would react against Paul until you went over the +verge." + +"I did react until I found poor Leonard. I am steady now. I +shan't ever like your Henry, dearest Meg, or even speak kindly +about him, but all that blinding hate is over. I shall never rave +against Wilcoxes any more. I understand how you married him, and +you will now be very happy." + +Margaret did not reply. + +"Yes," repeated Helen, her voice growing more tender, "I do at +last understand." + +"Except Mrs. Wilcox, dearest, no one understands our little +movements." + +"Because in death--I agree." + +"Not quite. I feel that you and I and Henry are only fragments of +that woman's mind. She knows everything. She is everything. She +is the house, and the tree that leans over it. People have their +own deaths as well as their own lives, and even if there is +nothing beyond death, we shall differ in our nothingness. I +cannot believe that knowledge such as hers will perish with +knowledge such as mine. She knew about realities. She knew when +people were in love, though she was not in the room. I don't +doubt that she knew when Henry deceived her." + +"Good-night, Mrs. Wilcox," called a voice. + +"Oh, good-night, Miss Avery." + +"Why should Miss Avery work for us?" Helen murmured. + +"Why, indeed?" + +Miss Avery crossed the lawn and merged into the hedge that +divided it from the farm. An old gap, which Mr. Wilcox had filled +up, had reappeared, and her track through the dew followed the +path that he had turfed over, when he improved the garden and +made it possible for games. + +"This is not quite our house yet," said Helen. "When Miss Avery +called, I felt we are only a couple of tourists." + +"We shall be that everywhere, and for ever." + +"But affectionate tourists." + +"But tourists who pretend each hotel is their home." + +"I can't pretend very long," said Helen. "Sitting under this tree +one forgets, but I know that to-morrow I shall see the moon rise +out of Germany. Not all your goodness can alter the facts of the +case. Unless you will come with me." + +Margaret thought for a moment. In the past year she had grown so +fond of England that to leave it was a real grief. Yet what +detained her? No doubt Henry would pardon her outburst, and go on +blustering and muddling into a ripe old age. But what was the +good? She had just as soon vanish from his mind. + +"Are you serious in asking me, Helen? Should I get on with your +Monica?" + +"You would not, but I am serious in asking you." + +"Still, no more plans now. And no more reminiscences." + +They were silent for a little. It was Helen's evening. + +The present flowed by them like a stream. The tree rustled. It +had made music before they were born, and would continue after +their deaths, but its song was of the moment. The moment had +passed. The tree rustled again. Their senses were sharpened, and +they seemed to apprehend life. Life passed. The tree rustled +again. + +"Sleep now," said Margaret. + +The peace of the country was entering into her. It has no +commerce with memory, and little with hope. Least of all is it +concerned with the hopes of the next five minutes. It is the +peace of the present, which passes understanding. Its murmur came +"now," and "now" once more as they trod the gravel, and "now," as +the moonlight fell upon their father's sword. They passed +upstairs, kissed, and amidst the endless iterations fell +asleep. The house had enshadowed the tree at first, but as the +moon rose higher the two disentangled, and were clear fur a few +moments at midnight. Margaret awoke and looked into the garden. +How incomprehensible that Leonard Bast should have won her this +night of peace! Was he also part of Mrs. Wilcox's mind? + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +Far different was Leonard's development. The months after Oniton, +whatever minor troubles they might bring him, were all +overshadowed by Remorse. When Helen looked back she could +philosophise, or she could look into the future and plan for her +child. But the father saw nothing beyond his own sin. Weeks +afterwards, in the midst of other occupations, he would suddenly +cry out, "Brute--you brute, I couldn't have--" and be rent into +two people who held dialogues. Or brown rain would descend, +blotting out faces and the sky. Even Jacky noticed the change in +him. Most terrible were his sufferings when he awoke from sleep. +Sometimes he was happy at first, but grew conscious of a burden +hanging to him and weighing down his thoughts when they would +move. Or little irons scorched his body. Or a sword stabbed him. +He would sit at the edge of his bed, holding his heart and +moaning, "Oh what SHALL I do, whatever SHALL I do?" Nothing +brought ease. He could put distance between him and the trespass, +but it grew in his soul. + +Remorse is not among the eternal verities. The Greeks were right +to dethrone her. Her action is too capricious, as though the +Erinyes selected for punishment only certain men and certain +sins. And of all means to regeneration Remorse is surely the most +wasteful. It cuts away healthy tissues with the poisoned. It is a +knife that probes far deeper than the evil. Leonard was driven +straight through its torments and emerged pure, but enfeebled--a +better man, who would never lose control of himself again, but +also a smaller man, who had less to control. Nor did purity mean +peace. The use of the knife can become a habit as hard to shake +off as passion itself, and Leonard continued to start with a cry +out of dreams. + +He built up a situation that was far enough from the truth. It +never occurred to him that Helen was to blame. He forgot the +intensity of their talk, the charm that had been lent him by +sincerity, the magic of Oniton under darkness and of the +whispering river. Helen loved the absolute. Leonard had been +ruined absolutely, and had appeared to her as a man apart, +isolated from the world. A real man, who cared for adventure and +beauty, who desired to live decently and pay his way, who could +have travelled more gloriously through life than the juggernaut +car that was crushing him. Memories of Evie's wedding had warped +her, the starched servants, the yards of uneaten food, the rustle +of overdressed women, motor-cars oozing grease on the gravel, a +pretentious band. She had tasted the lees of this on her arrival; +in the darkness, after failure, they intoxicated her. She and the +victim seemed alone in a world of unreality, and she loved him +absolutely, perhaps for half an hour. + +In the morning she was gone. The note that she left, tender and +hysterical in tone, and intended to be most kind, hurt her lover +terribly. It was as if some work of art had been broken by him, +some picture in the National Gallery slashed out of its frame. +When he recalled her talents and her social position, he felt +that the first passer-by had a right to shoot him down. He was +afraid of the waitress and the porters at the railway-station. He +was afraid at first of his wife, though later he was to regard +her with a strange new tenderness, and to think, "There is +nothing to choose between us, after all." + +The expedition to Shropshire crippled the Basts permanently. +Helen in her flight forgot to settle the hotel bill, and took +their return tickets away with her; they had to pawn Jacky's +bangles to get home, and the smash came a few days afterwards. It +is true that Helen offered him five thousand pounds, but such a +sum meant nothing to him. He could not see that the girl was +desperately righting herself, and trying to save something out of +the disaster, if it was only five thousand pounds. But he had to +live somehow. He turned to his family, and degraded himself to a +professional beggar. There was nothing else for him to do. + +"A letter from Leonard," thought Blanche, his sister; "and after +all this time." She hid it, so that her husband should not see, +and when he had gone to his work read it with some emotion, and +sent the prodigal a little money out of her dress allowance. + +"A letter from Leonard!" said the other sister, Laura, a few days +later. She showed it to her husband. He wrote a cruel, insolent +reply, but sent more money than Blanche, so Leonard soon wrote to +him again. + +And during the winter the system was developed. + +Leonard realised that they need never starve, because it would be +too painful for his relatives. Society is based on the family, +and the clever wastrel can exploit this indefinitely. Without a +generous thought on either side, pounds and pounds passed. The +donors disliked Leonard, and he grew to hate them intensely. When +Laura censured his immoral marriage, he thought bitterly, "She +minds that! What would she say if she knew the truth?" When +Blanche's husband offered him work, he found some pretext for +avoiding it. He had wanted work keenly at Oniton, but too much +anxiety had shattered him, he was joining the unemployable. When +his brother, the lay-reader, did not reply to a letter, he wrote +again, saying that he and Jacky would come down to his village on +foot. He did not intend this as blackmail. Still the brother sent +a postal order, and it became part of the system. And so passed +his winter and his spring. + +In the horror there are two bright spots. He never confused the +past. He remained alive, and blessed are those who live, if it is +only to a sense of sinfulness. The anodyne of muddledom, by which +most men blur and blend their mistakes, never passed Leonard's +lips-- + + "And if I drink oblivion of a day, + So shorten I the stature of my soul." + +It is a hard saying, and a hard man wrote it, but it lies at the +root of all character. + +And the other bright spot was his tenderness for Jacky. He pitied +her with nobility now--not the contemptuous pity of a man who +sticks to a woman through thick and thin. He tried to be less +irritable. He wondered what her hungry eyes desired--nothing that +she could express, or that he or any man could give her. Would +she ever receive the justice that is mercy--the justice for +by-products that the world is too busy to bestow? She was fond of +flowers, generous with money, and not revengeful. If she had +borne him a child he might have cared for her. Unmarried, Leonard +would never have begged; he would have flickered out and died. +But the whole of life is mixed. He had to provide for Jacky, and +went down dirty paths that she might have a few feathers and the +dishes of food that suited her. + +One day he caught sight of Margaret and her brother. He was in +St. Paul's. He had entered the cathedral partly to avoid the rain +and partly to see a picture that had educated him in former +years. But the light was bad, the picture ill placed, and Time +and judgment were inside him now. Death alone still charmed him, +with her lap of poppies, on which all men shall sleep. He took +one glance, and turned aimlessly away towards a chair. Then down +the nave he saw Miss Schlegel and her brother. They stood in the +fairway of passengers, and their faces were extremely grave. He +was perfectly certain that they were in trouble about their +sister. + +Once outside--and he fled immediately--he wished that he had +spoken to them. What was his life? What were a few angry words, +or even imprisonment? He had done wrong--that was the true +terror. Whatever they might know, he would tell them everything +he knew. He re-entered St. Paul's. But they had moved in his +absence, and had gone to lay their difficulties before Mr. Wilcox +and Charles. + +The sight of Margaret turned remorse into new channels. He +desired to confess, and though the desire is proof of a weakened +nature, which is about to lose the essence of human intercourse, +it did not take an ignoble form. He did not suppose that +confession would bring him happiness. It was rather that he +yearned to get clear of the tangle. So does the suicide yearn. +The impulses are akin, and the crime of suicide lies rather in +its disregard for the feelings of those whom we leave behind. +Confession need harm no one--it can satisfy that test--and +though it was un-English, and ignored by our Anglican cathedral, +Leonard had a right to decide upon it. + +Moreover, he trusted Margaret. He wanted her hardness now. That +cold, intellectual nature of hers would be just, if unkind. He +would do whatever she told him, even if he had to see Helen. That +was the supreme punishment she would exact. And perhaps she would +tell him how Helen was. That was the supreme reward. + +He knew nothing about Margaret, not even whether she was married +to Mr. Wilcox, and tracking her out took several days. That +evening he toiled through the wet to Wickham Place, where the new +flats were now appearing. Was he also the cause of their move? +Were they expelled from society on his account? Thence to a +public library, but could find no satisfactory Schlegel in the +directory. On the morrow he searched again. He hung about outside +Mr. Wilcox's office at lunch time, and, as the clerks came out +said, "Excuse me, sir, but is your boss married?" Most of them +stared, some said, "What's that to you?" but one, who had not yet +acquired reticence, told him what he wished. Leonard could not +learn the private address. That necessitated more trouble with +directories and tubes. Ducie Street was not discovered till the +Monday, the day that Margaret and her husband went down on their +hunting expedition to Howards End. + +He called at about four o'clock. The weather had changed, and the +sun shone gaily on the ornamental steps--black and white marble +in triangles. Leonard lowered his eyes to them after ringing the +bell. He felt in curious health; doors seemed to be opening and +shutting inside his body, and he had been obliged to sleep +sitting up in bed, with his back propped against the wall. When +the parlourmaid came he could not see her face; the brown rain +had descended suddenly. + +"Does Mrs. Wilcox live here?" he asked. + +"She's out," was the answer. + +"When will she be back?" + +"I'll ask," said the parlourmaid. + +Margaret had given instructions that no one who mentioned her +name should ever be rebuffed. Putting the door on the chain--for +Leonard's appearance demanded this--she went through to the +smoking-room, which was occupied by Tibby. Tibby was asleep. He +had had a good lunch. Charles Wilcox had not yet rung him up for +the distracting interview. He said drowsily: "I don't know. +Hilton. Howards End. Who is it?" + +"I'll ask, sir." + +"No, don't bother." + +"They have taken the car to Howards End," said the parlourmaid to +Leonard. + +He thanked her, and asked whereabouts that place was. + +"You appear to want to know a good deal," she remarked. But +Margaret had forbidden her to be mysterious. She told him against +her better judgment that Howards End was in Hertfordshire. + +"Is it a village, please?" + +"Village! It's Mr. Wilcox's private house--at least, it's one of +them. Mrs. Wilcox keeps her furniture there. Hilton is the +village." + +"Yes. And when will they be back?" + +"Mr. Schlegel doesn't know. We can't know everything, can we?" +She shut him out, and went to attend to the telephone, which was +ringing furiously. + +He loitered away another night of agony. Confession grew more +difficult. As soon as possible he went to bed. He watched a patch +of moonlight cross the floor of their lodging, and, as sometimes +happens when the mind is overtaxed, he fell asleep for the rest +of the room, but kept awake for the patch of moonlight. Horrible! +Then began one of those disintegrating dialogues. Part of him +said: "Why horrible? It's ordinary light from the moon." "But +it moves." "So does the moon." "But it is a clenched fist." +"Why not?" "But it is going to touch me." "Let it." And, seeming +to gather motion, the patch ran up his blanket. Presently a blue +snake appeared; then another parallel to it. "Is there life in +the moon?" "Of course." "But I thought it was uninhabited." +"Not by Time, Death, Judgment, and the smaller snakes." "Smaller +snakes!" said Leonard indignantly and aloud. "What a notion!" By +a rending effort of the will he woke the rest of the room up. +Jacky, the bed, their food, their clothes on the chair, gradually +entered his consciousness, and the horror vanished outwards, like +a ring that is spreading through water. + +"I say, Jacky, I'm going out for a bit." + +She was breathing regularly. The patch of light fell clear of the +striped blanket, and began to cover the shawl that lay over her +feet. Why had he been afraid? He went to the window, and saw that +the moon was descending through a clear sky. He saw her volcanoes, +and the bright expanses that a gracious error has named seas. +They paled, for the sun, who had lit them up, was coming to light +the earth. Sea of Serenity, Sea of Tranquillity, Ocean of the +Lunar Storms, merged into one lucent drop, itself to slip into +the sempiternal dawn. And he had been afraid of the moon! + +He dressed among the contending lights, and went through his +money. It was running low again, but enough for a return ticket +to Hilton. As it clinked, Jacky opened her eyes. + +"Hullo, Len! What ho, Len!" + +"What ho, Jacky! see you again later." + +She turned over and slept. + +The house was unlocked, their landlord being a salesman at Covent +Garden. Leonard passed out and made his way down to the station. +The train, though it did not start for an hour, was already drawn +up at the end of the platform, and he lay down in it and slept. +With the first jolt he was in daylight; they had left the +gateways of King's Cross, and were under blue sky. Tunnels +followed, and after each the sky grew bluer, and from the +embankment at Finsbury Park he had his first sight of the sun. It +rolled along behind the eastern smokes--a wheel, whose fellow was +the descending moon--and as yet it seemed the servant of the blue +sky, not its lord. He dozed again. Over Tewin Water it was day. +To the left fell the shadow of the embankment and its arches; to +the right Leonard saw up into the Tewin Woods and towards the +church, with its wild legend of immortality. Six forest trees-- +that is a fact--grow out of one of the graves in Tewin +churchyard. The grave's occupant--that is the legend--is an +atheist, who declared that if God existed, six forest trees would +grow out of her grave. These things in Hertfordshire; and farther +afield lay the house of a hermit--Mrs. Wilcox had known him--who +barred himself up, and wrote prophecies, and gave all he had to +the poor. While, powdered in between, were the villas of business +men, who saw life more steadily, though with the steadiness of +the half-closed eye. Over all the sun was streaming, to all the +birds were singing, to all the primroses were yellow, and the +speedwell blue, and the country, however they interpreted her, +was uttering her cry of "now." She did not free Leonard yet, and +the knife plunged deeper into his heart as the train drew up at +Hilton. But remorse had become beautiful. + +Hilton was asleep, or at the earliest, breakfasting. Leonard +noticed the contrast when he stepped out of it into the country. +Here men had been up since dawn. Their hours were ruled, not by a +London office, but by the movements of the crops and the sun. +That they were men of the finest type only the sentimentalists +can declare. But they kept to the life of daylight. They are +England's hope. Clumsily they carry forward the torch of the sun, +until such time as the nation sees fit to take it up. Half +clodhopper, half board-school prig, they can still throw back to +a nobler stock, and breed yeomen. + +At the chalk pit a motor passed him. In it was another type, whom +Nature favours--the Imperial. Healthy, ever in motion, it hopes +to inherit the earth. It breeds as quickly as the yeoman, and as +soundly; strong is the temptation to acclaim it as a super-yeoman, +who carries his country's virtue overseas. But the Imperialist is +not what he thinks or seems. He is a destroyer. He prepares the +way for cosmopolitanism, and though his ambitions may be fulfilled, +the earth that he inherits will be grey. + +To Leonard, intent on his private sin, there came the conviction +of innate goodness elsewhere. It was not the optimism which he +had been taught at school. Again and again must the drums tap, +and the goblins stalk over the universe before joy can be purged +of the superficial. It was rather paradoxical, and arose from his +sorrow. Death destroys a man, but the idea of death saves him-- +that is the best account of it that has yet been given. Squalor +and tragedy can beckon to all that is great in us, and strengthen +the wings of love. They can beckon; it is not certain that they +will, for they are not love's servants. But they can beckon, and +the knowledge of this incredible truth comforted him. + +As he approached the house all thought stopped. Contradictory +notions stood side by side in his mind. He was terrified but +happy, ashamed, but had done no sin. He knew the confession: +"Mrs. Wilcox, I have done wrong," but sunrise had robbed its +meaning, and he felt rather on a supreme adventure. + +He entered a garden, steadied himself against a motor-car that he +found in it, found a door open and entered a house. Yes, it would +be very easy. From a room to the left he heard voices, Margaret's +amongst them. His own name was called aloud, and a man whom he +had never seen said, "Oh, is he there? I am not surprised. I now +thrash him within an inch of his life." + +"Mrs. Wilcox," said Leonard, "I have done wrong." + +The man took him by the collar and cried, "Bring me a stick." +Women were screaming. A stick, very bright, descended. It hurt +him, not where it descended, but in the heart. Books fell over +him in a shower. Nothing had sense. + +"Get some water," commanded Charles, who had all through kept +very calm. "He's shamming. Of course I only used the blade. Here, +carry him out into the air." + +Thinking that he understood these things, Margaret obeyed him. +They laid Leonard, who was dead, on the gravel; Helen poured +water over him. + +"That's enough," said Charles. + +"Yes, murder's enough," said Miss Avery, coming out of the house +with the sword. + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +When Charles left Ducie Street he had caught the first train +home, but had no inkling of the newest development until late at +night. Then his father, who had dined alone, sent for him, and in +very grave tones inquired for Margaret. + +"I don't know where she is, pater" said Charles. Dolly kept back +dinner nearly an hour for her." + +"Tell me when she comes in." + +Another hour passed. The servants went to bed, and Charles +visited his father again, to receive further instructions. Mrs. +Wilcox had still not returned. + +"I'll sit up for her as late as you like, but she can hardly be +coming. Isn't she stopping with her sister at the hotel?" + +"Perhaps," said Mr. Wilcox thoughtfully--"perhaps." + +"Can I do anything for you, sir?" + +"Not to-night, my boy." + +Mr. Wilcox liked being called sir. He raised his eyes, and gave +his son more open a look of tenderness than he usually ventured. +He saw Charles as little boy and strong man in one. Though his +wife had proved unstable his children were left to him. + +After midnight he tapped on Charles's door. "I can't sleep," he +said. "I had better have a talk with you and get it over." + +He complained of the heat. Charles took him out into the garden, +and they paced up and down in their dressing-gowns. Charles +became very quiet as the story unrolled; he had known all along +that Margaret was as bad as her sister. + +"She will feel differently in the morning," said Mr. Wilcox, who +had of course said nothing about Mrs. Bast. "But I cannot let +this kind of thing continue without comment. I am morally certain +that she is with her sister at Howards End. The house is mine-- +and, Charles, it will be yours--and when I say that no one is to +live there, I mean that no one is to live there. I won't have +it." He looked angrily at the moon. "To my mind this question is +connected with something far greater, the rights of property +itself." + +"Undoubtedly," said Charles. + +Mr. Wilcox linked his arm in his son's, but somehow liked him +less as he told him more. "I don't want you to conclude that my +wife and I had anything of the nature of a quarrel. She was only +overwrought, as who would not be? I shall do what I can for +Helen, but on the understanding that they clear out of the house +at once. Do you see? That is a sine qua non." + +"Then at eight to-morrow I may go up in the car?" + +"Eight or earlier. Say that you are acting as my representative, +and, of course, use no violence, Charles." + +On the morrow, as Charles returned, leaving Leonard dead upon the +gravel, it did not seem to him that he had used violence. Death +was due to heart disease. His stepmother herself had said so, and +even Miss Avery had acknowledged that he only used the flat of +the sword. On his way through the village he informed the police, +who thanked him, and said there must be an inquest. He found his +father in the garden shading his eyes from the sun. + +"It has been pretty horrible," said Charles gravely. "They were +there, and they had the man up there with them too." + +"What--what man?" + +"I told you last night. His name was Bast." + +"My God! is it possible?" said Mr. Wilcox. "In your mother's +house! Charles, in your mother's house!" + +"I know, pater. That was what I felt. As a matter of fact, there +is no need to trouble about the man. He was in the last stages of +heart disease, and just before I could show him what I thought of +him he went off. The police are seeing about it at this moment." + +Mr. Wilcox listened attentively. + +"I got up there--oh, it couldn't have been more than half-past +seven. The Avery woman was lighting a fire for them. They were +still upstairs. I waited in the drawing-room. We were all +moderately civil and collected, though I had my suspicions. I +gave them your message, and Mrs. Wilcox said, 'Oh yes, I see; +yes,' in that way of hers." + +"Nothing else?" + +"I promised to tell you, 'with her love,' that she was going to +Germany with her sister this evening. That was all we had time +for." + +Mr. Wilcox seemed relieved. + +"Because by then I suppose the man got tired of hiding, for +suddenly Mrs. Wilcox screamed out his name. I recognised it, +and I went for him in the hall. Was I right, pater? I thought +things were going a little too far." + +"Right, my dear boy? I don't know. But you would have been no son +of mine if you hadn't. Then did he just--just--crumple up as you +said?" He shrunk from the simple word. + +"He caught hold of the bookcase, which came down over him. So I +merely put the sword down and carried him into the garden. We all +thought he was shamming. However, he's dead right enough. Awful +business!" + +"Sword?" cried his father, with anxiety in his voice. "What +sword? Whose sword?" + +"A sword of theirs." + +"What were you doing with it?" + +"Well, didn't you see, pater, I had to snatch up the first thing +handy. I hadn't a riding-whip or stick. I caught him once or twice +over the shoulders with the flat of their old German sword." + +"Then what?" + +"He pulled over the bookcase, as I said, and fell," aid Charles, +with a sigh. It was no fun doing errands for his father, who was +never quite satisfied. + +"But the real cause was heart disease? Of that you're sure?" + +"That or a fit. However, we shall hear more than enough at the +inquest on such unsavoury topics." + +They went in to breakfast. Charles had a racking headache, +consequent on motoring before food. He was also anxious about the +future, reflecting that the police must detain Helen and Margaret +for the inquest and ferret the whole thing out. He saw himself +obliged to leave Hilton. One could not afford to live near the +scene of a scandal--it was not fair on one's wife. His comfort was +that the pater's eyes were opened at last. There would be a +horrible smash-up, and probably a separation from Margaret; then +they would all start again, more as they had been in his mother's +time. + +"I think I'll go round to the police-station," said his father +when breakfast was over. + +"What for?" cried Dolly, who had still not been "told." + +"Very well, sir. Which car will you have?" + +"I think I'll walk." + +"It's a good half-mile," said Charles, stepping into the +garden. "The sun's very hot for April. Shan't I take you up, and +then, perhaps, a little spin round by Tewin?" + +"You go on as if I didn't know my own mind " said Mr. Wilcox +fretfully. Charles hardened his mouth. "You young fellows' one +idea is to get into a motor. I tell you, I want to walk; I'm +very fond of walking." + +"Oh, all right; I'm about the house if you want me for anything. +I thought of not going up to the office to-day, if that is your +wish." + +"It is, indeed, my boy," said Mr. Wilcox, and laid a hand on his +sleeve. + +Charles did not like it; he was uneasy about his father, who did +not seem himself this morning. There was a petulant touch about +him--more like a woman. Could it be that he was growing old? The +Wilcoxes were not lacking in affection; they had it royally, but +they did not know how to use it. It was the talent in the napkin, +and, for a warm-hearted man, Charles had conveyed very little +joy. As he watched his father shuffling up the road, he had a +vague regret--a wish that something had been different somewhere-- +a wish (though he did not express it thus) that he had been +taught to say "I" in his youth. He meant to make up for Margaret's +defection, but knew that his father had been very happy with her +until yesterday. How had she done it? By some dishonest trick, +no doubt--but how? + +Mr. Wilcox reappeared at eleven, looking very tired. There was to +be an inquest on Leonard's body to-morrow, and the police +required his son to attend. + +"I expected that," said Charles. "I shall naturally be the most +important witness there." + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + +Out of the turmoil and horror that had begun with Aunt Juley's +illness and was not even to end with Leonard's death, it seemed +impossible to Margaret that healthy life should re-emerge. Events +succeeded in a logical, yet senseless, train. People lost their +humanity, and took values as arbitrary as those in a pack of +playing-cards. It was natural that Henry should do this and cause +Helen to do that, and then think her wrong for doing it; natural +that she herself should think him wrong; natural that Leonard +should want to know how Helen was, and come, and Charles be angry +with him for coming--natural, but unreal. In this jangle of +causes and effects what had become of their true selves? Here +Leonard lay dead in the garden, from natural causes; yet life was +a deep, deep river, death a blue sky, life was a house, death a +wisp of hay, a flower, a tower, life and death were anything and +everything, except this ordered insanity, where the king takes +the queen, and the ace the king. Ah, no; there was beauty and +adventure behind, such as the man at her feet had yearned for; +there was hope this side of the grave; there were truer +relationships beyond the limits that fetter us now. As a prisoner +looks up and sees stars beckoning, so she, from the turmoil and +horror of those days, caught glimpses of the diviner wheels. + +And Helen, dumb with fright, but trying to keep calm for the +child's sake, and Miss Avery, calm, but murmuring tenderly, "No +one ever told the lad he'll have a child"--they also reminded her +that horror is not the end. To what ultimate harmony we tend she +did not know, but there seemed great chance that a child would be +born into the world, to take the great chances of beauty and +adventure that the world offers. She moved through the sunlit +garden, gathering narcissi, crimson-eyed and white. There was +nothing else to be done; the time for telegrams and anger was +over and it seemed wisest that the hands of Leonard should be +folded on his breast and be filled with flowers. Here was the +father; leave it at that. Let Squalor be turned into Tragedy, +whose eyes are the stars, and whose hands hold the sunset and the +dawn. + +And even the influx of officials, even the return of the doctor, +vulgar and acute, could not shake her belief in the eternity of +beauty. Science explained people, but could not understand them. +After long centuries among the bones and muscles it might be +advancing to knowledge of the nerves, but this would never give +understanding. One could open the heart to Mr. Mansbridge and his +sort without discovering its secrets to them, for they wanted +everything down in black and white, and black and white was +exactly what they were left with. + +They questioned her closely about Charles. She never suspected +why. Death had come, and the doctor agreed that it was due to +heart disease. They asked to see her father's sword. She +explained that Charles's anger was natural, but mistaken. +Miserable questions about Leonard followed, all of which she +answered unfalteringly. Then back to Charles again. "No doubt Mr. +Wilcox may have induced death," she said; "but if it wasn't one +thing it would have been another as you know." At last they +thanked her and took the sword and the body down to Hilton. She +began to pick up the books from the floor. + +Helen had gone to the farm. It was the best place for her, since +she had to wait for the inquest. Though, as if things were not +hard enough, Madge and her husband had raised trouble; they did +not see why they should receive the offscourings of Howards End. +And, of course, they were right. The whole world was going to be +right, and amply avenge any brave talk against the conventions. +"Nothing matters," the Schlegels had said in the past, "except +one's self-respect and that of one's friends." When the time +came, other things mattered terribly. However, Madge had yielded, +and Helen was assured of peace for one day and night, and +to-morrow she would return to Germany. + +As for herself, she determined to go too. No message came from +Henry; perhaps he expected her to apologise. Now that she had +time to think over her own tragedy, she was unrepentant. She +neither forgave him for his behaviour nor wished to forgive him. +Her speech to him seemed perfect. She would not have altered a +word. It had to be uttered once in a life, to adjust the +lopsidedness of the world. It was spoken not only to her husband, +but to thousands of men like him--a protest against the inner +darkness in high places that comes with a commercial age. Though +he would build up his life without hers, she could not apologise. +He had refused to connect, on the clearest issue that can be laid +before a man, and their love must take the consequences. + +No, there was nothing more to be done. They had tried not to go +over the precipice, but perhaps the fall was inevitable. And it +comforted her to think that the future was certainly inevitable; +cause and effect would go jangling forward to some goal doubtless, +but to none that she could imagine. At such moments the soul +retires within, to float upon the bosom of a deeper stream, and +has communion with the dead, and sees the world's glory not +diminished, but different in kind to what she has supposed. She +alters her focus until trivial things are blurred. Margaret had +been tending this way all the winter. Leonard's death brought her +to the goal. Alas! that Henry should fade away as reality emerged, +and only her love for him should remain clear, stamped with his +image like the cameos we rescue out of dreams. + +With unfaltering eye she traced his future. He would soon present +a healthy mind to the world again, and what did he or the world +care if he was rotten at the core? He would grow into a rich, +jolly old man, at times a little sentimental about women, but +emptying his glass with anyone. Tenacious of power, he would keep +Charles and the rest dependent, and retire from business +reluctantly and at an advanced age. He would settle down--though +she could not realise this. In her eyes Henry was always moving +and causing others to move, until the ends of the earth met. But +in time he must get too tired to move, and settle down. What next? +The inevitable word. The release of the soul to its appropriate +Heaven. + +Would they meet in it? Margaret believed in immortality for +herself. An eternal future had always seemed natural to her. And +Henry believed in it for himself. Yet, would they meet again? Are +there not rather endless levels beyond the grave, as the theory +that he had censured teaches? And his level, whether higher or +lower, could it possibly be the same as hers? + +Thus gravely meditating, she was summoned by him. He sent up +Crane in the motor. Other servants passed like water, but the +chauffeur remained, though impertinent and disloyal. Margaret +disliked Crane, and he knew it. + +"Is it the keys that Mr. Wilcox wants?" she asked, + +"He didn't say, madam." + +"You haven't any note for me?" + +"He didn't say, madam." + +After a moment's thought she locked up Howards End. It was +pitiable to see in it the stirrings of warmth that would be +quenched for ever. She raked out the fire that was blazing in the +kitchen, and spread the coals in the gravelled yard. She closed +the windows and drew the curtains. Henry would probably sell the +place now. + +She was determined not to spare him, for nothing new had happened +as far as they were concerned. Her mood might never have altered +from yesterday evening. He was standing a little outside +Charles's gate, and motioned the car to stop. When his wife got +out he said hoarsely: "I prefer to discuss things with you +outside." + +"It will be more appropriate in the road, I am afraid," said +Margaret. "Did you get my message?" + +"What about?" + +"I am going to Germany with my sister. I must tell you now that I +shall make it my permanent home. Our talk last night was more +important than you have realised. I am unable to forgive you and +am leaving you. " + +"I am extremely tired," said Henry, in injured tones. "I have +been walking about all the morning, and wish to sit down." + +"Certainly, if you will consent to sit on the grass." + +The Great North Road should have been bordered all its length +with glebe. Henry's kind had filched most of it. She moved to the +scrap opposite, wherein were the Six Hills. They sat down on the +farther side, so that they could not be seen by Charles or Dolly. + +"Here are your keys," said Margaret. She tossed them towards +him. They fell on the sunlit slope of grass, and he did not pick +them up. + +"I have something to tell you," he said gently. + +She knew this superficial gentleness, this confession of +hastiness, that was only intended to enhance her admiration of +the male. + +"I don't want to hear it," she replied. "My sister is going to be +ill. My life is going to be with her now. We must manage to build +up something, she and I and her child." + +"Where are you going?" + +"Munich. We start after the inquest, if she is not too ill." + +"After the inquest?" + +"Yes." + +"Have you realised what the verdict at the inquest will be?" + +"Yes, heart disease." + +"No, my dear; manslaughter." + +Margaret drove her fingers through the grass. The hill beneath +her moved as if it were alive. + +"Manslaughter," repeated Mr. Wilcox. "Charles may go to prison. I +dare not tell him. I don't know what to do--what to do. I'm +broken--I'm ended." + +No sudden warmth arose in her. She did not see that to break him +was her only hope. She did not enfold the sufferer in her arms. +But all through that day and the next a new life began to move. +The verdict was brought in. Charles was committed for trial. It +was against all reason that he should be punished, but the law, +notwithstanding, sentenced him to three years' imprisonment. Then +Henry's fortress gave way. He could bear no one but his wife; he +shambled up to Margaret afterwards and asked her to do what she +could with him. She did what seemed easiest--she took him down to +recruit at Howards End. + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + +Tom's father was cutting the big meadow. He passed again and +again amid whirring blades and sweet odours of grass, +encompassing with narrowing circles the sacred centre of the +field. Tom was negotiating with Helen. "I haven't any idea," she +replied. "Do you suppose baby may, Meg?" + +Margaret put down her work and regarded them absently. "What was +that?" she asked. + +"Tom wants to know whether baby is old enough to play with hay?" + +"I haven't the least notion," answered Margaret, and took up her +work again. + +"Now, Tom, baby is not to stand; he is not to lie on his face; he +is not to lie so that his head wags; he is not to be teased or +tickled; and he is not to be cut into two or more pieces by the +cutter. Will you be as careful as all that?" + +Tom held out his arms. + +"That child is a wonderful nursemaid," remarked Margaret. + +"He is fond of baby. That's why he does it!" was Helen's answer. +"They're going to be lifelong friends." + +"Starting at the ages of six and one?" + +"Of course. It will be a great thing for Tom." + +"It may be a greater thing for baby." + +Fourteen months had passed, but Margaret still stopped at Howards +End. No better plan had occurred to her. The meadow was being +recut, the great red poppies were reopening in the garden. July +would follow with the little red poppies among the wheat, August +with the cutting of the wheat. These little events would become +part of her year after year. Every summer she would fear lest the +well should give out, every winter lest the pipes should freeze; +every westerly gale might blow the wych-elm down and bring the +end of all things, and so she could not read or talk during a +westerly gale. The air was tranquil now. She and her sister were +sitting on the remains of Evie's rockery, where the lawn merged +into the field. + +"What a time they all are!" said Helen. "What can they be doing +inside?" Margaret, who was growing less talkative, made no answer. +The noise of the cutter came intermittently, like the breaking of +waves. Close by them a man was preparing to scythe out one of +the dell-holes. + +"I wish Henry was out to enjoy this," said Helen. "This lovely +weather and to be shut up in the house! It's very hard." + +"It has to be," said Margaret. "The hay fever is his chief +objection against living here, but he thinks it worth while." + +"Meg, is or isn't he ill? I can't make out." + +"Not ill. Eternally tired. He has worked very hard all his life, +and noticed nothing. Those are the people who collapse when they +do notice a thing." + +"I suppose he worries dreadfully about his part of the tangle." + +"Dreadfully. That is why I wish Dolly had not come, too, to-day. +Still, be wanted them all to come. It has to be." + +"Why does he want them?" + +Margaret did not answer. + +"Meg, may I tell you something? I like Henry." + +"You'd be odd if you didn't, " said Margaret. + +"I usen't to." + +"Usen't!" She lowered her eyes a moment to the black abyss of the +past. They had crossed it, always excepting Leonard and Charles. +They were building up a new life, obscure, yet gilded with +tranquillity. Leonard was dead; Charles had two years more in +prison. One usen't always to see clearly before that time. It was +different now. + +"I like Henry because he does worry." + +"And he likes you because you don't." + +Helen sighed. She seemed humiliated, and buried her face in her +hands. After a time she said: "About love," a transition less +abrupt than it appeared. + +Margaret never stopped working. + +"I mean a woman's love for a man. I supposed I should hang my +life on to that once, and was driven up and down and about as if +something was worrying through me. But everything is peaceful +now; I seem cured. That Herr Forstmeister, whom Frieda keeps +writing about, must be a noble character, but he doesn't see that +I shall never marry him or anyone. It isn't shame or mistrust of +myself. I simply couldn't. I'm ended. I used to be so dreamy +about a man's love as a girl, and think that for good or evil +love must be the great thing. But it hasn't been; it has been +itself a dream. Do you agree?" + +"I do not agree. I do not." + +"I ought to remember Leonard as my lover," said Helen, stepping +down into the field. "I tempted him, and killed him, and it is +surely the least I can do. I would like to throw out all my heart +to Leonard on such an afternoon as this. But I cannot. It is no +good pretending. I am forgetting him." Her eyes filled with +tears. "How nothing seems to match--how, my darling, my +precious--" She broke off. "Tommy!" + +"Yes, please?" + +"Baby's not to try and stand.--There's something wanting in me. I +see you loving Henry, and understanding him better daily, and I +know that death wouldn't part you in the least. But I-- Is it +some awful, appalling, criminal defect?" + +Margaret silenced her. She said: "It is only that people are far +more different than is pretended. All over the world men and +women are worrying because they cannot develop as they are +supposed to develop. Here and there they have the matter out, and +it comforts them. Don't fret yourself, Helen. Develop what you +have; love your child. I do not love children. I am thankful to +have none. I can play with their beauty and charm, but that is +all--nothing real, not one scrap of what there ought to be. And +others--others go farther still, and move outside humanity +altogether. A place, as well as a person, may catch the glow. +Don't you see that all this leads to comfort in the end? It is +part of the battle against sameness. Differences, eternal +differences, planted by God in a single family, so that there may +always be colour; sorrow perhaps, but colour in the daily grey. +Then I can't have you worrying about Leonard. Don't drag in the +personal when it will not come. Forget him." + +"Yes, yes, but what has Leonard got out of life?" + +"Perhaps an adventure." + +"Is that enough?" + +"Not for us. But for him." + +Helen took up a bunch of grass. She looked at the sorrel, and the +red and white and yellow clover, and the quaker grass, and the +daisies, and the bents that composed it. She raised it to her +face. + +"Is it sweetening yet?" asked Margaret. + +"No, only withered." + +"It will sweeten to-morrow." + +Helen smiled. "Oh, Meg, you are a person," she said. "Think of +the racket and torture this time last year. But now I couldn't +stop unhappy if I tried. What a change--and all through you!" + +"Oh, we merely settled down. You and Henry learnt to understand +one another and to forgive, all through the autumn and the +winter." + +"Yes, but who settled us down?" + +Margaret did not reply. The scything had begun, and she took off +her pince-nez to watch it. + +"You!" cried Helen. "You did it all, sweetest, though you're too +stupid to see. Living here was your plan--I wanted you; he wanted +you; and everyone said it was impossible, but you knew. Just +think of our lives without you, Meg--I and baby with Monica, +revolting by theory, he handed about from Dolly to Evie. But you +picked up the pieces, and made us a home. Can't it strike you-- +even for a moment--that your life has been heroic? Can't you +remember the two months after Charles's arrest, when you began to +act, and did all?" + +"You were both ill at the time," said Margaret. "I did the +obvious things. I had two invalids to nurse. Here was a house, +ready furnished and empty. It was obvious. I didn't know myself +it would turn into a permanent home. No doubt I have done a +little towards straightening the tangle, but things that I can't +phrase have helped me." + +"I hope it will be permanent," said Helen, drifting away to other +thoughts. + +"I think so. There are moments when I feel Howards End peculiarly +our own." + +"All the same, London's creeping." + +She pointed over the meadow--over eight or nine meadows, but at +the end of them was a red rust. + +"You see that in Surrey and even Hampshire now," she continued. +"I can see it from the Purbeck Downs. And London is only part of +something else, I'm afraid. Life's going to be melted down, all +over the world." + +Margaret knew that her sister spoke truly. Howards End, Oniton, +the Purbeck Downs, the Oderberge, were all survivals, and the +melting-pot was being prepared for them. Logically, they had no +right to be alive. One's hope was in the weakness of logic. Were +they possibly the earth beating time? + +"Because a thing is going strong now, it need not go strong for +ever," she said. "This craze for motion has only set in during +the last hundred years. It may be followed by a civilisation that +won't be a movement, because it will rest on the earth. All the +signs are against it now, but I can't help hoping, and very early +in the morning in the garden I feel that our house is the +future as well as the past." + +They turned and looked at it. Their own memories coloured it now, +for Helen's child had been born in the central room of the nine. +Then Margaret said, "Oh, take care--!" for something moved behind +the window of the hall, and the door opened. + +"The conclave's breaking at last. I'll go." + +It was Paul. + +Helen retreated with the children far into the field. Friendly +voices greeted her. Margaret rose, to encounter a man with a +heavy black moustache. + +"My father has asked for you," he said with hostility. + +She took her work and followed him. + +"We have been talking business," he continued, "but I dare say +you knew all about it beforehand." + +"Yes, I did." + +Clumsy of movement--for he had spent all his life in the saddle-- +Paul drove his foot against the paint of the front door. Mrs. +Wilcox gave a little cry of annoyance. She did not like anything +scratched; she stopped in the hall to take Dolly's boa and gloves +out of a vase. + +Her husband was lying in a great leather chair in the dining-room, +and by his side, holding his hand rather ostentatiously, was Evie. +Dolly, dressed in purple, sat near the window. The room was a +little dark and airless; they were obliged to keep it like this +until the carting of the hay. Margaret joined the family without +speaking; the five of them had met already at tea, and she knew +quite well what was going to be said. Averse to wasting her time, +she went on sewing. The clock struck six. + +"Is this going to suit everyone?" said Henry in a weary voice. He +used the old phrases, but their effect was unexpected and +shadowy. "Because I don't want you all coming here later on and +complaining that I have been unfair." + +"It's apparently got to suit us," said Paul. + +"I beg your pardon, my boy. You have only to speak, and I will +leave the house to you instead." + +Paul frowned ill-temperedly, and began scratching at his arm. "As +I've given up the outdoor life that suited me, and I have come +home to look after the business, it's no good my settling down +here," he said at last. "It's not really the country, and it's +not the town." + +"Very well. Does my arrangement suit you, Evie?" + +"Of course, father." + +"And you, Dolly?" + +Dolly raised her faded little face, which sorrow could wither but +not steady. "Perfectly splendidly," she said. "I thought Charles +wanted it for the boys, but last time I saw him he said no, +because we cannot possibly live in this part of England again. +Charles says we ought to change our name, but I cannot think what +to, for Wilcox just suits Charles and me, and I can't think of +any other name." + +There was a general silence. Dolly looked nervously round, fearing +that she had been inappropriate. Paul continued to scratch his arm. + +"Then I leave Howards End to my wife absolutely," said Henry. +"And let everyone understand that; and after I am dead let there +be no jealousy and no surprise." + +Margaret did not answer. There was something uncanny in her +triumph. She, who had never expected to conquer anyone, had +charged straight through these Wilcoxes and broken up their +lives. + +"In consequence, I leave my wife no money," said Henry. "That is +her own wish. All that she would have had will be divided among +you. I am also giving you a great deal in my lifetime, so that +you may be independent of me. That is her wish, too. She also is +giving away a great deal of money. She intends to diminish her +income by half during the next ten years; she intends when she +dies to leave the house to her nephew, down in the field. Is all +that clear? Does everyone understand?" + +Paul rose to his feet. He was accustomed to natives, and a very +little shook him out of the Englishman. Feeling manly and +cynical, he said: "Down in the field? Oh, come! I think we might +have had the whole establishment, piccaninnies included." + +Mrs. Cahill whispered: "Don't, Paul. You promised you'd take +care." Feeling a woman of the world, she rose and prepared to +take her leave. + +Her father kissed her. "Good-bye, old girl, "he said; "don't you +worry about me." + +"Good-bye, dad." + +Then it was Dolly's turn. Anxious to contribute, she laughed +nervously, and said: "Good-bye, Mr. Wilcox. It does seem curious +that Mrs. Wilcox should have left Margaret Howards End, and yet +she get it, after all." + +From Evie came a sharply-drawn breath. "Goodbye," she said to +Margaret, and kissed her. + +And again and again fell the word, like the ebb of a dying sea. + +"Good-bye." + +"Good-bye, Dolly." + +"So long, father." + +"Good-bye, my boy; always take care of yourself." + +"Good-bye, Mrs. Wilcox." + +"Good-bye." + +Margaret saw their visitors to the gate. Then she returned to her +husband and laid her head in his hands. He was pitiably tired. +But Dolly's remark had interested her. At last she said: "Could +you tell me, Henry, what was that about Mrs. Wilcox having left +me Howards End?" + +Tranquilly he replied: "Yes, she did. But that is a very old +story. When she was ill and you were so kind to her she wanted to +make you some return, and, not being herself at the time, +scribbled 'Howards End' on a piece of paper. I went into it +thoroughly, and, as it was clearly fanciful, I set it aside, +little knowing what my Margaret would be to me in the future." + +Margaret was silent. Something shook her life in its inmost +recesses, and she shivered. + +"I didn't do wrong, did I?" he asked, bending down. + +"You didn't, darling. Nothing has been done wrong." + +From the garden came laughter. "Here they are at last!" exclaimed +Henry, disengaging himself with a smile. Helen rushed into the +gloom, holding Tom by one hand and carrying her baby on the +other. There were shouts of infectious joy. + +"The field's cut!" Helen cried excitedly--"the big meadow! We've +seen to the very end, and it'll be such a crop of hay as never!" + +WEYBRIDGE, 1908-191O. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Howards End, by E. M. Forster + |