diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:14:27 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:14:27 -0700 |
| commit | 66559139a5bcde9783329ae853d5b4e23cc964f2 (patch) | |
| tree | 2da48cc1de423890113fee6632844fe6c454b075 /144-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '144-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 144-h/144-h.htm | 19862 |
1 files changed, 19862 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/144-h/144-h.htm b/144-h/144-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2fd8c5f --- /dev/null +++ b/144-h/144-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,19862 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Voyage Out, by Virginia Woolf</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 144 ***</div> + +<h1>The Voyage Out</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Virginia Woolf</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p> +As the streets that lead from the Strand to the Embankment are very narrow, it +is better not to walk down them arm-in-arm. If you persist, lawyers’ +clerks will have to make flying leaps into the mud; young lady typists will +have to fidget behind you. In the streets of London where beauty goes +unregarded, eccentricity must pay the penalty, and it is better not to be very +tall, to wear a long blue cloak, or to beat the air with your left hand. +</p> + +<p> +One afternoon in the beginning of October when the traffic was becoming brisk a +tall man strode along the edge of the pavement with a lady on his arm. Angry +glances struck upon their backs. The small, agitated figures—for in +comparison with this couple most people looked small—decorated with +fountain pens, and burdened with despatch-boxes, had appointments to keep, and +drew a weekly salary, so that there was some reason for the unfriendly stare +which was bestowed upon Mr. Ambrose’s height and upon Mrs. +Ambrose’s cloak. But some enchantment had put both man and woman beyond +the reach of malice and unpopularity. In his case one might guess from the +moving lips that it was thought; and in hers from the eyes fixed stonily +straight in front of her at a level above the eyes of most that it was sorrow. +It was only by scorning all she met that she kept herself from tears, and the +friction of people brushing past her was evidently painful. After watching the +traffic on the Embankment for a minute or two with a stoical gaze she twitched +her husband’s sleeve, and they crossed between the swift discharge of +motor cars. When they were safe on the further side, she gently withdrew her +arm from his, allowing her mouth at the same time to relax, to tremble; then +tears rolled down, and leaning her elbows on the balustrade, she shielded her +face from the curious. Mr. Ambrose attempted consolation; he patted her +shoulder; but she showed no signs of admitting him, and feeling it awkward to +stand beside a grief that was greater than his, he crossed his arms behind him, +and took a turn along the pavement. +</p> + +<p> +The embankment juts out in angles here and there, like pulpits; instead of +preachers, however, small boys occupy them, dangling string, dropping pebbles, +or launching wads of paper for a cruise. With their sharp eye for eccentricity, +they were inclined to think Mr. Ambrose awful; but the quickest witted cried +“Bluebeard!” as he passed. In case they should proceed to tease his +wife, Mr. Ambrose flourished his stick at them, upon which they decided that he +was grotesque merely, and four instead of one cried “Bluebeard!” in +chorus. +</p> + +<p> +Although Mrs. Ambrose stood quite still, much longer than is natural, the +little boys let her be. Some one is always looking into the river near Waterloo +Bridge; a couple will stand there talking for half an hour on a fine afternoon; +most people, walking for pleasure, contemplate for three minutes; when, having +compared the occasion with other occasions, or made some sentence, they pass +on. Sometimes the flats and churches and hotels of Westminster are like the +outlines of Constantinople in a mist; sometimes the river is an opulent purple, +sometimes mud-coloured, sometimes sparkling blue like the sea. It is always +worth while to look down and see what is happening. But this lady looked +neither up nor down; the only thing she had seen, since she stood there, was a +circular iridescent patch slowly floating past with a straw in the middle of +it. The straw and the patch swam again and again behind the tremulous medium of +a great welling tear, and the tear rose and fell and dropped into the river. +Then there struck close upon her ears— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Lars Porsena of Clusium<br /> +By the nine Gods he swore— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and then more faintly, as if the speaker had passed her on his walk— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +That the Great House of Tarquin<br /> +Should suffer wrong no more. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Yes, she knew she must go back to all that, but at present she must weep. +Screening her face she sobbed more steadily than she had yet done, her +shoulders rising and falling with great regularity. It was this figure that her +husband saw when, having reached the polished Sphinx, having entangled himself +with a man selling picture postcards, he turned; the stanza instantly stopped. +He came up to her, laid his hand on her shoulder, and said, +“Dearest.” His voice was supplicating. But she shut her face away +from him, as much as to say, “You can’t possibly understand.” +</p> + +<p> +As he did not leave her, however, she had to wipe her eyes, and to raise them +to the level of the factory chimneys on the other bank. She saw also the arches +of Waterloo Bridge and the carts moving across them, like the line of animals +in a shooting gallery. They were seen blankly, but to see anything was of +course to end her weeping and begin to walk. +</p> + +<p> +“I would rather walk,” she said, her husband having hailed a cab +already occupied by two city men. +</p> + +<p> +The fixity of her mood was broken by the action of walking. The shooting motor +cars, more like spiders in the moon than terrestrial objects, the thundering +drays, the jingling hansoms, and little black broughams, made her think of the +world she lived in. Somewhere up there above the pinnacles where the smoke rose +in a pointed hill, her children were now asking for her, and getting a soothing +reply. As for the mass of streets, squares, and public buildings which parted +them, she only felt at this moment how little London had done to make her love +it, although thirty of her forty years had been spent in a street. She knew how +to read the people who were passing her; there were the rich who were running +to and from each others’ houses at this hour; there were the bigoted +workers driving in a straight line to their offices; there were the poor who +were unhappy and rightly malignant. Already, though there was sunlight in the +haze, tattered old men and women were nodding off to sleep upon the seats. When +one gave up seeing the beauty that clothed things, this was the skeleton +beneath. +</p> + +<p> +A fine rain now made her still more dismal; vans with the odd names of those +engaged in odd industries—Sprules, Manufacturer of Saw-dust; Grabb, to +whom no piece of waste paper comes amiss—fell flat as a bad joke; bold +lovers, sheltered behind one cloak, seemed to her sordid, past their passion; +the flower women, a contented company, whose talk is always worth hearing, were +sodden hags; the red, yellow, and blue flowers, whose heads were pressed +together, would not blaze. Moreover, her husband walking with a quick rhythmic +stride, jerking his free hand occasionally, was either a Viking or a stricken +Nelson; the sea-gulls had changed his note. +</p> + +<p> +“Ridley, shall we drive? Shall we drive, Ridley?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Ambrose had to speak sharply; by this time he was far away. +</p> + +<p> +The cab, by trotting steadily along the same road, soon withdrew them from the +West End, and plunged them into London. It appeared that this was a great +manufacturing place, where the people were engaged in making things, as though +the West End, with its electric lamps, its vast plate-glass windows all shining +yellow, its carefully-finished houses, and tiny live figures trotting on the +pavement, or bowled along on wheels in the road, was the finished work. It +appeared to her a very small bit of work for such an enormous factory to have +made. For some reason it appeared to her as a small golden tassel on the edge +of a vast black cloak. +</p> + +<p> +Observing that they passed no other hansom cab, but only vans and waggons, and +that not one of the thousand men and women she saw was either a gentleman or a +lady, Mrs. Ambrose understood that after all it is the ordinary thing to be +poor, and that London is the city of innumerable poor people. Startled by this +discovery and seeing herself pacing a circle all the days of her life round +Picadilly Circus she was greatly relieved to pass a building put up by the +London County Council for Night Schools. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord, how gloomy it is!” her husband groaned. “Poor +creatures!” +</p> + +<p> +What with the misery for her children, the poor, and the rain, her mind was +like a wound exposed to dry in the air. +</p> + +<p> +At this point the cab stopped, for it was in danger of being crushed like an +egg-shell. The wide Embankment which had had room for cannonballs and +squadrons, had now shrunk to a cobbled lane steaming with smells of malt and +oil and blocked by waggons. While her husband read the placards pasted on the +brick announcing the hours at which certain ships would sail for Scotland, Mrs. +Ambrose did her best to find information. From a world exclusively occupied in +feeding waggons with sacks, half obliterated too in a fine yellow fog, they got +neither help nor attention. It seemed a miracle when an old man approached, +guessed their condition, and proposed to row them out to their ship in the +little boat which he kept moored at the bottom of a flight of steps. With some +hesitation they trusted themselves to him, took their places, and were soon +waving up and down upon the water, London having shrunk to two lines of +buildings on either side of them, square buildings and oblong buildings placed +in rows like a child’s avenue of bricks. +</p> + +<p> +The river, which had a certain amount of troubled yellow light in it, ran with +great force; bulky barges floated down swiftly escorted by tugs; police boats +shot past everything; the wind went with the current. The open rowing-boat in +which they sat bobbed and curtseyed across the line of traffic. In mid-stream +the old man stayed his hands upon the oars, and as the water rushed past them, +remarked that once he had taken many passengers across, where now he took +scarcely any. He seemed to recall an age when his boat, moored among rushes, +carried delicate feet across to lawns at Rotherhithe. +</p> + +<p> +“They want bridges now,” he said, indicating the monstrous outline +of the Tower Bridge. Mournfully Helen regarded him, who was putting water +between her and her children. Mournfully she gazed at the ship they were +approaching; anchored in the middle of the stream they could dimly read her +name—<i>Euphrosyne</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Very dimly in the falling dusk they could see the lines of the rigging, the +masts and the dark flag which the breeze blew out squarely behind. +</p> + +<p> +As the little boat sidled up to the steamer, and the old man shipped his oars, +he remarked once more pointing above, that ships all the world over flew that +flag the day they sailed. In the minds of both the passengers the blue flag +appeared a sinister token, and this the moment for presentiments, but +nevertheless they rose, gathered their things together, and climbed on deck. +</p> + +<p> +Down in the saloon of her father’s ship, Miss Rachel Vinrace, aged +twenty-four, stood waiting her uncle and aunt nervously. To begin with, though +nearly related, she scarcely remembered them; to go on with, they were elderly +people, and finally, as her father’s daughter she must be in some sort +prepared to entertain them. She looked forward to seeing them as civilised +people generally look forward to the first sight of civilised people, as though +they were of the nature of an approaching physical discomfort—a tight +shoe or a draughty window. She was already unnaturally braced to receive them. +As she occupied herself in laying forks severely straight by the side of +knives, she heard a man’s voice saying gloomily: +</p> + +<p> +“On a dark night one would fall down these stairs head foremost,” +to which a woman’s voice added, “And be killed.” +</p> + +<p> +As she spoke the last words the woman stood in the doorway. Tall, large-eyed, +draped in purple shawls, Mrs. Ambrose was romantic and beautiful; not perhaps +sympathetic, for her eyes looked straight and considered what they saw. Her +face was much warmer than a Greek face; on the other hand it was much bolder +than the face of the usual pretty Englishwoman. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Rachel, how d’you do,” she said, shaking hands. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you, dear,” said Mr. Ambrose, inclining his forehead to be +kissed. His niece instinctively liked his thin angular body, and the big head +with its sweeping features, and the acute, innocent eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell Mr. Pepper,” Rachel bade the servant. Husband and wife then +sat down on one side of the table, with their niece opposite to them. +</p> + +<p> +“My father told me to begin,” she explained. “He is very busy +with the men. . . . You know Mr. Pepper?” +</p> + +<p> +A little man who was bent as some trees are by a gale on one side of them had +slipped in. Nodding to Mr. Ambrose, he shook hands with Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“Draughts,” he said, erecting the collar of his coat. +</p> + +<p> +“You are still rheumatic?” asked Helen. Her voice was low and +seductive, though she spoke absently enough, the sight of town and river being +still present to her mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Once rheumatic, always rheumatic, I fear,” he replied. “To +some extent it depends on the weather, though not so much as people are apt to +think.” +</p> + +<p> +“One does not die of it, at any rate,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“As a general rule—no,” said Mr. Pepper. +</p> + +<p> +“Soup, Uncle Ridley?” asked Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, dear,” he said, and, as he held his plate out, sighed +audibly, “Ah! she’s not like her mother.” Helen was just too +late in thumping her tumbler on the table to prevent Rachel from hearing, and +from blushing scarlet with embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +“The way servants treat flowers!” she said hastily. She drew a +green vase with a crinkled lip towards her, and began pulling out the tight +little chrysanthemums, which she laid on the table-cloth, arranging them +fastidiously side by side. +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“You knew Jenkinson, didn’t you, Ambrose?” asked Mr. Pepper +across the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Jenkinson of Peterhouse?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s dead,” said Mr. Pepper. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, dear!—I knew him—ages ago,” said Ridley. “He +was the hero of the punt accident, you remember? A queer card. Married a young +woman out of a tobacconist’s, and lived in the Fens—never heard +what became of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Drink—drugs,” said Mr. Pepper with sinister conciseness. +“He left a commentary. Hopeless muddle, I’m told.” +</p> + +<p> +“The man had really great abilities,” said Ridley. +</p> + +<p> +“His introduction to Jellaby holds its own still,” went on Mr. +Pepper, “which is surprising, seeing how text-books change.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was a theory about the planets, wasn’t there?” asked +Ridley. +</p> + +<p> +“A screw loose somewhere, no doubt of it,” said Mr. Pepper, shaking +his head. +</p> + +<p> +Now a tremor ran through the table, and a light outside swerved. At the same +time an electric bell rang sharply again and again. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re off,” said Ridley. +</p> + +<p> +A slight but perceptible wave seemed to roll beneath the floor; then it sank; +then another came, more perceptible. Lights slid right across the uncurtained +window. The ship gave a loud melancholy moan. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re off!” said Mr. Pepper. Other ships, as sad as she, +answered her outside on the river. The chuckling and hissing of water could be +plainly heard, and the ship heaved so that the steward bringing plates had to +balance himself as he drew the curtain. There was a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Jenkinson of Cats—d’you still keep up with him?” asked +Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“As much as one ever does,” said Mr. Pepper. “We meet +annually. This year he has had the misfortune to lose his wife, which made it +painful, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very painful,” Ridley agreed. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s an unmarried daughter who keeps house for him, I believe, +but it’s never the same, not at his age.” +</p> + +<p> +Both gentlemen nodded sagely as they carved their apples. +</p> + +<p> +“There was a book, wasn’t there?” Ridley enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“There <i>was</i> a book, but there never <i>will</i> be a book,” +said Mr. Pepper with such fierceness that both ladies looked up at him. +</p> + +<p> +“There never will be a book, because some one else has written it for +him,” said Mr. Pepper with considerable acidity. “That’s what +comes of putting things off, and collecting fossils, and sticking Norman arches +on one’s pigsties.” +</p> + +<p> +“I confess I sympathise,” said Ridley with a melancholy sigh. +“I have a weakness for people who can’t begin.” +</p> + +<p> +“. . . The accumulations of a lifetime wasted,” continued Mr. +pepper. “He had accumulations enough to fill a barn.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a vice that some of us escape,” said Ridley. “Our +friend Miles has another work out to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Pepper gave an acid little laugh. “According to my +calculations,” he said, “he has produced two volumes and a half +annually, which, allowing for time spent in the cradle and so forth, shows a +commendable industry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the old Master’s saying of him has been pretty well +realised,” said Ridley. +</p> + +<p> +“A way they had,” said Mr. Pepper. “You know the Bruce +collection?—not for publication, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should suppose not,” said Ridley significantly. “For a +Divine he was—remarkably free.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Pump in Neville’s Row, for example?” enquired Mr. +Pepper. +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely,” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +Each of the ladies, being after the fashion of their sex, highly trained in +promoting men’s talk without listening to it, could think—about the +education of children, about the use of fog sirens in an opera—without +betraying herself. Only it struck Helen that Rachel was perhaps too still for a +hostess, and that she might have done something with her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps—?” she said at length, upon which they rose and +left, vaguely to the surprise of the gentlemen, who had either thought them +attentive or had forgotten their presence. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, one could tell strange stories of the old days,” they heard +Ridley say, as he sank into his chair again. Glancing back, at the doorway, +they saw Mr. Pepper as though he had suddenly loosened his clothes, and had +become a vivacious and malicious old ape. +</p> + +<p> +Winding veils round their heads, the women walked on deck. They were now moving +steadily down the river, passing the dark shapes of ships at anchor, and London +was a swarm of lights with a pale yellow canopy drooping above it. There were +the lights of the great theatres, the lights of the long streets, lights that +indicated huge squares of domestic comfort, lights that hung high in air. No +darkness would ever settle upon those lamps, as no darkness had settled upon +them for hundreds of years. It seemed dreadful that the town should blaze for +ever in the same spot; dreadful at least to people going away to adventure upon +the sea, and beholding it as a circumscribed mound, eternally burnt, eternally +scarred. From the deck of the ship the great city appeared a crouched and +cowardly figure, a sedentary miser. +</p> + +<p> +Leaning over the rail, side by side, Helen said, “Won’t you be +cold?” Rachel replied, “No. . . . How beautiful!” she added a +moment later. Very little was visible—a few masts, a shadow of land here, +a line of brilliant windows there. They tried to make head against the wind. +</p> + +<p> +“It blows—it blows!” gasped Rachel, the words rammed down her +throat. Struggling by her side, Helen was suddenly overcome by the spirit of +movement, and pushed along with her skirts wrapping themselves round her knees, +and both arms to her hair. But slowly the intoxication of movement died down, +and the wind became rough and chilly. They looked through a chink in the blind +and saw that long cigars were being smoked in the dining-room; they saw Mr. +Ambrose throw himself violently against the back of his chair, while Mr. Pepper +crinkled his cheeks as though they had been cut in wood. The ghost of a roar of +laughter came out to them, and was drowned at once in the wind. In the dry +yellow-lighted room Mr. Pepper and Mr. Ambrose were oblivious of all tumult; +they were in Cambridge, and it was probably about the year 1875. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re old friends,” said Helen, smiling at the sight. +“Now, is there a room for us to sit in?” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel opened a door. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s more like a landing than a room,” she said. Indeed it +had nothing of the shut stationary character of a room on shore. A table was +rooted in the middle, and seats were stuck to the sides. Happily the tropical +suns had bleached the tapestries to a faded blue-green colour, and the mirror +with its frame of shells, the work of the steward’s love, when the time +hung heavy in the southern seas, was quaint rather than ugly. Twisted shells +with red lips like unicorn’s horns ornamented the mantelpiece, which was +draped by a pall of purple plush from which depended a certain number of balls. +Two windows opened on to the deck, and the light beating through them when the +ship was roasted on the Amazons had turned the prints on the opposite wall to a +faint yellow colour, so that “The Coliseum” was scarcely to be +distinguished from Queen Alexandra playing with her Spaniels. A pair of wicker +arm-chairs by the fireside invited one to warm one’s hands at a grate +full of gilt shavings; a great lamp swung above the table—the kind of +lamp which makes the light of civilisation across dark fields to one walking in +the country. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s odd that every one should be an old friend of Mr. +Pepper’s,” Rachel started nervously, for the situation was +difficult, the room cold, and Helen curiously silent. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you take him for granted?” said her aunt. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s like this,” said Rachel, lighting on a fossilised fish +in a basin, and displaying it. +</p> + +<p> +“I expect you’re too severe,” Helen remarked. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel immediately tried to qualify what she had said against her belief. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t really know him,” she said, and took refuge in +facts, believing that elderly people really like them better than feelings. She +produced what she knew of William Pepper. She told Helen that he always called +on Sundays when they were at home; he knew about a great many +things—about mathematics, history, Greek, zoology, economics, and the +Icelandic Sagas. He had turned Persian poetry into English prose, and English +prose into Greek iambics; he was an authority upon coins; and—one other +thing—oh yes, she thought it was vehicular traffic. +</p> + +<p> +He was here either to get things out of the sea, or to write upon the probable +course of Odysseus, for Greek after all was his hobby. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got all his pamphlets,” she said. “Little +pamphlets. Little yellow books.” It did not appear that she had read +them. +</p> + +<p> +“Has he ever been in love?” asked Helen, who had chosen a seat. +</p> + +<p> +This was unexpectedly to the point. +</p> + +<p> +“His heart’s a piece of old shoe leather,” Rachel declared, +dropping the fish. But when questioned she had to own that she had never asked +him. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall ask him,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“The last time I saw you, you were buying a piano,” she continued. +“Do you remember—the piano, the room in the attic, and the great +plants with the prickles?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and my aunts said the piano would come through the floor, but at +their age one wouldn’t mind being killed in the night?” she +enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“I heard from Aunt Bessie not long ago,” Helen stated. “She +is afraid that you will spoil your arms if you insist upon so much +practising.” +</p> + +<p> +“The muscles of the forearm—and then one won’t marry?” +</p> + +<p> +“She didn’t put it quite like that,” replied Mrs. Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no—of course she wouldn’t,” said Rachel with a +sigh. +</p> + +<p> +Helen looked at her. Her face was weak rather than decided, saved from +insipidity by the large enquiring eyes; denied beauty, now that she was +sheltered indoors, by the lack of colour and definite outline. Moreover, a +hesitation in speaking, or rather a tendency to use the wrong words, made her +seem more than normally incompetent for her years. Mrs. Ambrose, who had been +speaking much at random, now reflected that she certainly did not look forward +to the intimacy of three or four weeks on board ship which was threatened. +Women of her own age usually boring her, she supposed that girls would be +worse. She glanced at Rachel again. Yes! how clear it was that she would be +vacillating, emotional, and when you said something to her it would make no +more lasting impression than the stroke of a stick upon water. There was +nothing to take hold of in girls—nothing hard, permanent, satisfactory. +Did Willoughby say three weeks, or did he say four? She tried to remember. +</p> + +<p> +At this point, however, the door opened and a tall burly man entered the room, +came forward and shook Helen’s hand with an emotional kind of heartiness, +Willoughby himself, Rachel’s father, Helen’s brother-in-law. As a +great deal of flesh would have been needed to make a fat man of him, his frame +being so large, he was not fat; his face was a large framework too, looking, by +the smallness of the features and the glow in the hollow of the cheek, more +fitted to withstand assaults of the weather than to express sentiments and +emotions, or to respond to them in others. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a great pleasure that you have come,” he said, “for +both of us.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel murmured in obedience to her father’s glance. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll do our best to make you comfortable. And Ridley. We think it +an honour to have charge of him. Pepper’ll have some one to contradict +him—which I daren’t do. You find this child grown, don’t you? +A young woman, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Still holding Helen’s hand he drew his arm round Rachel’s shoulder, +thus making them come uncomfortably close, but Helen forbore to look. +</p> + +<p> +“You think she does us credit?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“Because we expect great things of her,” he continued, squeezing +his daughter’s arm and releasing her. “But about you now.” +They sat down side by side on the little sofa. “Did you leave the +children well? They’ll be ready for school, I suppose. Do they take after +you or Ambrose? They’ve got good heads on their shoulders, I’ll be +bound?” +</p> + +<p> +At this Helen immediately brightened more than she had yet done, and explained +that her son was six and her daughter ten. Everybody said that her boy was like +her and her girl like Ridley. As for brains, they were quick brats, she +thought, and modestly she ventured on a little story about her son,—how +left alone for a minute he had taken the pat of butter in his fingers, run +across the room with it, and put it on the fire—merely for the fun of the +thing, a feeling which she could understand. +</p> + +<p> +“And you had to show the young rascal that these tricks wouldn’t +do, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“A child of six? I don’t think they matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m an old-fashioned father.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, Willoughby; Rachel knows better.” +</p> + +<p> +Much as Willoughby would doubtless have liked his daughter to praise him she +did not; her eyes were unreflecting as water, her fingers still toying with the +fossilised fish, her mind absent. The elder people went on to speak of +arrangements that could be made for Ridley’s comfort—a table placed +where he couldn’t help looking at the sea, far from boilers, at the same +time sheltered from the view of people passing. Unless he made this a holiday, +when his books were all packed, he would have no holiday whatever; for out at +Santa Marina Helen knew, by experience, that he would work all day; his boxes, +she said, were packed with books. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it to me—leave it to me!” said Willoughby, obviously +intending to do much more than she asked of him. But Ridley and Mr. Pepper were +heard fumbling at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you, Vinrace?” said Ridley, extending a limp hand as he +came in, as though the meeting were melancholy to both, but on the whole more +so to him. +</p> + +<p> +Willoughby preserved his heartiness, tempered by respect. For the moment +nothing was said. +</p> + +<p> +“We looked in and saw you laughing,” Helen remarked. “Mr. +Pepper had just told a very good story.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pish. None of the stories were good,” said her husband peevishly. +</p> + +<p> +“Still a severe judge, Ridley?” enquired Mr. Vinrace. +</p> + +<p> +“We bored you so that you left,” said Ridley, speaking directly to +his wife. +</p> + +<p> +As this was quite true Helen did not attempt to deny it, and her next remark, +“But didn’t they improve after we’d gone?” was +unfortunate, for her husband answered with a droop of his shoulders, “If +possible they got worse.” +</p> + +<p> +The situation was now one of considerable discomfort for every one concerned, +as was proved by a long interval of constraint and silence. Mr. Pepper, indeed, +created a diversion of a kind by leaping on to his seat, both feet tucked under +him, with the action of a spinster who detects a mouse, as the draught struck +at his ankles. Drawn up there, sucking at his cigar, with his arms encircling +his knees, he looked like the image of Buddha, and from this elevation began a +discourse, addressed to nobody, for nobody had called for it, upon the +unplumbed depths of ocean. He professed himself surprised to learn that +although Mr. Vinrace possessed ten ships, regularly plying between London and +Buenos Aires, not one of them was bidden to investigate the great white +monsters of the lower waters. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” laughed Willoughby, “the monsters of the earth are +too many for me!” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel was heard to sigh, “Poor little goats!” +</p> + +<p> +“If it weren’t for the goats there’d be no music, my dear; +music depends upon goats,” said her father rather sharply, and Mr. Pepper +went on to describe the white, hairless, blind monsters lying curled on the +ridges of sand at the bottom of the sea, which would explode if you brought +them to the surface, their sides bursting asunder and scattering entrails to +the winds when released from pressure, with considerable detail and with such +show of knowledge, that Ridley was disgusted, and begged him to stop. +</p> + +<p> +From all this Helen drew her own conclusions, which were gloomy enough. Pepper +was a bore; Rachel was an unlicked girl, no doubt prolific of confidences, the +very first of which would be: “You see, I don’t get on with my +father.” Willoughby, as usual, loved his business and built his Empire, +and between them all she would be considerably bored. Being a woman of action, +however, she rose, and said that for her part she was going to bed. At the door +she glanced back instinctively at Rachel, expecting that as two of the same sex +they would leave the room together. Rachel rose, looked vaguely into +Helen’s face, and remarked with her slight stammer, “I’m +going out to t-t-triumph in the wind.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Ambrose’s worst suspicions were confirmed; she went down the passage +lurching from side to side, and fending off the wall now with her right arm, +now with her left; at each lurch she exclaimed emphatically, +“Damn!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p> +Uncomfortable as the night, with its rocking movement, and salt smells, may +have been, and in one case undoubtedly was, for Mr. Pepper had insufficient +clothes upon his bed, the breakfast next morning wore a kind of beauty. The +voyage had begun, and had begun happily with a soft blue sky, and a calm sea. +The sense of untapped resources, things to say as yet unsaid, made the hour +significant, so that in future years the entire journey perhaps would be +represented by this one scene, with the sound of sirens hooting in the river +the night before, somehow mixing in. +</p> + +<p> +The table was cheerful with apples and bread and eggs. Helen handed Willoughby +the butter, and as she did so cast her eye on him and reflected, “And she +married you, and she was happy, I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +She went off on a familiar train of thought, leading on to all kinds of +well-known reflections, from the old wonder, why Theresa had married +Willoughby? +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, one sees all that,” she thought, meaning that one sees +that he is big and burly, and has a great booming voice, and a fist and a will +of his own; “but—” here she slipped into a fine analysis of +him which is best represented by one word, “sentimental,” by which +she meant that he was never simple and honest about his feelings. For example, +he seldom spoke of the dead, but kept anniversaries with singular pomp. She +suspected him of nameless atrocities with regard to his daughter, as indeed she +had always suspected him of bullying his wife. Naturally she fell to comparing +her own fortunes with the fortunes of her friend, for Willoughby’s wife +had been perhaps the one woman Helen called friend, and this comparison often +made the staple of their talk. Ridley was a scholar, and Willoughby was a man +of business. Ridley was bringing out the third volume of Pindar when Willoughby +was launching his first ship. They built a new factory the very year the +commentary on Aristotle—was it?—appeared at the University Press. +“And Rachel,” she looked at her, meaning, no doubt, to decide the +argument, which was otherwise too evenly balanced, by declaring that Rachel was +not comparable to her own children. “She really might be six years +old,” was all she said, however, this judgment referring to the smooth +unmarked outline of the girl’s face, and not condemning her otherwise, +for if Rachel were ever to think, feel, laugh, or express herself, instead of +dropping milk from a height as though to see what kind of drops it made, she +might be interesting though never exactly pretty. She was like her mother, as +the image in a pool on a still summer’s day is like the vivid flushed +face that hangs over it. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Helen herself was under examination, though not from either of her +victims. Mr. Pepper considered her; and his meditations, carried on while he +cut his toast into bars and neatly buttered them, took him through a +considerable stretch of autobiography. One of his penetrating glances assured +him that he was right last night in judging that Helen was beautiful. Blandly +he passed her the jam. She was talking nonsense, but not worse nonsense than +people usually do talk at breakfast, the cerebral circulation, as he knew to +his cost, being apt to give trouble at that hour. He went on saying +“No” to her, on principle, for he never yielded to a woman on +account of her sex. And here, dropping his eyes to his plate, he became +autobiographical. He had not married himself for the sufficient reason that he +had never met a woman who commanded his respect. Condemned to pass the +susceptible years of youth in a railway station in Bombay, he had seen only +coloured women, military women, official women; and his ideal was a woman who +could read Greek, if not Persian, was irreproachably fair in the face, and able +to understand the small things he let fall while undressing. As it was he had +contracted habits of which he was not in the least ashamed. Certain odd minutes +every day went to learning things by heart; he never took a ticket without +noting the number; he devoted January to Petronius, February to Catullus, March +to the Etruscan vases perhaps; anyhow he had done good work in India, and there +was nothing to regret in his life except the fundamental defects which no wise +man regrets, when the present is still his. So concluding he looked up suddenly +and smiled. Rachel caught his eye. +</p> + +<p> +“And now you’ve chewed something thirty-seven times, I +suppose?” she thought, but said politely aloud, “Are your legs +troubling you to-day, Mr. Pepper?” +</p> + +<p> +“My shoulder blades?” he asked, shifting them painfully. +“Beauty has no effect upon uric acid that I’m aware of,” he +sighed, contemplating the round pane opposite, through which the sky and sea +showed blue. At the same time he took a little parchment volume from his pocket +and laid it on the table. As it was clear that he invited comment, Helen asked +him the name of it. She got the name; but she got also a disquisition upon the +proper method of making roads. Beginning with the Greeks, who had, he said, +many difficulties to contend with, he continued with the Romans, passed to +England and the right method, which speedily became the wrong method, and wound +up with such a fury of denunciation directed against the road-makers of the +present day in general, and the road-makers of Richmond Park in particular, +where Mr. Pepper had the habit of cycling every morning before breakfast, that +the spoons fairly jingled against the coffee cups, and the insides of at least +four rolls mounted in a heap beside Mr. Pepper’s plate. +</p> + +<p> +“Pebbles!” he concluded, viciously dropping another bread pellet +upon the heap. “The roads of England are mended with pebbles! ‘With +the first heavy rainfall,’ I’ve told ’em, ‘your road +will be a swamp.’ Again and again my words have proved true. But +d’you suppose they listen to me when I tell ’em so, when I point +out the consequences, the consequences to the public purse, when I recommend +’em to read Coryphaeus? No, Mrs. Ambrose, you will form no just opinion +of the stupidity of mankind until you have sat upon a Borough Council!” +The little man fixed her with a glance of ferocious energy. +</p> + +<p> +“I have had servants,” said Mrs. Ambrose, concentrating her gaze. +“At this moment I have a nurse. She’s a good woman as they go, but +she’s determined to make my children pray. So far, owing to great care on +my part, they think of God as a kind of walrus; but now that my back’s +turned—Ridley,” she demanded, swinging round upon her husband, +“what shall we do if we find them saying the Lord’s Prayer when we +get home again?” +</p> + +<p> +Ridley made the sound which is represented by “Tush.” But +Willoughby, whose discomfort as he listened was manifested by a slight movement +rocking of his body, said awkwardly, “Oh, surely, Helen, a little +religion hurts nobody.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would rather my children told lies,” she replied, and while +Willoughby was reflecting that his sister-in-law was even more eccentric than +he remembered, pushed her chair back and swept upstairs. In a second they heard +her calling back, “Oh, look! We’re out at sea!” +</p> + +<p> +They followed her on to the deck. All the smoke and the houses had disappeared, +and the ship was out in a wide space of sea very fresh and clear though pale in +the early light. They had left London sitting on its mud. A very thin line of +shadow tapered on the horizon, scarcely thick enough to stand the burden of +Paris, which nevertheless rested upon it. They were free of roads, free of +mankind, and the same exhilaration at their freedom ran through them all. The +ship was making her way steadily through small waves which slapped her and then +fizzled like effervescing water, leaving a little border of bubbles and foam on +either side. The colourless October sky above was thinly clouded as if by the +trail of wood-fire smoke, and the air was wonderfully salt and brisk. Indeed it +was too cold to stand still. Mrs. Ambrose drew her arm within her +husband’s, and as they moved off it could be seen from the way in which +her sloping cheek turned up to his that she had something private to +communicate. They went a few paces and Rachel saw them kiss. +</p> + +<p> +Down she looked into the depth of the sea. While it was slightly disturbed on +the surface by the passage of the <i>Euphrosyne</i>, beneath it was green and +dim, and it grew dimmer and dimmer until the sand at the bottom was only a pale +blur. One could scarcely see the black ribs of wrecked ships, or the spiral +towers made by the burrowings of great eels, or the smooth green-sided monsters +who came by flickering this way and that. +</p> + +<p> +—“And, Rachel, if any one wants me, I’m busy till one,” +said her father, enforcing his words as he often did, when he spoke to his +daughter, by a smart blow upon the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Until one,” he repeated. “And you’ll find yourself +some employment, eh? Scales, French, a little German, eh? There’s Mr. +Pepper who knows more about separable verbs than any man in Europe, eh?” +and he went off laughing. Rachel laughed, too, as indeed she had laughed ever +since she could remember, without thinking it funny, but because she admired +her father. +</p> + +<p> +But just as she was turning with a view perhaps to finding some employment, she +was intercepted by a woman who was so broad and so thick that to be intercepted +by her was inevitable. The discreet tentative way in which she moved, together +with her sober black dress, showed that she belonged to the lower orders; +nevertheless she took up a rock-like position, looking about her to see that no +gentry were near before she delivered her message, which had reference to the +state of the sheets, and was of the utmost gravity. +</p> + +<p> +“How ever we’re to get through this voyage, Miss Rachel, I really +can’t tell,” she began with a shake of her head. +“There’s only just sheets enough to go round, and the +master’s has a rotten place you could put your fingers through. And the +counterpanes. Did you notice the counterpanes? I thought to myself a poor +person would have been ashamed of them. The one I gave Mr. Pepper was hardly +fit to cover a dog. . . . No, Miss Rachel, they could <i>not</i> be mended; +they’re only fit for dust sheets. Why, if one sewed one’s finger to +the bone, one would have one’s work undone the next time they went to the +laundry.” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice in its indignation wavered as if tears were near. +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing for it but to descend and inspect a large pile of linen +heaped upon a table. Mrs. Chailey handled the sheets as if she knew each by +name, character, and constitution. Some had yellow stains, others had places +where the threads made long ladders; but to the ordinary eye they looked much +as sheets usually do look, very chill, white, cold, and irreproachably clean. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly Mrs. Chailey, turning from the subject of sheets, dismissing them +entirely, clenched her fists on the top of them, and proclaimed, “And you +couldn’t ask a living creature to sit where I sit!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Chailey was expected to sit in a cabin which was large enough, but too +near the boilers, so that after five minutes she could hear her heart +“go,” she complained, putting her hand above it, which was a state +of things that Mrs. Vinrace, Rachel’s mother, would never have dreamt of +inflicting—Mrs. Vinrace, who knew every sheet in her house, and expected +of every one the best they could do, but no more. +</p> + +<p> +It was the easiest thing in the world to grant another room, and the problem of +sheets simultaneously and miraculously solved itself, the spots and ladders not +being past cure after all, but— +</p> + +<p> +“Lies! Lies! Lies!” exclaimed the mistress indignantly, as she ran +up on to the deck. “What’s the use of telling me lies?” +</p> + +<p> +In her anger that a woman of fifty should behave like a child and come cringing +to a girl because she wanted to sit where she had not leave to sit, she did not +think of the particular case, and, unpacking her music, soon forgot all about +the old woman and her sheets. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Chailey folded her sheets, but her expression testified to flatness +within. The world no longer cared about her, and a ship was not a home. When +the lamps were lit yesterday, and the sailors went tumbling above her head, she +had cried; she would cry this evening; she would cry to-morrow. It was not +home. Meanwhile she arranged her ornaments in the room which she had won too +easily. They were strange ornaments to bring on a sea voyage—china pugs, +tea-sets in miniature, cups stamped floridly with the arms of the city of +Bristol, hair-pin boxes crusted with shamrock, antelopes’ heads in +coloured plaster, together with a multitude of tiny photographs, representing +downright workmen in their Sunday best, and women holding white babies. But +there was one portrait in a gilt frame, for which a nail was needed, and before +she sought it Mrs. Chailey put on her spectacles and read what was written on a +slip of paper at the back: +</p> + +<p> +“This picture of her mistress is given to Emma Chailey by Willoughby +Vinrace in gratitude for thirty years of devoted service.” +</p> + +<p> +Tears obliterated the words and the head of the nail. +</p> + +<p> +“So long as I can do something for your family,” she was saying, as +she hammered at it, when a voice called melodiously in the passage: +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Chailey! Mrs. Chailey!” +</p> + +<p> +Chailey instantly tidied her dress, composed her face, and opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m in a fix,” said Mrs. Ambrose, who was flushed and out of +breath. “You know what gentlemen are. The chairs too high—the +tables too low—there’s six inches between the floor and the door. +What I want’s a hammer, an old quilt, and have you such a thing as a +kitchen table? Anyhow, between us”—she now flung open the door of +her husband’s sitting room, and revealed Ridley pacing up and down, his +forehead all wrinkled, and the collar of his coat turned up. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s as though they’d taken pains to torment me!” he +cried, stopping dead. “Did I come on this voyage in order to catch +rheumatism and pneumonia? Really one might have credited Vinrace with more +sense. My dear,” Helen was on her knees under a table, “you are +only making yourself untidy, and we had much better recognise the fact that we +are condemned to six weeks of unspeakable misery. To come at all was the height +of folly, but now that we are here I suppose that I can face it like a man. My +diseases of course will be increased—I feel already worse than I did +yesterday, but we’ve only ourselves to thank, and the children +happily—” +</p> + +<p> +“Move! Move! Move!” cried Helen, chasing him from corner to corner +with a chair as though he were an errant hen. “Out of the way, Ridley, +and in half an hour you’ll find it ready.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned him out of the room, and they could hear him groaning and swearing +as he went along the passage. +</p> + +<p> +“I daresay he isn’t very strong,” said Mrs. Chailey, looking +at Mrs. Ambrose compassionately, as she helped to shift and carry. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s books,” sighed Helen, lifting an armful of sad volumes +from the floor to the shelf. “Greek from morning to night. If ever Miss +Rachel marries, Chailey, pray that she may marry a man who doesn’t know +his ABC.” +</p> + +<p> +The preliminary discomforts and harshnesses, which generally make the first +days of a sea voyage so cheerless and trying to the temper, being somehow lived +through, the succeeding days passed pleasantly enough. October was well +advanced, but steadily burning with a warmth that made the early months of the +summer appear very young and capricious. Great tracts of the earth lay now +beneath the autumn sun, and the whole of England, from the bald moors to the +Cornish rocks, was lit up from dawn to sunset, and showed in stretches of +yellow, green, and purple. Under that illumination even the roofs of the great +towns glittered. In thousands of small gardens, millions of dark-red flowers +were blooming, until the old ladies who had tended them so carefully came down +the paths with their scissors, snipped through their juicy stalks, and laid +them upon cold stone ledges in the village church. Innumerable parties of +picnickers coming home at sunset cried, “Was there ever such a day as +this?” “It’s you,” the young men whispered; “Oh, +it’s you,” the young women replied. All old people and many sick +people were drawn, were it only for a foot or two, into the open air, and +prognosticated pleasant things about the course of the world. As for the +confidences and expressions of love that were heard not only in cornfields but +in lamplit rooms, where the windows opened on the garden, and men with cigars +kissed women with grey hairs, they were not to be counted. Some said that the +sky was an emblem of the life to come. Long-tailed birds clattered and +screamed, and crossed from wood to wood, with golden eyes in their plumage. +</p> + +<p> +But while all this went on by land, very few people thought about the sea. They +took it for granted that the sea was calm; and there was no need, as there is +in many houses when the creeper taps on the bedroom windows, for the couples to +murmur before they kiss, “Think of the ships to-night,” or +“Thank Heaven, I’m not the man in the lighthouse!” For all +they imagined, the ships when they vanished on the sky-line dissolved, like +snow in water. The grown-up view, indeed, was not much clearer than the view of +the little creatures in bathing drawers who were trotting in to the foam all +along the coasts of England, and scooping up buckets full of water. They saw +white sails or tufts of smoke pass across the horizon, and if you had said that +these were waterspouts, or the petals of white sea flowers, they would have +agreed. +</p> + +<p> +The people in ships, however, took an equally singular view of England. Not +only did it appear to them to be an island, and a very small island, but it was +a shrinking island in which people were imprisoned. One figured them first +swarming about like aimless ants, and almost pressing each other over the edge; +and then, as the ship withdrew, one figured them making a vain clamour, which, +being unheard, either ceased, or rose into a brawl. Finally, when the ship was +out of sight of land, it became plain that the people of England were +completely mute. The disease attacked other parts of the earth; Europe shrank, +Asia shrank, Africa and America shrank, until it seemed doubtful whether the +ship would ever run against any of those wrinkled little rocks again. But, on +the other hand, an immense dignity had descended upon her; she was an +inhabitant of the great world, which has so few inhabitants, travelling all day +across an empty universe, with veils drawn before her and behind. She was more +lonely than the caravan crossing the desert; she was infinitely more +mysterious, moving by her own power and sustained by her own resources. The sea +might give her death or some unexampled joy, and none would know of it. She was +a bride going forth to her husband, a virgin unknown of men; in her vigor and +purity she might be likened to all beautiful things, for as a ship she had a +life of her own. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed if they had not been blessed in their weather, one blue day being bowled +up after another, smooth, round, and flawless, Mrs. Ambrose would have found it +very dull. As it was, she had her embroidery frame set up on deck, with a +little table by her side on which lay open a black volume of philosophy. She +chose a thread from the vari-coloured tangle that lay in her lap, and sewed red +into the bark of a tree, or yellow into the river torrent. She was working at a +great design of a tropical river running through a tropical forest, where +spotted deer would eventually browse upon masses of fruit, bananas, oranges, +and giant pomegranates, while a troop of naked natives whirled darts into the +air. Between the stitches she looked to one side and read a sentence about the +Reality of Matter, or the Nature of Good. Round her men in blue jerseys knelt +and scrubbed the boards, or leant over the rails and whistled, and not far off +Mr. Pepper sat cutting up roots with a penknife. The rest were occupied in +other parts of the ship: Ridley at his Greek—he had never found quarters +more to his liking; Willoughby at his documents, for he used a voyage to work +off arrears of business; and Rachel—Helen, between her sentences of +philosophy, wondered sometimes what Rachel <i>did</i> do with herself? She +meant vaguely to go and see. They had scarcely spoken two words to each other +since that first evening; they were polite when they met, but there had been no +confidence of any kind. Rachel seemed to get on very well with her +father—much better, Helen thought, than she ought to—and was as +ready to let Helen alone as Helen was to let her alone. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment Rachel was sitting in her room doing absolutely nothing. When +the ship was full this apartment bore some magnificent title and was the resort +of elderly sea-sick ladies who left the deck to their youngsters. By virtue of +the piano, and a mess of books on the floor, Rachel considered it her room, and +there she would sit for hours playing very difficult music, reading a little +German, or a little English when the mood took her, and doing—as at this +moment—absolutely nothing. +</p> + +<p> +The way she had been educated, joined to a fine natural indolence, was of +course partly the reason of it, for she had been educated as the majority of +well-to-do girls in the last part of the nineteenth century were educated. +Kindly doctors and gentle old professors had taught her the rudiments of about +ten different branches of knowledge, but they would as soon have forced her to +go through one piece of drudgery thoroughly as they would have told her that +her hands were dirty. The one hour or the two hours weekly passed very +pleasantly, partly owing to the other pupils, partly to the fact that the +window looked upon the back of a shop, where figures appeared against the red +windows in winter, partly to the accidents that are bound to happen when more +than two people are in the same room together. But there was no subject in the +world which she knew accurately. Her mind was in the state of an intelligent +man’s in the beginning of the reign of Queen Elizabeth; she would believe +practically anything she was told, invent reasons for anything she said. The +shape of the earth, the history of the world, how trains worked, or money was +invested, what laws were in force, which people wanted what, and why they +wanted it, the most elementary idea of a system in modern life—none of +this had been imparted to her by any of her professors or mistresses. But this +system of education had one great advantage. It did not teach anything, but it +put no obstacle in the way of any real talent that the pupil might chance to +have. Rachel, being musical, was allowed to learn nothing but music; she became +a fanatic about music. All the energies that might have gone into languages, +science, or literature, that might have made her friends, or shown her the +world, poured straight into music. Finding her teachers inadequate, she had +practically taught herself. At the age of twenty-four she knew as much about +music as most people do when they are thirty; and could play as well as nature +allowed her to, which, as became daily more obvious, was a really generous +allowance. If this one definite gift was surrounded by dreams and ideas of the +most extravagant and foolish description, no one was any the wiser. +</p> + +<p> +Her education being thus ordinary, her circumstances were no more out of the +common. She was an only child and had never been bullied and laughed at by +brothers and sisters. Her mother having died when she was eleven, two aunts, +the sisters of her father, brought her up, and they lived for the sake of the +air in a comfortable house in Richmond. She was of course brought up with +excessive care, which as a child was for her health; as a girl and a young +woman was for what it seems almost crude to call her morals. Until quite lately +she had been completely ignorant that for women such things existed. She groped +for knowledge in old books, and found it in repulsive chunks, but she did not +naturally care for books and thus never troubled her head about the censorship +which was exercised first by her aunts, later by her father. Friends might have +told her things, but she had few of her own age,—Richmond being an +awkward place to reach,—and, as it happened, the only girl she knew well +was a religious zealot, who in the fervour of intimacy talked about God, and +the best ways of taking up one’s cross, a topic only fitfully interesting +to one whose mind reached other stages at other times. +</p> + +<p> +But lying in her chair, with one hand behind her head, the other grasping the +knob on the arm, she was clearly following her thoughts intently. Her education +left her abundant time for thinking. Her eyes were fixed so steadily upon a +ball on the rail of the ship that she would have been startled and annoyed if +anything had chanced to obscure it for a second. She had begun her meditations +with a shout of laughter, caused by the following translation from +<i>Tristan</i>: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In shrinking trepidation<br /> +His shame he seems to hide<br /> +While to the king his relation<br /> +He brings the corpse-like Bride.<br /> +Seems it so senseless what I say? +</p> + +<p> +She cried that it did, and threw down the book. Next she had picked up +<i>Cowper’s Letters</i>, the classic prescribed by her father which had +bored her, so that one sentence chancing to say something about the smell of +broom in his garden, she had thereupon seen the little hall at Richmond laden +with flowers on the day of her mother’s funeral, smelling so strong that +now any flower-scent brought back the sickly horrible sensation; and so from +one scene she passed, half-hearing, half-seeing, to another. She saw her Aunt +Lucy arranging flowers in the drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Lucy,” she volunteered, “I don’t like the smell +of broom; it reminds me of funerals.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, Rachel,” Aunt Lucy replied; “don’t say such +foolish things, dear. I always think it a particularly cheerful plant.” +</p> + +<p> +Lying in the hot sun her mind was fixed upon the characters of her aunts, their +views, and the way they lived. Indeed this was a subject that lasted her +hundreds of morning walks round Richmond Park, and blotted out the trees and +the people and the deer. Why did they do the things they did, and what did they +feel, and what was it all about? Again she heard Aunt Lucy talking to Aunt +Eleanor. She had been that morning to take up the character of a servant, +“And, of course, at half-past ten in the morning one expects to find the +housemaid brushing the stairs.” How odd! How unspeakably odd! But she +could not explain to herself why suddenly as her aunt spoke the whole system in +which they lived had appeared before her eyes as something quite unfamiliar and +inexplicable, and themselves as chairs or umbrellas dropped about here and +there without any reason. She could only say with her slight stammer, +“Are you f-f-fond of Aunt Eleanor, Aunt Lucy?” to which her aunt +replied, with her nervous hen-like twitter of a laugh, “My dear child, +what questions you do ask!” +</p> + +<p> +“How fond? Very fond!” Rachel pursued. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t say I’ve ever thought ‘how,’” said +Miss Vinrace. “If one cares one doesn’t think ‘how,’ +Rachel,” which was aimed at the niece who had never yet +“come” to her aunts as cordially as they wished. +</p> + +<p> +“But you know I care for you, don’t you, dear, because you’re +your mother’s daughter, if for no other reason, and there <i>are</i> +plenty of other reasons”—and she leant over and kissed her with +some emotion, and the argument was spilt irretrievably about the place like a +bucket of milk. +</p> + +<p> +By these means Rachel reached that stage in thinking, if thinking it can be +called, when the eyes are intent upon a ball or a knob and the lips cease to +move. Her efforts to come to an understanding had only hurt her aunt’s +feelings, and the conclusion must be that it is better not to try. To feel +anything strongly was to create an abyss between oneself and others who feel +strongly perhaps but differently. It was far better to play the piano and +forget all the rest. The conclusion was very welcome. Let these odd men and +women—her aunts, the Hunts, Ridley, Helen, Mr. Pepper, and the +rest—be symbols,—featureless but dignified, symbols of age, of +youth, of motherhood, of learning, and beautiful often as people upon the stage +are beautiful. It appeared that nobody ever said a thing they meant, or ever +talked of a feeling they felt, but that was what music was for. Reality +dwelling in what one saw and felt, but did not talk about, one could accept a +system in which things went round and round quite satisfactorily to other +people, without often troubling to think about it, except as something +superficially strange. Absorbed by her music she accepted her lot very +complacently, blazing into indignation perhaps once a fortnight, and subsiding +as she subsided now. Inextricably mixed in dreamy confusion, her mind seemed to +enter into communion, to be delightfully expanded and combined with the spirit +of the whitish boards on deck, with the spirit of the sea, with the spirit of +Beethoven Op. 112, even with the spirit of poor William Cowper there at Olney. +Like a ball of thistledown it kissed the sea, rose, kissed it again, and thus +rising and kissing passed finally out of sight. The rising and falling of the +ball of thistledown was represented by the sudden droop forward of her own +head, and when it passed out of sight she was asleep. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later Mrs. Ambrose opened the door and looked at her. It did not +surprise her to find that this was the way in which Rachel passed her mornings. +She glanced round the room at the piano, at the books, at the general mess. In +the first place she considered Rachel aesthetically; lying unprotected she +looked somehow like a victim dropped from the claws of a bird of prey, but +considered as a woman, a young woman of twenty-four, the sight gave rise to +reflections. Mrs. Ambrose stood thinking for at least two minutes. She then +smiled, turned noiselessly away and went, lest the sleeper should waken, and +there should be the awkwardness of speech between them. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p> +Early next morning there was a sound as of chains being drawn roughly overhead; +the steady heart of the <i>Euphrosyne</i> slowly ceased to beat; and Helen, +poking her nose above deck, saw a stationary castle upon a stationary hill. +They had dropped anchor in the mouth of the Tagus, and instead of cleaving new +waves perpetually, the same waves kept returning and washing against the sides +of the ship. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as breakfast was done, Willoughby disappeared over the vessel’s +side, carrying a brown leather case, shouting over his shoulder that every one +was to mind and behave themselves, for he would be kept in Lisbon doing +business until five o’clock that afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +At about that hour he reappeared, carrying his case, professing himself tired, +bothered, hungry, thirsty, cold, and in immediate need of his tea. Rubbing his +hands, he told them the adventures of the day: how he had come upon poor old +Jackson combing his moustache before the glass in the office, little expecting +his descent, had put him through such a morning’s work as seldom came his +way; then treated him to a lunch of champagne and ortolans; paid a call upon +Mrs. Jackson, who was fatter than ever, poor woman, but asked kindly after +Rachel—and O Lord, little Jackson had confessed to a confounded piece of +weakness—well, well, no harm was done, he supposed, but what was the use +of his giving orders if they were promptly disobeyed? He had said distinctly +that he would take no passengers on this trip. Here he began searching in his +pockets and eventually discovered a card, which he planked down on the table +before Rachel. On it she read, “Mr. and Mrs. Richard Dalloway, 23 Browne +Street, Mayfair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Richard Dalloway,” continued Vinrace, “seems to be a +gentleman who thinks that because he was once a member of Parliament, and his +wife’s the daughter of a peer, they can have what they like for the +asking. They got round poor little Jackson anyhow. Said they must have +passages—produced a letter from Lord Glenaway, asking me as a personal +favour—overruled any objections Jackson made (I don’t believe they +came to much), and so there’s nothing for it but to submit, I +suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +But it was evident that for some reason or other Willoughby was quite pleased +to submit, although he made a show of growling. +</p> + +<p> +The truth was that Mr. and Mrs. Dalloway had found themselves stranded in +Lisbon. They had been travelling on the Continent for some weeks, chiefly with +a view to broadening Mr. Dalloway’s mind. Unable for a season, by one of +the accidents of political life, to serve his country in Parliament, Mr. +Dalloway was doing the best he could to serve it out of Parliament. For that +purpose the Latin countries did very well, although the East, of course, would +have done better. +</p> + +<p> +“Expect to hear of me next in Petersburg or Teheran,” he had said, +turning to wave farewell from the steps of the Travellers’. But a disease +had broken out in the East, there was cholera in Russia, and he was heard of, +not so romantically, in Lisbon. They had been through France; he had stopped at +manufacturing centres where, producing letters of introduction, he had been +shown over works, and noted facts in a pocket-book. In Spain he and Mrs. +Dalloway had mounted mules, for they wished to understand how the peasants +live. Are they ripe for rebellion, for example? Mrs. Dalloway had then insisted +upon a day or two at Madrid with the pictures. Finally they arrived in Lisbon +and spent six days which, in a journal privately issued afterwards, they +described as of “unique interest.” Richard had audiences with +ministers, and foretold a crisis at no distant date, “the foundations of +government being incurably corrupt. Yet how blame, etc.”; while Clarissa +inspected the royal stables, and took several snapshots showing men now exiled +and windows now broken. Among other things she photographed Fielding’s +grave, and let loose a small bird which some ruffian had trapped, +“because one hates to think of anything in a cage where English people +lie buried,” the diary stated. Their tour was thoroughly unconventional, +and followed no meditated plan. The foreign correspondents of the <i>Times</i> +decided their route as much as anything else. Mr. Dalloway wished to look at +certain guns, and was of opinion that the African coast is far more unsettled +than people at home were inclined to believe. For these reasons they wanted a +slow inquisitive kind of ship, comfortable, for they were bad sailors, but not +extravagant, which would stop for a day or two at this port and at that, taking +in coal while the Dalloways saw things for themselves. Meanwhile they found +themselves stranded in Lisbon, unable for the moment to lay hands upon the +precise vessel they wanted. They heard of the <i>Euphrosyne</i>, but heard also +that she was primarily a cargo boat, and only took passengers by special +arrangement, her business being to carry dry goods to the Amazons, and rubber +home again. “By special arrangement,” however, were words of high +encouragement to them, for they came of a class where almost everything was +specially arranged, or could be if necessary. On this occasion all that Richard +did was to write a note to Lord Glenaway, the head of the line which bears his +title; to call on poor old Jackson; to represent to him how Mrs. Dalloway was +so-and-so, and he had been something or other else, and what they wanted was +such and such a thing. It was done. They parted with compliments and pleasure +on both sides, and here, a week later, came the boat rowing up to the ship in +the dusk with the Dalloways on board of it; in three minutes they were standing +together on the deck of the <i>Euphrosyne</i>. Their arrival, of course, +created some stir, and it was seen by several pairs of eyes that Mrs. Dalloway +was a tall slight woman, her body wrapped in furs, her head in veils, while Mr. +Dalloway appeared to be a middle-sized man of sturdy build, dressed like a +sportsman on an autumnal moor. Many solid leather bags of a rich brown hue soon +surrounded them, in addition to which Mr. Dalloway carried a despatch box, and +his wife a dressing-case suggestive of a diamond necklace and bottles with +silver tops. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s so like Whistler!” she exclaimed, with a wave towards +the shore, as she shook Rachel by the hand, and Rachel had only time to look at +the grey hills on one side of her before Willoughby introduced Mrs. Chailey, +who took the lady to her cabin. +</p> + +<p> +Momentary though it seemed, nevertheless the interruption was upsetting; every +one was more or less put out by it, from Mr. Grice, the steward, to Ridley +himself. A few minutes later Rachel passed the smoking-room, and found Helen +moving arm-chairs. She was absorbed in her arrangements, and on seeing Rachel +remarked confidentially: +</p> + +<p> +“If one can give men a room to themselves where they will sit, it’s +all to the good. Arm-chairs are <i>the</i> important things—” She +began wheeling them about. “Now, does it still look like a bar at a +railway station?” +</p> + +<p> +She whipped a plush cover off a table. The appearance of the place was +marvellously improved. +</p> + +<p> +Again, the arrival of the strangers made it obvious to Rachel, as the hour of +dinner approached, that she must change her dress; and the ringing of the great +bell found her sitting on the edge of her berth in such a position that the +little glass above the washstand reflected her head and shoulders. In the glass +she wore an expression of tense melancholy, for she had come to the depressing +conclusion, since the arrival of the Dalloways, that her face was not the face +she wanted, and in all probability never would be. +</p> + +<p> +However, punctuality had been impressed on her, and whatever face she had, she +must go in to dinner. +</p> + +<p> +These few minutes had been used by Willoughby in sketching to the Dalloways the +people they were to meet, and checking them upon his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s my brother-in-law, Ambrose, the scholar (I daresay +you’ve heard his name), his wife, my old friend Pepper, a very quiet +fellow, but knows everything, I’m told. And that’s all. We’re +a very small party. I’m dropping them on the coast.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dalloway, with her head a little on one side, did her best to recollect +Ambrose—was it a surname?—but failed. She was made slightly uneasy +by what she had heard. She knew that scholars married any one—girls they +met in farms on reading parties; or little suburban women who said +disagreeably, “Of course I know it’s my husband you want; not +<i>me</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +But Helen came in at that point, and Mrs. Dalloway saw with relief that though +slightly eccentric in appearance, she was not untidy, held herself well, and +her voice had restraint in it, which she held to be the sign of a lady. Mr. +Pepper had not troubled to change his neat ugly suit. +</p> + +<p> +“But after all,” Clarissa thought to herself as she followed +Vinrace in to dinner, “<i>every one’s</i> interesting +really.” +</p> + +<p> +When seated at the table she had some need of that assurance, chiefly because +of Ridley, who came in late, looked decidedly unkempt, and took to his soup in +profound gloom. +</p> + +<p> +An imperceptible signal passed between husband and wife, meaning that they +grasped the situation and would stand by each other loyally. With scarcely a +pause Mrs. Dalloway turned to Willoughby and began: +</p> + +<p> +“What I find so tiresome about the sea is that there are no flowers in +it. Imagine fields of hollyhocks and violets in mid-ocean! How divine!” +</p> + +<p> +“But somewhat dangerous to navigation,” boomed Richard, in the +bass, like the bassoon to the flourish of his wife’s violin. “Why, +weeds can be bad enough, can’t they, Vinrace? I remember crossing in the +<i>Mauretania</i> once, and saying to the Captain—Richards—did you +know him?—‘Now tell me what perils you really dread most for your +ship, Captain Richards?’ expecting him to say icebergs, or derelicts, or +fog, or something of that sort. Not a bit of it. I’ve always remembered +his answer. ‘<i>Sedgius aquatici</i>,’ he said, which I take to be +a kind of duck-weed.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Pepper looked up sharply, and was about to put a question when Willoughby +continued: +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve an awful time of it—those captains! Three thousand +souls on board!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed,” said Clarissa. She turned to Helen with an air of +profundity. “I’m convinced people are wrong when they say +it’s work that wears one; it’s responsibility. That’s why one +pays one’s cook more than one’s housemaid, I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“According to that, one ought to pay one’s nurse double; but one +doesn’t,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“No; but think what a joy to have to do with babies, instead of +saucepans!” said Mrs. Dalloway, looking with more interest at Helen, a +probable mother. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d much rather be a cook than a nurse,” said Helen. +“Nothing would induce me to take charge of children.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mothers always exaggerate,” said Ridley. “A well-bred child +is no responsibility. I’ve travelled all over Europe with mine. You just +wrap ’em up warm and put ’em in the rack.” +</p> + +<p> +Helen laughed at that. Mrs. Dalloway exclaimed, looking at Ridley: +</p> + +<p> +“How like a father! My husband’s just the same. And then one talks +of the equality of the sexes!” +</p> + +<p> +“Does one?” said Mr. Pepper. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, some do!” cried Clarissa. “My husband had to pass an +irate lady every afternoon last session who said nothing else, I +imagine.” +</p> + +<p> +“She sat outside the house; it was very awkward,” said Dalloway. +“At last I plucked up courage and said to her, ‘My good creature, +you’re only in the way where you are. You’re hindering me, and +you’re doing no good to yourself.’” +</p> + +<p> +“And then she caught him by the coat, and would have scratched his eyes +out—” Mrs. Dalloway put in. +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh—that’s been exaggerated,” said Richard. +“No, I pity them, I confess. The discomfort of sitting on those steps +must be awful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Serve them right,” said Willoughby curtly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m entirely with you there,” said Dalloway. +“Nobody can condemn the utter folly and futility of such behaviour more +than I do; and as for the whole agitation, well! may I be in my grave before a +woman has the right to vote in England! That’s all I say.” +</p> + +<p> +The solemnity of her husband’s assertion made Clarissa grave. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s unthinkable,” she said. “Don’t tell me +you’re a suffragist?” she turned to Ridley. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care a fig one way or t’other,” said Ambrose. +“If any creature is so deluded as to think that a vote does him or her +any good, let him have it. He’ll soon learn better.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not a politician, I see,” she smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Goodness, no,” said Ridley. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid your husband won’t approve of me,” said +Dalloway aside, to Mrs. Ambrose. She suddenly recollected that he had been in +Parliament. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you ever find it rather dull?” she asked, not knowing +exactly what to say. +</p> + +<p> +Richard spread his hands before him, as if inscriptions were to be read in the +palms of them. +</p> + +<p> +“If you ask me whether I ever find it rather dull,” he said, +“I am bound to say yes; on the other hand, if you ask me what career do +you consider on the whole, taking the good with the bad, the most enjoyable and +enviable, not to speak of its more serious side, of all careers, for a man, I +am bound to say, ‘The Politician’s.’” +</p> + +<p> +“The Bar or politics, I agree,” said Willoughby. “You get +more run for your money.” +</p> + +<p> +“All one’s faculties have their play,” said Richard. “I +may be treading on dangerous ground; but what I feel about poets and artists in +general is this: on your own lines, you can’t be beaten—granted; +but off your own lines—puff—one has to make allowances. Now, I +shouldn’t like to think that any one had to make allowances for +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t quite agree, Richard,” said Mrs. Dalloway. +“Think of Shelley. I feel that there’s almost everything one wants +in ‘Adonais.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Read ‘Adonais’ by all means,” Richard conceded. +“But whenever I hear of Shelley I repeat to myself the words of Matthew +Arnold, ‘What a set! What a set!’” +</p> + +<p> +This roused Ridley’s attention. “Matthew Arnold? A detestable +prig!” he snapped. +</p> + +<p> +“A prig—granted,” said Richard; “but, I think a man of +the world. That’s where my point comes in. We politicians doubtless seem +to you” (he grasped somehow that Helen was the representative of the +arts) “a gross commonplace set of people; but we see both sides; we may +be clumsy, but we do our best to get a grasp of things. Now your artists +<i>find</i> things in a mess, shrug their shoulders, turn aside to their +visions—which I grant may be very beautiful—and <i>leave</i> things +in a mess. Now that seems to me evading one’s responsibilities. Besides, +we aren’t all born with the artistic faculty.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s dreadful,” said Mrs. Dalloway, who, while her husband +spoke, had been thinking. “When I’m with artists I feel so +intensely the delights of shutting oneself up in a little world of one’s +own, with pictures and music and everything beautiful, and then I go out into +the streets and the first child I meet with its poor, hungry, dirty little face +makes me turn round and say, ‘No, I <i>can’t</i> shut myself +up—I <i>won’t</i> live in a world of my own. I should like to stop +all the painting and writing and music until this kind of thing exists no +longer.’ Don’t you feel,” she wound up, addressing Helen, +“that life’s a perpetual conflict?” Helen considered for a +moment. “No,” she said. “I don’t think I do.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause, which was decidedly uncomfortable. Mrs. Dalloway then gave a +little shiver, and asked whether she might have her fur cloak brought to her. +As she adjusted the soft brown fur about her neck a fresh topic struck her. +</p> + +<p> +“I own,” she said, “that I shall never forget the +<i>Antigone</i>. I saw it at Cambridge years ago, and it’s haunted me +ever since. Don’t you think it’s quite the most modern thing you +ever saw?” she asked Ridley. “It seemed to me I’d known +twenty Clytemnestras. Old Lady Ditchling for one. I don’t know a word of +Greek, but I could listen to it for ever—” +</p> + +<p> +Here Mr. Pepper struck up: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +πολλὰ τὰ δεινά, +κοὐδὲν ἀν-<br /> +θρώπου +δεινότερον +πέλει.<br /> +τοῦτο καὶ +πολιοῦ πέραν<br /> +πόντου +χειμερίῳ +νότῳ<br /> +χωρεῖ, +περιβρυχίοισι<br /> +περῶν ὑπ᾽ +οἴδμασι. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dalloway looked at him with compressed lips. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d give ten years of my life to know Greek,” she said, when +he had done. +</p> + +<p> +“I could teach you the alphabet in half an hour,” said Ridley, +“and you’d read Homer in a month. I should think it an honour to +instruct you.” +</p> + +<p> +Helen, engaged with Mr. Dalloway and the habit, now fallen into decline, of +quoting Greek in the House of Commons, noted, in the great commonplace book +that lies open beside us as we talk, the fact that all men, even men like +Ridley, really prefer women to be fashionable. +</p> + +<p> +Clarissa exclaimed that she could think of nothing more delightful. For an +instant she saw herself in her drawing-room in Browne Street with a Plato open +on her knees—Plato in the original Greek. She could not help believing +that a real scholar, if specially interested, could slip Greek into her head +with scarcely any trouble. +</p> + +<p> +Ridley engaged her to come to-morrow. +</p> + +<p> +“If only your ship is going to treat us kindly!” she exclaimed, +drawing Willoughby into play. For the sake of guests, and these were +distinguished, Willoughby was ready with a bow of his head to vouch for the +good behaviour even of the waves. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m dreadfully bad; and my husband’s not very good,” +sighed Clarissa. +</p> + +<p> +“I am never sick,” Richard explained. “At least, I have only +been actually sick once,” he corrected himself. “That was crossing +the Channel. But a choppy sea, I confess, or still worse, a swell, makes me +distinctly uncomfortable. The great thing is never to miss a meal. You look at +the food, and you say, ‘I can’t’; you take a mouthful, and +Lord knows how you’re going to swallow it; but persevere, and you often +settle the attack for good. My wife’s a coward.” +</p> + +<p> +They were pushing back their chairs. The ladies were hesitating at the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d better show the way,” said Helen, advancing. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel followed. She had taken no part in the talk; no one had spoken to her; +but she had listened to every word that was said. She had looked from Mrs. +Dalloway to Mr. Dalloway, and from Mr. Dalloway back again. Clarissa, indeed, +was a fascinating spectacle. She wore a white dress and a long glittering +necklace. What with her clothes, and her arch delicate face, which showed +exquisitely pink beneath hair turning grey, she was astonishingly like an +eighteenth-century masterpiece—a Reynolds or a Romney. She made Helen and +the others look coarse and slovenly beside her. Sitting lightly upright she +seemed to be dealing with the world as she chose; the enormous solid globe spun +round this way and that beneath her fingers. And her husband! Mr. Dalloway +rolling that rich deliberate voice was even more impressive. He seemed to come +from the humming oily centre of the machine where the polished rods are +sliding, and the pistons thumping; he grasped things so firmly but so loosely; +he made the others appear like old maids cheapening remnants. Rachel followed +in the wake of the matrons, as if in a trance; a curious scent of violets came +back from Mrs. Dalloway, mingling with the soft rustling of her skirts, and the +tinkling of her chains. As she followed, Rachel thought with supreme +self-abasement, taking in the whole course of her life and the lives of all her +friends, “She said we lived in a world of our own. It’s true. +We’re perfectly absurd.” +</p> + +<p> +“We sit in here,” said Helen, opening the door of the saloon. +</p> + +<p> +“You play?” said Mrs. Dalloway to Mrs. Ambrose, taking up the score +of <i>Tristan</i> which lay on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“My niece does,” said Helen, laying her hand on Rachel’s +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, how I envy you!” Clarissa addressed Rachel for the first time. +“D’you remember this? Isn’t it divine?” She played a +bar or two with ringed fingers upon the page. +</p> + +<p> +“And then Tristan goes like this, and Isolde—oh!—it’s +all too thrilling! Have you been to Bayreuth?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I haven’t,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“Then that’s still to come. I shall never forget my first +<i>Parsifal</i>—a grilling August day, and those fat old German women, +come in their stuffy high frocks, and then the dark theatre, and the music +beginning, and one couldn’t help sobbing. A kind man went and fetched me +water, I remember; and I could only cry on his shoulder! It caught me +here” (she touched her throat). “It’s like nothing else in +the world! But where’s your piano?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s in another room,” Rachel explained. +</p> + +<p> +“But you will play to us?” Clarissa entreated. “I can’t +imagine anything nicer than to sit out in the moonlight and listen to +music—only that sounds too like a schoolgirl! You know,” she said, +turning to Helen, “I don’t think music’s altogether good for +people—I’m afraid not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too great a strain?” asked Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“Too emotional, somehow,” said Clarissa. “One notices it at +once when a boy or girl takes up music as a profession. Sir William Broadley +told me just the same thing. Don’t you hate the kind of attitudes people +go into over Wagner—like this—” She cast her eyes to the +ceiling, clasped her hands, and assumed a look of intensity. “It really +doesn’t mean that they appreciate him; in fact, I always think it’s +the other way round. The people who really care about an art are always the +least affected. D’you know Henry Philips, the painter?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen him,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“To look at, one might think he was a successful stockbroker, and not one +of the greatest painters of the age. That’s what I like.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are a great many successful stockbrokers, if you like looking at +them,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel wished vehemently that her aunt would not be so perverse. +</p> + +<p> +“When you see a musician with long hair, don’t you know +instinctively that he’s bad?” Clarissa asked, turning to Rachel. +“Watts and Joachim—they looked just like you and me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how much nicer they’d have looked with curls!” said +Helen. “The question is, are you going to aim at beauty or are you +not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cleanliness!” said Clarissa, “I do want a man to look +clean!” +</p> + +<p> +“By cleanliness you really mean well-cut clothes,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s something one knows a gentleman by,” said Clarissa, +“but one can’t say what it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take my husband now, does he look like a gentleman?” +</p> + +<p> +The question seemed to Clarissa in extraordinarily bad taste. “One of the +things that can’t be said,” she would have put it. She could find +no answer, but a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, anyhow,” she said, turning to Rachel, “I shall insist +upon your playing to me to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +There was that in her manner that made Rachel love her. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dalloway hid a tiny yawn, a mere dilation of the nostrils. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you know,” she said, “I’m extraordinarily +sleepy. It’s the sea air. I think I shall escape.” +</p> + +<p> +A man’s voice, which she took to be that of Mr. Pepper, strident in +discussion, and advancing upon the saloon, gave her the alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night—good-night!” she said. “Oh, I know my +way—do pray for calm! Good-night!” +</p> + +<p> +Her yawn must have been the image of a yawn. Instead of letting her mouth +droop, dropping all her clothes in a bunch as though they depended on one +string, and stretching her limbs to the utmost end of her berth, she merely +changed her dress for a dressing-gown, with innumerable frills, and wrapping +her feet in a rug, sat down with a writing-pad on her knee. Already this +cramped little cabin was the dressing room of a lady of quality. There were +bottles containing liquids; there were trays, boxes, brushes, pins. Evidently +not an inch of her person lacked its proper instrument. The scent which had +intoxicated Rachel pervaded the air. Thus established, Mrs. Dalloway began to +write. A pen in her hands became a thing one caressed paper with, and she might +have been stroking and tickling a kitten as she wrote: +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Picture us, my dear, afloat in the very oddest ship you can imagine. It’s +not the ship, so much as the people. One does come across queer sorts as one +travels. I must say I find it hugely amusing. There’s the manager of the +line—called Vinrace—a nice big Englishman, doesn’t say +much—you know the sort. As for the rest—they might have come +trailing out of an old number of <i>Punch</i>. They’re like people +playing croquet in the ’sixties. How long they’ve all been shut up +in this ship I don’t know—years and years I should say—but +one feels as though one had boarded a little separate world, and they’d +never been on shore, or done ordinary things in their lives. It’s what +I’ve always said about literary people—they’re far the +hardest of any to get on with. The worst of it is, these people—a man and +his wife and a niece—might have been, one feels, just like everybody +else, if they hadn’t got swallowed up by Oxford or Cambridge or some such +place, and been made cranks of. The man’s really delightful (if +he’d cut his nails), and the woman has quite a fine face, only she +dresses, of course, in a potato sack, and wears her hair like a Liberty +shopgirl’s. They talk about art, and think us such poops for dressing in +the evening. However, I can’t help that; I’d rather die than come +in to dinner without changing—wouldn’t you? It matters ever so much +more than the soup. (It’s odd how things like that <i>do</i> matter so +much more than what’s generally supposed to matter. I’d rather have +my head cut off than wear flannel next the skin.) Then there’s a nice shy +girl—poor thing—I wish one could rake her out before it’s too +late. She has quite nice eyes and hair, only, of course, she’ll get funny +too. We ought to start a society for broadening the minds of the +young—much more useful than missionaries, Hester! Oh, I’d forgotten +there’s a dreadful little thing called Pepper. He’s just like his +name. He’s indescribably insignificant, and rather queer in his temper, +poor dear. It’s like sitting down to dinner with an ill-conditioned +fox-terrier, only one can’t comb him out, and sprinkle him with powder, +as one would one’s dog. It’s a pity, sometimes, one can’t +treat people like dogs! The great comfort is that we’re away from +newspapers, so that Richard will have a real holiday this time. Spain +wasn’t a holiday. . . . +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“You coward!” said Richard, almost filling the room with his sturdy +figure. +</p> + +<p> +“I did my duty at dinner!” cried Clarissa. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve let yourself in for the Greek alphabet, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my dear! Who <i>is</i> Ambrose?” +</p> + +<p> +“I gather that he was a Cambridge don; lives in London now, and edits +classics.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever see such a set of cranks? The woman asked me if I thought +her husband looked like a gentleman!” +</p> + +<p> +“It was hard to keep the ball rolling at dinner, certainly,” said +Richard. “Why is it that the women, in that class, are so much queerer +than the men?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re not half bad-looking, +really—only—they’re so odd!” +</p> + +<p> +They both laughed, thinking of the same things, so that there was no need to +compare their impressions. +</p> + +<p> +“I see I shall have quite a lot to say to Vinrace,” said Richard. +“He knows Sutton and all that set. He can tell me a good deal about the +conditions of ship-building in the North.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m glad. The men always <i>are</i> so much better than the +women.” +</p> + +<p> +“One always has something to say to a man certainly,” said Richard. +“But I’ve no doubt you’ll chatter away fast enough about the +babies, Clarice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has she got children? She doesn’t look like it somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Two. A boy and girl.” +</p> + +<p> +A pang of envy shot through Mrs. Dalloway’s heart. +</p> + +<p> +“We <i>must</i> have a son, Dick,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord, what opportunities there are now for young men!” said +Dalloway, for his talk had set him thinking. “I don’t suppose +there’s been so good an opening since the days of Pitt.” +</p> + +<p> +“And it’s yours!” said Clarissa. +</p> + +<p> +“To be a leader of men,” Richard soliloquised. “It’s a +fine career. My God—what a career!” +</p> + +<p> +The chest slowly curved beneath his waistcoat. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you know, Dick, I can’t help thinking of England,” +said his wife meditatively, leaning her head against his chest. “Being on +this ship seems to make it so much more vivid—what it really means to be +English. One thinks of all we’ve done, and our navies, and the people in +India and Africa, and how we’ve gone on century after century, sending +out boys from little country villages—and of men like you, Dick, and it +makes one feel as if one couldn’t bear <i>not</i> to be English! Think of +the light burning over the House, Dick! When I stood on deck just now I seemed +to see it. It’s what one means by London.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the continuity,” said Richard sententiously. A vision +of English history, King following King, Prime Minister Prime Minister, and Law +Law had come over him while his wife spoke. He ran his mind along the line of +conservative policy, which went steadily from Lord Salisbury to Alfred, and +gradually enclosed, as though it were a lasso that opened and caught things, +enormous chunks of the habitable globe. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s taken a long time, but we’ve pretty nearly done +it,” he said; “it remains to consolidate.” +</p> + +<p> +“And these people don’t see it!” Clarissa exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“It takes all sorts to make a world,” said her husband. +“There would never be a government if there weren’t an +opposition.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dick, you’re better than I am,” said Clarissa. “You +see round, where I only see <i>there</i>.” She pressed a point on the +back of his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my business, as I tried to explain at dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“What I like about you, Dick,” she continued, “is that +you’re always the same, and I’m a creature of moods.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a pretty creature, anyhow,” he said, gazing at her +with deeper eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You think so, do you? Then kiss me.” +</p> + +<p> +He kissed her passionately, so that her half-written letter slid to the ground. +Picking it up, he read it without asking leave. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s your pen?” he said; and added in his little +masculine hand: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +R.D. <i>loquitur</i>: Clarice has omitted to tell you that she looked +exceedingly pretty at dinner, and made a conquest by which she has bound +herself to learn the Greek alphabet. I will take this occasion of adding that +we are both enjoying ourselves in these outlandish parts, and only wish for the +presence of our friends (yourself and John, to wit) to make the trip perfectly +enjoyable as it promises to be instructive. . . . +</p> + +<p> +Voices were heard at the end of the corridor. Mrs. Ambrose was speaking low; +William Pepper was remarking in his definite and rather acid voice, “That +is the type of lady with whom I find myself distinctly out of sympathy. +She—” +</p> + +<p> +But neither Richard nor Clarissa profited by the verdict, for directly it +seemed likely that they would overhear, Richard crackled a sheet of paper. +</p> + +<p> +“I often wonder,” Clarissa mused in bed, over the little white +volume of Pascal which went with her everywhere, “whether it is really +good for a woman to live with a man who is morally her superior, as Richard is +mine. It makes one so dependent. I suppose I feel for him what my mother and +women of her generation felt for Christ. It just shows that one can’t do +without <i>something</i>.” She then fell into a sleep, which was as usual +extremely sound and refreshing, but visited by fantastic dreams of great Greek +letters stalking round the room, when she woke up and laughed to herself, +remembering where she was and that the Greek letters were real people, lying +asleep not many yards away. Then, thinking of the black sea outside tossing +beneath the moon, she shuddered, and thought of her husband and the others as +companions on the voyage. The dreams were not confined to her indeed, but went +from one brain to another. They all dreamt of each other that night, as was +natural, considering how thin the partitions were between them, and how +strangely they had been lifted off the earth to sit next each other in +mid-ocean, and see every detail of each other’s faces, and hear whatever +they chanced to say. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p> +Next morning Clarissa was up before anyone else. She dressed, and was out on +deck, breathing the fresh air of a calm morning, and, making the circuit of the +ship for the second time, she ran straight into the lean person of Mr. Grice, +the steward. She apologised, and at the same time asked him to enlighten her: +what were those shiny brass stands for, half glass on the top? She had been +wondering, and could not guess. When he had done explaining, she cried +enthusiastically: +</p> + +<p> +“I do think that to be a sailor must be the finest thing in the +world!” +</p> + +<p> +“And what d’you know about it?” said Mr. Grice, kindling in a +strange manner. “Pardon me. What does any man or woman brought up in +England know about the sea? They profess to know; but they don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +The bitterness with which he spoke was ominous of what was to come. He led her +off to his own quarters, and, sitting on the edge of a brass-bound table, +looking uncommonly like a sea-gull, with her white tapering body and thin alert +face, Mrs. Dalloway had to listen to the tirade of a fanatical man. Did she +realise, to begin with, what a very small part of the world the land was? How +peaceful, how beautiful, how benignant in comparison the sea? The deep waters +could sustain Europe unaided if every earthly animal died of the plague +to-morrow. Mr. Grice recalled dreadful sights which he had seen in the richest +city of the world—men and women standing in line hour after hour to +receive a mug of greasy soup. “And I thought of the good flesh down here +waiting and asking to be caught. I’m not exactly a Protestant, and +I’m not a Catholic, but I could almost pray for the days of popery to +come again—because of the fasts.” +</p> + +<p> +As he talked he kept opening drawers and moving little glass jars. Here were +the treasures which the great ocean had bestowed upon him—pale fish in +greenish liquids, blobs of jelly with streaming tresses, fish with lights in +their heads, they lived so deep. +</p> + +<p> +“They have swum about among bones,” Clarissa sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re thinking of Shakespeare,” said Mr. Grice, and taking +down a copy from a shelf well lined with books, recited in an emphatic nasal +voice: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Full fathom five thy father lies, +</p> + +<p> +“A grand fellow, Shakespeare,” he said, replacing the volume. +</p> + +<p> +Clarissa was so glad to hear him say so. +</p> + +<p> +“Which is your favourite play? I wonder if it’s the same as +mine?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Henry the Fifth</i>,” said Mr. Grice. +</p> + +<p> +“Joy!” cried Clarissa. “It is!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hamlet</i> was what you might call too introspective for Mr. Grice, the +sonnets too passionate; Henry the Fifth was to him the model of an English +gentleman. But his favourite reading was Huxley, Herbert Spencer, and Henry +George; while Emerson and Thomas Hardy he read for relaxation. He was giving +Mrs. Dalloway his views upon the present state of England when the breakfast +bell rung so imperiously that she had to tear herself away, promising to come +back and be shown his sea-weeds. +</p> + +<p> +The party, which had seemed so odd to her the night before, was already +gathered round the table, still under the influence of sleep, and therefore +uncommunicative, but her entrance sent a little flutter like a breath of air +through them all. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had the most interesting talk of my life!” she +exclaimed, taking her seat beside Willoughby. “D’you realise that +one of your men is a philosopher and a poet?” +</p> + +<p> +“A very interesting fellow—that’s what I always say,” +said Willoughby, distinguishing Mr. Grice. “Though Rachel finds him a +bore.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a bore when he talks about currents,” said Rachel. Her +eyes were full of sleep, but Mrs. Dalloway still seemed to her wonderful. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never met a bore yet!” said Clarissa. +</p> + +<p> +“And I should say the world was full of them!” exclaimed Helen. But +her beauty, which was radiant in the morning light, took the contrariness from +her words. +</p> + +<p> +“I agree that it’s the worst one can possibly say of any +one,” said Clarissa. “How much rather one would be a murderer than +a bore!” she added, with her usual air of saying something profound. +“One can fancy liking a murderer. It’s the same with dogs. Some +dogs are awful bores, poor dears.” +</p> + +<p> +It happened that Richard was sitting next to Rachel. She was curiously +conscious of his presence and appearance—his well-cut clothes, his +crackling shirt-front, his cuffs with blue rings round them, and the +square-tipped, very clean fingers with the red stone on the little finger of +the left hand. +</p> + +<p> +“We had a dog who was a bore and knew it,” he said, addressing her +in cool, easy tones. “He was a Skye terrier, one of those long chaps, +with little feet poking out from their hair like—like +caterpillars—no, like sofas I should say. Well, we had another dog at the +same time, a black brisk animal—a Schipperke, I think, you call them. You +can’t imagine a greater contrast. The Skye so slow and deliberate, +looking up at you like some old gentleman in the club, as much as to say, +‘You don’t really mean it, do you?’ and the Schipperke as +quick as a knife. I liked the Skye best, I must confess. There was something +pathetic about him.” +</p> + +<p> +The story seemed to have no climax. +</p> + +<p> +“What happened to him?” Rachel asked. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a very sad story,” said Richard, lowering his voice +and peeling an apple. “He followed my wife in the car one day and got run +over by a brute of a cyclist.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was he killed?” asked Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +But Clarissa at her end of the table had overheard. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk of it!” she cried. “It’s a thing I +can’t bear to think of to this day.” +</p> + +<p> +Surely the tears stood in her eyes? +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the painful thing about pets,” said Mr. Dalloway; +“they die. The first sorrow I can remember was for the death of a +dormouse. I regret to say that I sat upon it. Still, that didn’t make one +any the less sorry. Here lies the duck that Samuel Johnson sat on, eh? I was +big for my age.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we had canaries,” he continued, “a pair of ring-doves, +a lemur, and at one time a martin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you live in the country?” Rachel asked him. +</p> + +<p> +“We lived in the country for six months of the year. When I say +‘we’ I mean four sisters, a brother, and myself. There’s +nothing like coming of a large family. Sisters particularly are +delightful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dick, you were horribly spoilt!” cried Clarissa across the table. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no. Appreciated,” said Richard. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel had other questions on the tip of her tongue; or rather one enormous +question, which she did not in the least know how to put into words. The talk +appeared too airy to admit of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Please tell me—everything.” That was what she wanted to say. +He had drawn apart one little chink and showed astonishing treasures. It seemed +to her incredible that a man like that should be willing to talk to her. He had +sisters and pets, and once lived in the country. She stirred her tea round and +round; the bubbles which swam and clustered in the cup seemed to her like the +union of their minds. +</p> + +<p> +The talk meanwhile raced past her, and when Richard suddenly stated in a +jocular tone of voice, “I’m sure Miss Vinrace, now, has secret +leanings towards Catholicism,” she had no idea what to answer, and Helen +could not help laughing at the start she gave. +</p> + +<p> +However, breakfast was over and Mrs. Dalloway was rising. “I always think +religion’s like collecting beetles,” she said, summing up the +discussion as she went up the stairs with Helen. “One person has a +passion for black beetles; another hasn’t; it’s no good arguing +about it. What’s <i>your</i> black beetle now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it’s my children,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah—that’s different,” Clarissa breathed. “Do +tell me. You have a boy, haven’t you? Isn’t it detestable, leaving +them?” +</p> + +<p> +It was as though a blue shadow had fallen across a pool. Their eyes became +deeper, and their voices more cordial. Instead of joining them as they began to +pace the deck, Rachel was indignant with the prosperous matrons, who made her +feel outside their world and motherless, and turning back, she left them +abruptly. She slammed the door of her room, and pulled out her music. It was +all old music—Bach and Beethoven, Mozart and Purcell—the pages +yellow, the engraving rough to the finger. In three minutes she was deep in a +very difficult, very classical fugue in A, and over her face came a queer +remote impersonal expression of complete absorption and anxious satisfaction. +Now she stumbled; now she faltered and had to play the same bar twice over; but +an invisible line seemed to string the notes together, from which rose a shape, +a building. She was so far absorbed in this work, for it was really difficult +to find how all these sounds should stand together, and drew upon the whole of +her faculties, that she never heard a knock at the door. It was burst +impulsively open, and Mrs. Dalloway stood in the room leaving the door open, so +that a strip of the white deck and of the blue sea appeared through the +opening. The shape of the Bach fugue crashed to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let me interrupt,” Clarissa implored. “I heard +you playing, and I couldn’t resist. I adore Bach!” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel flushed and fumbled her fingers in her lap. She stood up awkwardly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s too difficult,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“But you were playing quite splendidly! I ought to have stayed +outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +She slid <i>Cowper’s Letters</i> and <i>Wuthering Heights</i> out of the +arm-chair, so that Clarissa was invited to sit there. +</p> + +<p> +“What a dear little room!” she said, looking round. “Oh, +<i>Cowper’s Letters</i>! I’ve never read them. Are they +nice?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather dull,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“He wrote awfully well, didn’t he?” said Clarissa; +“—if one likes that kind of thing—finished his sentences and +all that. <i>Wuthering Heights</i>! Ah—that’s more in my line. I +really couldn’t exist without the Brontes! Don’t you love them? +Still, on the whole, I’d rather live without them than without Jane +Austen.” +</p> + +<p> +Lightly and at random though she spoke, her manner conveyed an extraordinary +degree of sympathy and desire to befriend. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane Austen? I don’t like Jane Austen,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“You monster!” Clarissa exclaimed. “I can only just forgive +you. Tell me why?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s so—so—well, so like a tight plait,” Rachel +floundered. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah—I see what you mean. But I don’t agree. And you +won’t when you’re older. At your age I only liked Shelley. I can +remember sobbing over him in the garden. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +He has outsoared the shadow of our night,<br /> +Envy and calumny and hate and pain— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +you remember? +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Can touch him not and torture not again<br /> +From the contagion of the world’s slow stain. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +How divine!—and yet what nonsense!” She looked lightly round the +room. “I always think it’s <i>living</i>, not dying, that counts. I +really respect some snuffy old stockbroker who’s gone on adding up column +after column all his days, and trotting back to his villa at Brixton with some +old pug dog he worships, and a dreary little wife sitting at the end of the +table, and going off to Margate for a fortnight—I assure you I know heaps +like that—well, they seem to me <i>really</i> nobler than poets whom +every one worships, just because they’re geniuses and die young. But I +don’t expect <i>you</i> to agree with me!” +</p> + +<p> +She pressed Rachel’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Um-m-m—” she went on quoting— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Unrest which men miscall delight— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +“when you’re my age you’ll see that the world is +<i>crammed</i> with delightful things. I think young people make such a mistake +about that—not letting themselves be happy. I sometimes think that +happiness is the only thing that counts. I don’t know you well enough to +say, but I should guess you might be a little inclined to—when +one’s young and attractive—I’m going to say +it!—<i>every</i>thing’s at one’s feet.” She glanced +round as much as to say, “not only a few stuffy books and Bach.” +</p> + +<p> +“I long to ask questions,” she continued. “You interest me so +much. If I’m impertinent, you must just box my ears.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I—I want to ask questions,” said Rachel with such +earnestness that Mrs. Dalloway had to check her smile. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you mind if we walk?” she said. “The air’s so +delicious.” +</p> + +<p> +She snuffed it like a racehorse as they shut the door and stood on deck. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it good to be alive?” she exclaimed, and drew +Rachel’s arm within hers. +</p> + +<p> +“Look, look! How exquisite!” +</p> + +<p> +The shores of Portugal were beginning to lose their substance; but the land was +still the land, though at a great distance. They could distinguish the little +towns that were sprinkled in the folds of the hills, and the smoke rising +faintly. The towns appeared to be very small in comparison with the great +purple mountains behind them. +</p> + +<p> +“Honestly, though,” said Clarissa, having looked, “I +don’t like views. They’re too inhuman.” They walked on. +</p> + +<p> +“How odd it is!” she continued impulsively. “This time +yesterday we’d never met. I was packing in a stuffy little room in the +hotel. We know absolutely nothing about each other—and yet—I feel +as if I <i>did</i> know you!” +</p> + +<p> +“You have children—your husband was in Parliament?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve never been to school, and you live—?” +</p> + +<p> +“With my aunts at Richmond.” +</p> + +<p> +“Richmond?” +</p> + +<p> +“You see, my aunts like the Park. They like the quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you don’t! I understand!” Clarissa laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I like walking in the Park alone; but not—with the dogs,” +she finished. +</p> + +<p> +“No; and some people <i>are</i> dogs; aren’t they?” said +Clarissa, as if she had guessed a secret. “But not every one—oh no, +not every one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not every one,” said Rachel, and stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“I can quite imagine you walking alone,” said Clarissa: “and +thinking—in a little world of your own. But how you will enjoy +it—some day!” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall enjoy walking with a man—is that what you mean?” +said Rachel, regarding Mrs. Dalloway with her large enquiring eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t thinking of a man particularly,” said Clarissa. +“But you will.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I shall never marry,” Rachel determined. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Clarissa. Her sidelong +glance told Rachel that she found her attractive although she was inexplicably +amused. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do people marry?” Rachel asked. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what you’re going to find out,” Clarissa +laughed. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel followed her eyes and found that they rested for a second, on the robust +figure of Richard Dalloway, who was engaged in striking a match on the sole of +his boot; while Willoughby expounded something, which seemed to be of great +interest to them both. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing like it,” she concluded. “Do tell me +about the Ambroses. Or am I asking too many questions?” +</p> + +<p> +“I find you easy to talk to,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +The short sketch of the Ambroses was, however, somewhat perfunctory, and +contained little but the fact that Mr. Ambrose was her uncle. +</p> + +<p> +“Your mother’s brother?” +</p> + +<p> +When a name has dropped out of use, the lightest touch upon it tells. Mrs. +Dalloway went on: +</p> + +<p> +“Are you like your mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; she was different,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +She was overcome by an intense desire to tell Mrs. Dalloway things she had +never told any one—things she had not realised herself until this moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I am lonely,” she began. “I want—” She did not +know what she wanted, so that she could not finish the sentence; but her lip +quivered. +</p> + +<p> +But it seemed that Mrs. Dalloway was able to understand without words. +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” she said, actually putting one arm round Rachel’s +shoulder. “When I was your age I wanted too. No one understood until I +met Richard. He gave me all I wanted. He’s man and woman as well.” +Her eyes rested upon Mr. Dalloway, leaning upon the rail, still talking. +“Don’t think I say that because I’m his wife—I see his +faults more clearly than I see any one else’s. What one wants in the +person one lives with is that they should keep one at one’s best. I often +wonder what I’ve done to be so happy!” she exclaimed, and a tear +slid down her cheek. She wiped it away, squeezed Rachel’s hand, and +exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“How good life is!” At that moment, standing out in the fresh +breeze, with the sun upon the waves, and Mrs. Dalloway’s hand upon her +arm, it seemed indeed as if life which had been unnamed before was infinitely +wonderful, and too good to be true. +</p> + +<p> +Here Helen passed them, and seeing Rachel arm-in-arm with a comparative +stranger, looking excited, was amused, but at the same time slightly irritated. +But they were immediately joined by Richard, who had enjoyed a very interesting +talk with Willoughby and was in a sociable mood. +</p> + +<p> +“Observe my Panama,” he said, touching the brim of his hat. +“Are you aware, Miss Vinrace, how much can be done to induce fine weather +by appropriate headdress? I have determined that it is a hot summer day; I warn +you that nothing you can say will shake me. Therefore I am going to sit down. I +advise you to follow my example.” Three chairs in a row invited them to +be seated. +</p> + +<p> +Leaning back, Richard surveyed the waves. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a very pretty blue,” he said. “But +there’s a little too much of it. Variety is essential to a view. Thus, if +you have hills you ought to have a river; if a river, hills. The best view in +the world in my opinion is that from Boars Hill on a fine day—it must be +a fine day, mark you—A rug?—Oh, thank you, my dear . . . in that +case you have also the advantage of associations—the Past.” +</p> + +<p> +“D’you want to talk, Dick, or shall I read aloud?” +</p> + +<p> +Clarissa had fetched a book with the rugs. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Persuasion</i>,” announced Richard, examining the volume. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s for Miss Vinrace,” said Clarissa. “She +can’t bear our beloved Jane.” +</p> + +<p> +“That—if I may say so—is because you have not read +her,” said Richard. “She is incomparably the greatest female writer +we possess.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is the greatest,” he continued, “and for this reason: +she does not attempt to write like a man. Every other woman does; on that +account, I don’t read ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“Produce your instances, Miss Vinrace,” he went on, joining his +finger-tips. “I’m ready to be converted.” +</p> + +<p> +He waited, while Rachel vainly tried to vindicate her sex from the slight he +put upon it. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid he’s right,” said Clarissa. “He +generally is—the wretch!” +</p> + +<p> +“I brought <i>Persuasion</i>,” she went on, “because I +thought it was a little less threadbare than the others—though, Dick, +it’s no good <i>your</i> pretending to know Jane by heart, considering +that she always sends you to sleep!” +</p> + +<p> +“After the labours of legislation, I deserve sleep,” said Richard. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not to think about those guns,” said Clarissa, seeing +that his eye, passing over the waves, still sought the land meditatively, +“or about navies, or empires, or anything.” So saying she opened +the book and began to read: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sir Walter Elliott, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man +who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the +<i>Baronetage</i>’—don’t you know Sir +Walter?—‘There he found occupation for an idle hour, and +consolation in a distressed one.’ She does write well, doesn’t she? +‘There—’” She read on in a light humorous voice. She +was determined that Sir Walter should take her husband’s mind off the +guns of Britain, and divert him in an exquisite, quaint, sprightly, and +slightly ridiculous world. After a time it appeared that the sun was sinking in +that world, and the points becoming softer. Rachel looked up to see what caused +the change. Richard’s eyelids were closing and opening; opening and +closing. A loud nasal breath announced that he no longer considered +appearances, that he was sound asleep. +</p> + +<p> +“Triumph!” Clarissa whispered at the end of a sentence. Suddenly +she raised her hand in protest. A sailor hesitated; she gave the book to +Rachel, and stepped lightly to take the message—“Mr. Grice wished +to know if it was convenient,” etc. She followed him. Ridley, who had +prowled unheeded, started forward, stopped, and, with a gesture of disgust, +strode off to his study. The sleeping politician was left in Rachel’s +charge. She read a sentence, and took a look at him. In sleep he looked like a +coat hanging at the end of a bed; there were all the wrinkles, and the sleeves +and trousers kept their shape though no longer filled out by legs and arms. You +can then best judge the age and state of the coat. She looked him all over +until it seemed to her that he must protest. +</p> + +<p> +He was a man of forty perhaps; and here there were lines round his eyes, and +there curious clefts in his cheeks. Slightly battered he appeared, but dogged +and in the prime of life. +</p> + +<p> +“Sisters and a dormouse and some canaries,” Rachel murmured, never +taking her eyes off him. “I wonder, I wonder.” She ceased, her chin +upon her hand, still looking at him. A bell chimed behind them, and Richard +raised his head. Then he opened his eyes which wore for a second the queer look +of a shortsighted person’s whose spectacles are lost. It took him a +moment to recover from the impropriety of having snored, and possibly grunted, +before a young lady. To wake and find oneself left alone with one was also +slightly disconcerting. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I’ve been dozing,” he said. “What’s +happened to everyone? Clarissa?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Dalloway has gone to look at Mr. Grice’s fish,” Rachel +replied. +</p> + +<p> +“I might have guessed,” said Richard. “It’s a common +occurrence. And how have you improved the shining hour? Have you become a +convert?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I’ve read a line,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I always find. There are too many things to look at. I +find nature very stimulating myself. My best ideas have come to me out of +doors.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you were walking?” +</p> + +<p> +“Walking—riding—yachting—I suppose the most momentous +conversations of my life took place while perambulating the great court at +Trinity. I was at both universities. It was a fad of my father’s. He +thought it broadening to the mind. I think I agree with him. I can +remember—what an age ago it seems!—settling the basis of a future +state with the present Secretary for India. We thought ourselves very wise. +I’m not sure we weren’t. We were happy, Miss Vinrace, and we were +young—gifts which make for wisdom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you done what you said you’d do?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“A searching question! I answer—Yes and No. If on the one hand I +have not accomplished what I set out to accomplish—which of us +does!—on the other I can fairly say this: I have not lowered my +ideal.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked resolutely at a sea-gull, as though his ideal flew on the wings of +the bird. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” said Rachel, “what <i>is</i> your ideal?” +</p> + +<p> +“There you ask too much, Miss Vinrace,” said Richard playfully. +</p> + +<p> +She could only say that she wanted to know, and Richard was sufficiently amused +to answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, how shall I reply? In one word—Unity. Unity of aim, of +dominion, of progress. The dispersion of the best ideas over the greatest +area.” +</p> + +<p> +“The English?” +</p> + +<p> +“I grant that the English seem, on the whole, whiter than most men, their +records cleaner. But, good Lord, don’t run away with the idea that I +don’t see the drawbacks—horrors—unmentionable things done in +our very midst! I’m under no illusions. Few people, I suppose, have fewer +illusions than I have. Have you ever been in a factory, Miss Vinrace!—No, +I suppose not—I may say I hope not.” +</p> + +<p> +As for Rachel, she had scarcely walked through a poor street, and always under +the escort of father, maid, or aunts. +</p> + +<p> +“I was going to say that if you’d ever seen the kind of thing +that’s going on round you, you’d understand what it is that makes +me and men like me politicians. You asked me a moment ago whether I’d +done what I set out to do. Well, when I consider my life, there is one fact I +admit that I’m proud of; owing to me some thousands of girls in +Lancashire—and many thousands to come after them—can spend an hour +every day in the open air which their mothers had to spend over their looms. +I’m prouder of that, I own, than I should be of writing Keats and Shelley +into the bargain!” +</p> + +<p> +It became painful to Rachel to be one of those who write Keats and Shelley. She +liked Richard Dalloway, and warmed as he warmed. He seemed to mean what he +said. +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s far better that you should know nothing,” he said +paternally, “and you wrong yourself, I’m sure. You play very +nicely, I’m told, and I’ve no doubt you’ve read heaps of +learned books.” +</p> + +<p> +Elderly banter would no longer check her. +</p> + +<p> +“You talk of unity,” she said. “You ought to make me +understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never allow my wife to talk politics,” he said seriously. +“For this reason. It is impossible for human beings, constituted as they +are, both to fight and to have ideals. If I have preserved mine, as I am +thankful to say that in great measure I have, it is due to the fact that I have +been able to come home to my wife in the evening and to find that she has spent +her day in calling, music, play with the children, domestic duties—what +you will; her illusions have not been destroyed. She gives me courage to go on. +The strain of public life is very great,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +This made him appear a battered martyr, parting every day with some of the +finest gold, in the service of mankind. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t think,” Rachel exclaimed, “how any one does +it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Explain, Miss Vinrace,” said Richard. “This is a matter I +want to clear up.” +</p> + +<p> +His kindness was genuine, and she determined to take the chance he gave her, +although to talk to a man of such worth and authority made her heart beat. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me like this,” she began, doing her best first to +recollect and then to expose her shivering private visions. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s an old widow in her room, somewhere, let us suppose in the +suburbs of Leeds.” +</p> + +<p> +Richard bent his head to show that he accepted the widow. +</p> + +<p> +“In London you’re spending your life, talking, writing things, +getting bills through, missing what seems natural. The result of it all is that +she goes to her cupboard and finds a little more tea, a few lumps of sugar, or +a little less tea and a newspaper. Widows all over the country I admit do this. +Still, there’s the mind of the widow—the affections; those you +leave untouched. But you waste you own.” +</p> + +<p> +“If the widow goes to her cupboard and finds it bare,” Richard +answered, “her spiritual outlook we may admit will be affected. If I may +pick holes in your philosophy, Miss Vinrace, which has its merits, I would +point out that a human being is not a set of compartments, but an organism. +Imagination, Miss Vinrace; use your imagination; that’s where you young +Liberals fail. Conceive the world as a whole. Now for your second point; when +you assert that in trying to set the house in order for the benefit of the +young generation I am wasting my higher capabilities, I totally disagree with +you. I can conceive no more exalted aim—to be the citizen of the Empire. +Look at it in this way, Miss Vinrace; conceive the state as a complicated +machine; we citizens are parts of that machine; some fulfil more important +duties; others (perhaps I am one of them) serve only to connect some obscure +parts of the mechanism, concealed from the public eye. Yet if the meanest screw +fails in its task, the proper working of the whole is imperilled.” +</p> + +<p> +It was impossible to combine the image of a lean black widow, gazing out of her +window, and longing for some one to talk to, with the image of a vast machine, +such as one sees at South Kensington, thumping, thumping, thumping. The attempt +at communication had been a failure. +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t seem to understand each other,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I say something that will make you very angry?” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then; no woman has what I may call the political instinct. You +have very great virtues; I am the first, I hope, to admit that; but I have +never met a woman who even saw what is meant by statesmanship. I am going to +make you still more angry. I hope that I never shall meet such a woman. Now, +Miss Vinrace, are we enemies for life?” +</p> + +<p> +Vanity, irritation, and a thrusting desire to be understood, urged her to make +another attempt. +</p> + +<p> +“Under the streets, in the sewers, in the wires, in the telephones, there +is something alive; is that what you mean? In things like dust-carts, and men +mending roads? You feel that all the time when you walk about London, and when +you turn on a tap and the water comes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said Richard. “I understand you to mean that the +whole of modern society is based upon cooperative effort. If only more people +would realise that, Miss Vinrace, there would be fewer of your old widows in +solitary lodgings!” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel considered. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you a Liberal or are you a Conservative?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I call myself a Conservative for convenience sake,” said Richard, +smiling. “But there is more in common between the two parties than people +generally allow.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause, which did not come on Rachel’s side from any lack of +things to say; as usual she could not say them, and was further confused by the +fact that the time for talking probably ran short. She was haunted by absurd +jumbled ideas—how, if one went back far enough, everything perhaps was +intelligible; everything was in common; for the mammoths who pastured in the +fields of Richmond High Street had turned into paving stones and boxes full of +ribbon, and her aunts. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you say you lived in the country when you were a child?” she +asked. +</p> + +<p> +Crude as her manners seemed to him, Richard was flattered. There could be no +doubt that her interest was genuine. +</p> + +<p> +“I did,” he smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“And what happened?” she asked. “Or do I ask too many +questions?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m flattered, I assure you. But—let me see—what +happened? Well, riding, lessons, sisters. There was an enchanted rubbish heap, +I remember, where all kinds of queer things happened. Odd, what things impress +children! I can remember the look of the place to this day. It’s a +fallacy to think that children are happy. They’re not; they’re +unhappy. I’ve never suffered so much as I did when I was a child.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t get on well with my father,” said Richard shortly. +“He was a very able man, but hard. Well—it makes one determined not +to sin in that way oneself. Children never forget injustice. They forgive heaps +of things grown-up people mind; but that sin is the unpardonable sin. Mind +you—I daresay I was a difficult child to manage; but when I think what I +was ready to give! No, I was more sinned against than sinning. And then I went +to school, where I did very fairly well; and and then, as I say, my father sent +me to both universities. . . . D’you know, Miss Vinrace, you’ve +made me think? How little, after all, one can tell anybody about one’s +life! Here I sit; there you sit; both, I doubt not, chock-full of the most +interesting experiences, ideas, emotions; yet how communicate? I’ve told +you what every second person you meet might tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s the way of +saying things, isn’t it, not the things?” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said Richard. “Perfectly true.” He paused. +“When I look back over my life—I’m forty-two—what are +the great facts that stand out? What were the revelations, if I may call them +so? The misery of the poor and—” (he hesitated and pitched over) +“love!” +</p> + +<p> +Upon that word he lowered his voice; it was a word that seemed to unveil the +skies for Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s an odd thing to say to a young lady,” he continued. +“But have you any idea what—what I mean by that? No, of course not. +I don’t use the word in a conventional sense. I use it as young men use +it. Girls are kept very ignorant, aren’t they? Perhaps it’s +wise—perhaps—You <i>don’t</i> know?” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke as if he had lost consciousness of what he was saying. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I don’t,” she said, scarcely speaking above her breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Warships, Dick! Over there! Look!” Clarissa, released from Mr. +Grice, appreciative of all his seaweeds, skimmed towards them, gesticulating. +</p> + +<p> +She had sighted two sinister grey vessels, low in the water, and bald as bone, +one closely following the other with the look of eyeless beasts seeking their +prey. Consciousness returned to Richard instantly. +</p> + +<p> +“By George!” he exclaimed, and stood shielding his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Ours, Dick?” said Clarissa. +</p> + +<p> +“The Mediterranean Fleet,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Euphrosyne</i> was slowly dipping her flag. Richard raised his hat. +Convulsively Clarissa squeezed Rachel’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you glad to be English!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +The warships drew past, casting a curious effect of discipline and sadness upon +the waters, and it was not until they were again invisible that people spoke to +each other naturally. At lunch the talk was all of valour and death, and the +magnificent qualities of British admirals. Clarissa quoted one poet, Willoughby +quoted another. Life on board a man-of-war was splendid, so they agreed, and +sailors, whenever one met them, were quite especially nice and simple. +</p> + +<p> +This being so, no one liked it when Helen remarked that it seemed to her as +wrong to keep sailors as to keep a Zoo, and that as for dying on a +battle-field, surely it was time we ceased to praise courage—“or to +write bad poetry about it,” snarled Pepper. +</p> + +<p> +But Helen was really wondering why Rachel, sitting silent, looked so queer and +flushed. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p> +She was not able to follow up her observations, however, or to come to any +conclusion, for by one of those accidents which are liable to happen at sea, +the whole course of their lives was now put out of order. +</p> + +<p> +Even at tea the floor rose beneath their feet and pitched too low again, and at +dinner the ship seemed to groan and strain as though a lash were descending. +She who had been a broad-backed dray-horse, upon whose hind-quarters pierrots +might waltz, became a colt in a field. The plates slanted away from the knives, +and Mrs. Dalloway’s face blanched for a second as she helped herself and +saw the potatoes roll this way and that. Willoughby, of course, extolled the +virtues of his ship, and quoted what had been said of her by experts and +distinguished passengers, for he loved his own possessions. Still, dinner was +uneasy, and directly the ladies were alone Clarissa owned that she would be +better off in bed, and went, smiling bravely. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning the storm was on them, and no politeness could ignore it. Mrs. +Dalloway stayed in her room. Richard faced three meals, eating valiantly at +each; but at the third, certain glazed asparagus swimming in oil finally +conquered him. +</p> + +<p> +“That beats me,” he said, and withdrew. +</p> + +<p> +“Now we are alone once more,” remarked William Pepper, looking +round the table; but no one was ready to engage him in talk, and the meal ended +in silence. +</p> + +<p> +On the following day they met—but as flying leaves meet in the air. Sick +they were not; but the wind propelled them hastily into rooms, violently +downstairs. They passed each other gasping on deck; they shouted across tables. +They wore fur coats; and Helen was never seen without a bandanna on her head. +For comfort they retreated to their cabins, where with tightly wedged feet they +let the ship bounce and tumble. Their sensations were the sensations of +potatoes in a sack on a galloping horse. The world outside was merely a violent +grey tumult. For two days they had a perfect rest from their old emotions. +Rachel had just enough consciousness to suppose herself a donkey on the summit +of a moor in a hail-storm, with its coat blown into furrows; then she became a +wizened tree, perpetually driven back by the salt Atlantic gale. +</p> + +<p> +Helen, on the other hand, staggered to Mrs. Dalloway’s door, knocked, +could not be heard for the slamming of doors and the battering of wind, and +entered. +</p> + +<p> +There were basins, of course. Mrs. Dalloway lay half-raised on a pillow, and +did not open her eyes. Then she murmured, “Oh, Dick, is that you?” +</p> + +<p> +Helen shouted—for she was thrown against the washstand—“How +are you?” +</p> + +<p> +Clarissa opened one eye. It gave her an incredibly dissipated appearance. +“Awful!” she gasped. Her lips were white inside. +</p> + +<p> +Planting her feet wide, Helen contrived to pour champagne into a tumbler with a +tooth-brush in it. +</p> + +<p> +“Champagne,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a tooth-brush in it,” murmured Clarissa, and smiled; +it might have been the contortion of one weeping. She drank. +</p> + +<p> +“Disgusting,” she whispered, indicating the basins. Relics of +humour still played over her face like moonshine. +</p> + +<p> +“Want more?” Helen shouted. Speech was again beyond +Clarissa’s reach. The wind laid the ship shivering on her side. Pale +agonies crossed Mrs. Dalloway in waves. When the curtains flapped, grey lights +puffed across her. Between the spasms of the storm, Helen made the curtain +fast, shook the pillows, stretched the bed-clothes, and smoothed the hot +nostrils and forehead with cold scent. +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>are</i> good!” Clarissa gasped. “Horrid mess!” +</p> + +<p> +She was trying to apologise for white underclothes fallen and scattered on the +floor. For one second she opened a single eye, and saw that the room was tidy. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s nice,” she gasped. +</p> + +<p> +Helen left her; far, far away she knew that she felt a kind of liking for Mrs. +Dalloway. She could not help respecting her spirit and her desire, even in the +throes of sickness, for a tidy bedroom. Her petticoats, however, rose above her +knees. +</p> + +<p> +Quite suddenly the storm relaxed its grasp. It happened at tea; the expected +paroxysm of the blast gave out just as it reached its climax and dwindled away, +and the ship instead of taking the usual plunge went steadily. The monotonous +order of plunging and rising, roaring and relaxing, was interfered with, and +every one at table looked up and felt something loosen within them. The strain +was slackened and human feelings began to peep again, as they do when daylight +shows at the end of a tunnel. +</p> + +<p> +“Try a turn with me,” Ridley called across to Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“Foolish!” cried Helen, but they went stumbling up the ladder. +Choked by the wind their spirits rose with a rush, for on the skirts of all the +grey tumult was a misty spot of gold. Instantly the world dropped into shape; +they were no longer atoms flying in the void, but people riding a triumphant +ship on the back of the sea. Wind and space were banished; the world floated +like an apple in a tub, and the mind of man, which had been unmoored also, once +more attached itself to the old beliefs. +</p> + +<p> +Having scrambled twice round the ship and received many sound cuffs from the +wind, they saw a sailor’s face positively shine golden. They looked, and +beheld a complete yellow circle of sun; next minute it was traversed by sailing +stands of cloud, and then completely hidden. By breakfast the next morning, +however, the sky was swept clean, the waves, although steep, were blue, and +after their view of the strange under-world, inhabited by phantoms, people +began to live among tea-pots and loaves of bread with greater zest than ever. +</p> + +<p> +Richard and Clarissa, however, still remained on the borderland. She did not +attempt to sit up; her husband stood on his feet, contemplated his waistcoat +and trousers, shook his head, and then lay down again. The inside of his brain +was still rising and falling like the sea on the stage. At four o’clock +he woke from sleep and saw the sunlight make a vivid angle across the red plush +curtains and the grey tweed trousers. The ordinary world outside slid into his +mind, and by the time he was dressed he was an English gentleman again. +</p> + +<p> +He stood beside his wife. She pulled him down to her by the lapel of his coat, +kissed him, and held him fast for a minute. +</p> + +<p> +“Go and get a breath of air, Dick,” she said. “You look quite +washed out. . . . How nice you smell! . . . And be polite to that woman. She +was so kind to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon Mrs. Dalloway turned to the cool side of her pillow, terribly +flattened but still invincible. +</p> + +<p> +Richard found Helen talking to her brother-in-law, over two dishes of yellow +cake and smooth bread and butter. +</p> + +<p> +“You look very ill!” she exclaimed on seeing him. “Come and +have some tea.” +</p> + +<p> +He remarked that the hands that moved about the cups were beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +“I hear you’ve been very good to my wife,” he said. +“She’s had an awful time of it. You came in and fed her with +champagne. Were you among the saved yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“I? Oh, I haven’t been sick for twenty years—sea-sick, I +mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are three stages of convalescence, I always say,” broke in +the hearty voice of Willoughby. “The milk stage, the bread-and-butter +stage, and the roast-beef stage. I should say you were at the bread-and-butter +stage.” He handed him the plate. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I should advise a hearty tea, then a brisk walk on deck; and by +dinner-time you’ll be clamouring for beef, eh?” He went off +laughing, excusing himself on the score of business. +</p> + +<p> +“What a splendid fellow he is!” said Richard. “Always keen on +something.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Helen, “he’s always been like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is a great undertaking of his,” Richard continued. +“It’s a business that won’t stop with ships, I should say. We +shall see him in Parliament, or I’m much mistaken. He’s the kind of +man we want in Parliament—the man who has done things.” +</p> + +<p> +But Helen was not much interested in her brother-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +“I expect your head’s aching, isn’t it?” she asked, +pouring a fresh cup. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it is,” said Richard. “It’s humiliating to find +what a slave one is to one’s body in this world. D’you know, I can +never work without a kettle on the hob. As often as not I don’t drink +tea, but I must feel that I can if I want to.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very bad for you,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“It shortens one’s life; but I’m afraid, Mrs. Ambrose, we +politicians must make up our minds to that at the outset. We’ve got to +burn the candle at both ends, or—” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve cooked your goose!” said Helen brightly. +</p> + +<p> +“We can’t make you take us seriously, Mrs. Ambrose,” he +protested. “May I ask how you’ve spent your time? +Reading—philosophy?” (He saw the black book.) “Metaphysics +and fishing!” he exclaimed. “If I had to live again I believe I +should devote myself to one or the other.” He began turning the pages. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Good, then, is indefinable,’” he read out. “How +jolly to think that’s going on still! ‘So far as I know there is +only one ethical writer, Professor Henry Sidgwick, who has clearly recognised +and stated this fact.’ That’s just the kind of thing we used to +talk about when we were boys. I can remember arguing until five in the morning +with Duffy—now Secretary for India—pacing round and round those +cloisters until we decided it was too late to go to bed, and we went for a ride +instead. Whether we ever came to any conclusion—that’s another +matter. Still, it’s the arguing that counts. It’s things like that +that stand out in life. Nothing’s been quite so vivid since. It’s +the philosophers, it’s the scholars,” he continued, +“they’re the people who pass the torch, who keep the light burning +by which we live. Being a politician doesn’t necessarily blind one to +that, Mrs. Ambrose.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Why should it?” said Helen. “But can you remember if +your wife takes sugar?” +</p> + +<p> +She lifted the tray and went off with it to Mrs. Dalloway. +</p> + +<p> +Richard twisted a muffler twice round his throat and struggled up on deck. His +body, which had grown white and tender in a dark room, tingled all over in the +fresh air. He felt himself a man undoubtedly in the prime of life. Pride glowed +in his eye as he let the wind buffet him and stood firm. With his head slightly +lowered he sheered round corners, strode uphill, and met the blast. There was a +collision. For a second he could not see what the body was he had run into. +“Sorry.” “Sorry.” It was Rachel who apologised. They +both laughed, too much blown about to speak. She drove open the door of her +room and stepped into its calm. In order to speak to her, it was necessary that +Richard should follow. They stood in a whirlpool of wind; papers began flying +round in circles, the door crashed to, and they tumbled, laughing, into chairs. +Richard sat upon Bach. +</p> + +<p> +“My word! What a tempest!” he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Fine, isn’t it?” said Rachel. Certainly the struggle and +wind had given her a decision she lacked; red was in her cheeks, and her hair +was down. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what fun!” he cried. “What am I sitting on? Is this your +room? How jolly!” “There—sit there,” she commanded. +Cowper slid once more. +</p> + +<p> +“How jolly to meet again,” said Richard. “It seems an age. +<i>Cowper’s Letters</i>? . . . Bach? . . . <i>Wuthering Heights</i>? . . +. Is this where you meditate on the world, and then come out and pose poor +politicians with questions? In the intervals of sea-sickness I’ve thought +a lot of our talk. I assure you, you made me think.” +</p> + +<p> +“I made you think! But why?” +</p> + +<p> +“What solitary icebergs we are, Miss Vinrace! How little we can +communicate! There are lots of things I should like to tell you about—to +hear your opinion of. Have you ever read Burke?” +</p> + +<p> +“Burke?” she repeated. “Who was Burke?” +</p> + +<p> +“No? Well, then I shall make a point of sending you a copy. <i>The Speech +on the French Revolution</i>—<i>The American Rebellion</i>? Which shall +it be, I wonder?” He noted something in his pocket-book. “And then +you must write and tell me what you think of it. This reticence—this +isolation—that’s what’s the matter with modern life! Now, +tell me about yourself. What are your interests and occupations? I should +imagine that you were a person with very strong interests. Of course you are! +Good God! When I think of the age we live in, with its opportunities and +possibilities, the mass of things to be done and enjoyed—why +haven’t we ten lives instead of one? But about yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“You see, I’m a woman,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“I know—I know,” said Richard, throwing his head back, and +drawing his fingers across his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“How strange to be a woman! A young and beautiful woman,” he +continued sententiously, “has the whole world at her feet. That’s +true, Miss Vinrace. You have an inestimable power—for good or for evil. +What couldn’t you do—” he broke off. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” asked Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“You have beauty,” he said. The ship lurched. Rachel fell slightly +forward. Richard took her in his arms and kissed her. Holding her tight, he +kissed her passionately, so that she felt the hardness of his body and the +roughness of his cheek printed upon hers. She fell back in her chair, with +tremendous beats of the heart, each of which sent black waves across her eyes. +He clasped his forehead in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“You tempt me,” he said. The tone of his voice was terrifying. He +seemed choked in fright. They were both trembling. Rachel stood up and went. +Her head was cold, her knees shaking, and the physical pain of the emotion was +so great that she could only keep herself moving above the great leaps of her +heart. She leant upon the rail of the ship, and gradually ceased to feel, for a +chill of body and mind crept over her. Far out between the waves little black +and white sea-birds were riding. Rising and falling with smooth and graceful +movements in the hollows of the waves they seemed singularly detached and +unconcerned. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re peaceful,” she said. She became peaceful too, at the +same time possessed with a strange exultation. Life seemed to hold infinite +possibilities she had never guessed at. She leant upon the rail and looked over +the troubled grey waters, where the sunlight was fitfully scattered upon the +crests of the waves, until she was cold and absolutely calm again. Nevertheless +something wonderful had happened. +</p> + +<p> +At dinner, however, she did not feel exalted, but merely uncomfortable, as if +she and Richard had seen something together which is hidden in ordinary life, +so that they did not like to look at each other. Richard slid his eyes over her +uneasily once, and never looked at her again. Formal platitudes were +manufactured with effort, but Willoughby was kindled. +</p> + +<p> +“Beef for Mr. Dalloway!” he shouted. “Come now—after +that walk you’re at the beef stage, Dalloway!” +</p> + +<p> +Wonderful masculine stories followed about Bright and Disraeli and coalition +governments, wonderful stories which made the people at the dinner-table seem +featureless and small. After dinner, sitting alone with Rachel under the great +swinging lamp, Helen was struck by her pallor. It once more occurred to her +that there was something strange in the girl’s behaviour. +</p> + +<p> +“You look tired. Are you tired?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Not tired,” said Rachel. “Oh, yes, I suppose I am +tired.” +</p> + +<p> +Helen advised bed, and she went, not seeing Richard again. She must have been +very tired for she fell asleep at once, but after an hour or two of dreamless +sleep, she dreamt. She dreamt that she was walking down a long tunnel, which +grew so narrow by degrees that she could touch the damp bricks on either side. +At length the tunnel opened and became a vault; she found herself trapped in +it, bricks meeting her wherever she turned, alone with a little deformed man +who squatted on the floor gibbering, with long nails. His face was pitted and +like the face of an animal. The wall behind him oozed with damp, which +collected into drops and slid down. Still and cold as death she lay, not daring +to move, until she broke the agony by tossing herself across the bed, and woke +crying “Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +Light showed her the familiar things: her clothes, fallen off the chair; the +water jug gleaming white; but the horror did not go at once. She felt herself +pursued, so that she got up and actually locked her door. A voice moaned for +her; eyes desired her. All night long barbarian men harassed the ship; they +came scuffling down the passages, and stopped to snuffle at her door. She could +not sleep again. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p> +“That’s the tragedy of life—as I always say!” said Mrs. +Dalloway. “Beginning things and having to end them. Still, I’m not +going to let <i>this</i> end, if you’re willing.” It was the +morning, the sea was calm, and the ship once again was anchored not far from +another shore. +</p> + +<p> +She was dressed in her long fur cloak, with the veils wound around her head, +and once more the rich boxes stood on top of each other so that the scene of a +few days back seemed to be repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you suppose we shall ever meet in London?” said Ridley +ironically. “You’ll have forgotten all about me by the time you +step out there.” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed to the shore of the little bay, where they could now see the +separate trees with moving branches. +</p> + +<p> +“How horrid you are!” she laughed. “Rachel’s coming to +see me anyhow—the instant you get back,” she said, pressing +Rachel’s arm. “Now—you’ve no excuse!” +</p> + +<p> +With a silver pencil she wrote her name and address on the flyleaf of +<i>Persuasion</i>, and gave the book to Rachel. Sailors were shouldering the +luggage, and people were beginning to congregate. There were Captain Cobbold, +Mr. Grice, Willoughby, Helen, and an obscure grateful man in a blue jersey. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s time,” said Clarissa. “Well, good-bye. I +<i>do</i> like you,” she murmured as she kissed Rachel. People in the way +made it unnecessary for Richard to shake Rachel by the hand; he managed to look +at her very stiffly for a second before he followed his wife down the +ship’s side. +</p> + +<p> +The boat separating from the vessel made off towards the land, and for some +minutes Helen, Ridley, and Rachel leant over the rail, watching. Once Mrs. +Dalloway turned and waved; but the boat steadily grew smaller and smaller until +it ceased to rise and fall, and nothing could be seen save two resolute backs. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s over,” said Ridley after a long silence. +“We shall never see <i>them</i> again,” he added, turning to go to +his books. A feeling of emptiness and melancholy came over them; they knew in +their hearts that it was over, and that they had parted for ever, and the +knowledge filled them with far greater depression than the length of their +acquaintance seemed to justify. Even as the boat pulled away they could feel +other sights and sounds beginning to take the place of the Dalloways, and the +feeling was so unpleasant that they tried to resist it. For so, too, would they +be forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +In much the same way as Mrs. Chailey downstairs was sweeping the withered +rose-leaves off the dressing-table, so Helen was anxious to make things +straight again after the visitors had gone. Rachel’s obvious languor and +listlessness made her an easy prey, and indeed Helen had devised a kind of +trap. That something had happened she now felt pretty certain; moreover, she +had come to think that they had been strangers long enough; she wished to know +what the girl was like, partly of course because Rachel showed no disposition +to be known. So, as they turned from the rail, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Come and talk to me instead of practising,” and led the way to the +sheltered side where the deck-chairs were stretched in the sun. Rachel followed +her indifferently. Her mind was absorbed by Richard; by the extreme strangeness +of what had happened, and by a thousand feelings of which she had not been +conscious before. She made scarcely any attempt to listen to what Helen was +saying, as Helen indulged in commonplaces to begin with. While Mrs. Ambrose +arranged her embroidery, sucked her silk, and threaded her needle, she lay back +gazing at the horizon. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you like those people?” Helen asked her casually. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied blankly. +</p> + +<p> +“You talked to him, didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +She said nothing for a minute. +</p> + +<p> +“He kissed me,” she said without any change of tone. +</p> + +<p> +Helen started, looked at her, but could not make out what she felt. +</p> + +<p> +“M-m-m’yes,” she said, after a pause. “I thought he was +that kind of man.” +</p> + +<p> +“What kind of man?” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“Pompous and sentimental.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like him,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“So you really didn’t mind?” +</p> + +<p> +For the first time since Helen had known her Rachel’s eyes lit up +brightly. +</p> + +<p> +“I did mind,” she said vehemently. “I dreamt. I +couldn’t sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me what happened,” said Helen. She had to keep her lips from +twitching as she listened to Rachel’s story. It was poured out abruptly +with great seriousness and no sense of humour. +</p> + +<p> +“We talked about politics. He told me what he had done for the poor +somewhere. I asked him all sorts of questions. He told me about his own life. +The day before yesterday, after the storm, he came in to see me. It happened +then, quite suddenly. He kissed me. I don’t know why.” As she spoke +she grew flushed. “I was a good deal excited,” she continued. +“But I didn’t mind till afterwards; when—” she paused, +and saw the figure of the bloated little man again—“I became +terrified.” +</p> + +<p> +From the look in her eyes it was evident she was again terrified. Helen was +really at a loss what to say. From the little she knew of Rachel’s +upbringing she supposed that she had been kept entirely ignorant as to the +relations of men with women. With a shyness which she felt with women and not +with men she did not like to explain simply what these are. Therefore she took +the other course and belittled the whole affair. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well,” she said, “He was a silly creature, and if I were +you, I’d think no more about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Rachel, sitting bolt upright, “I shan’t do +that. I shall think about it all day and all night until I find out exactly +what it does mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you ever read?” Helen asked tentatively. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Cowper’s Letters</i>—that kind of thing. Father gets them +for me or my Aunts.” +</p> + +<p> +Helen could hardly restrain herself from saying out loud what she thought of a +man who brought up his daughter so that at the age of twenty-four she scarcely +knew that men desired women and was terrified by a kiss. She had good reason to +fear that Rachel had made herself incredibly ridiculous. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know many men?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Pepper,” said Rachel ironically. +</p> + +<p> +“So no one’s ever wanted to marry you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she answered ingenuously. +</p> + +<p> +Helen reflected that as, from what she had said, Rachel certainly would think +these things out, it might be as well to help her. +</p> + +<p> +“You oughtn’t to be frightened,” she said. “It’s +the most natural thing in the world. Men will want to kiss you, just as +they’ll want to marry you. The pity is to get things out of proportion. +It’s like noticing the noises people make when they eat, or men spitting; +or, in short, any small thing that gets on one’s nerves.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel seemed to be inattentive to these remarks. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me,” she said suddenly, “what are those women in +Piccadilly?” +</p> + +<p> +“In Picadilly? They are prostituted,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>is</i> terrifying—it <i>is</i> disgusting,” Rachel +asserted, as if she included Helen in the hatred. +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” said Helen. “But—” +</p> + +<p> +“I did like him,” Rachel mused, as if speaking to herself. “I +wanted to talk to him; I wanted to know what he’d done. The women in +Lancashire—” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to her as she recalled their talk that there was something lovable +about Richard, good in their attempted friendship, and strangely piteous in the +way they had parted. +</p> + +<p> +The softening of her mood was apparent to Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” she said, “you must take things as they are; and +if you want friendship with men you must run risks. Personally,” she +continued, breaking into a smile, “I think it’s worth it; I +don’t mind being kissed; I’m rather jealous, I believe, that Mr. +Dalloway kissed you and didn’t kiss me. Though,” she added, +“he bored me considerably.” +</p> + +<p> +But Rachel did not return the smile or dismiss the whole affair, as Helen meant +her to. Her mind was working very quickly, inconsistently and painfully. +Helen’s words hewed down great blocks which had stood there always, and +the light which came in was cold. After sitting for a time with fixed eyes, she +burst out: +</p> + +<p> +“So that’s why I can’t walk alone!” +</p> + +<p> +By this new light she saw her life for the first time a creeping hedged-in +thing, driven cautiously between high walls, here turned aside, there plunged +in darkness, made dull and crippled for ever—her life that was the only +chance she had—a thousand words and actions became plain to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Because men are brutes! I hate men!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you said you liked him?” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“I liked him, and I liked being kissed,” she answered, as if that +only added more difficulties to her problem. +</p> + +<p> +Helen was surprised to see how genuine both shock and problem were, but she +could think of no way of easing the difficulty except by going on talking. She +wanted to make her niece talk, and so to understand why this rather dull, +kindly, plausible politician had made so deep an impression on her, for surely +at the age of twenty-four this was not natural. +</p> + +<p> +“And did you like Mrs. Dalloway too?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +As she spoke she saw Rachel redden; for she remembered silly things she had +said, and also, it occurred to her that she treated this exquisite woman rather +badly, for Mrs. Dalloway had said that she loved her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“She was quite nice, but a thimble-pated creature,” Helen +continued. “I never heard such nonsense! +Chitter-chatter-chitter-chatter—fish and the Greek alphabet—never +listened to a word any one said—chock-full of idiotic theories about the +way to bring up children—I’d far rather talk to him any day. He was +pompous, but he did at least understand what was said to him.” +</p> + +<p> +The glamour insensibly faded a little both from Richard and Clarissa. They had +not been so wonderful after all, then, in the eyes of a mature person. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very difficult to know what people are like,” Rachel +remarked, and Helen saw with pleasure that she spoke more naturally. “I +suppose I was taken in.” +</p> + +<p> +There was little doubt about that according to Helen, but she restrained +herself and said aloud: +</p> + +<p> +“One has to make experiments.” +</p> + +<p> +“And they <i>were</i> nice,” said Rachel. “They were +extraordinarily interesting.” She tried to recall the image of the world +as a live thing that Richard had given her, with drains like nerves, and bad +houses like patches of diseased skin. She recalled his +watch-words—Unity—Imagination, and saw again the bubbles meeting in +her tea-cup as he spoke of sisters and canaries, boyhood and his father, her +small world becoming wonderfully enlarged. +</p> + +<p> +“But all people don’t seem to you equally interesting, do +they?” asked Mrs. Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel explained that most people had hitherto been symbols; but that when they +talked to one they ceased to be symbols, and became—“I could listen +to them for ever!” she exclaimed. She then jumped up, disappeared +downstairs for a minute, and came back with a fat red book. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Who’s Who</i>,” she said, laying it upon Helen’s +knee and turning the pages. “It gives short lives of people—for +instance: ‘Sir Roland Beal; born 1852; parents from Moffatt; educated at +Rugby; passed first into R.E.; married 1878 the daughter of T. Fishwick; served +in the Bechuanaland Expedition 1884-85 (honourably mentioned). Clubs: United +Service, Naval and Military. Recreations: an enthusiastic curler.’” +</p> + +<p> +Sitting on the deck at Helen’s feet she went on turning the pages and +reading biographies of bankers, writers, clergymen, sailors, surgeons, judges, +professors, statesmen, editors, philanthropists, merchants, and actresses; what +clubs they belonged to, where they lived, what games they played, and how many +acres they owned. +</p> + +<p> +She became absorbed in the book. +</p> + +<p> +Helen meanwhile stitched at her embroidery and thought over the things they had +said. Her conclusion was that she would very much like to show her niece, if it +were possible, how to live, or as she put it, how to be a reasonable person. +She thought that there must be something wrong in this confusion between +politics and kissing politicians, and that an elder person ought to be able to +help. +</p> + +<p> +“I quite agree,” she said, “that people are very interesting; +only—” Rachel, putting her finger between the pages, looked up +enquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +“Only I think you ought to discriminate,” she ended. +“It’s a pity to be intimate with people who are—well, rather +second-rate, like the Dalloways, and to find it out later.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how does one know?” Rachel asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I really can’t tell you,” replied Helen candidly, after a +moment’s thought. “You’ll have to find out for yourself. But +try and—Why don’t you call me Helen?” she added. +“‘Aunt’s’ a horrid name. I never liked my Aunts.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to call you Helen,” Rachel answered. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you think me very unsympathetic?” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel reviewed the points which Helen had certainly failed to understand; they +arose chiefly from the difference of nearly twenty years in age between them, +which made Mrs. Ambrose appear too humorous and cool in a matter of such +moment. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said. “Some things you don’t understand, of +course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” Helen agreed. “So now you can go ahead and be a +person on your own account,” she added. +</p> + +<p> +The vision of her own personality, of herself as a real everlasting thing, +different from anything else, unmergeable, like the sea or the wind, flashed +into Rachel’s mind, and she became profoundly excited at the thought of +living. +</p> + +<p> +“I can by m-m-myself,” she stammered, “in spite of you, in +spite of the Dalloways, and Mr. Pepper, and Father, and my Aunts, in spite of +these?” She swept her hand across a whole page of statesmen and soldiers. +</p> + +<p> +“In spite of them all,” said Helen gravely. She then put down her +needle, and explained a plan which had come into her head as they talked. +Instead of wandering on down the Amazons until she reached some sulphurous +tropical port, where one had to lie within doors all day beating off insects +with a fan, the sensible thing to do surely was to spend the season with them +in their villa by the seaside, where among other advantages Mrs. Ambrose +herself would be at hand to—“After all, Rachel,” she broke +off, “it’s silly to pretend that because there’s twenty +years’ difference between us we therefore can’t talk to each other +like human beings.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; because we like each other,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Mrs. Ambrose agreed. +</p> + +<p> +That fact, together with other facts, had been made clear by their twenty +minutes’ talk, although how they had come to these conclusions they could +not have said. +</p> + +<p> +However they were come by, they were sufficiently serious to send Mrs. Ambrose +a day or two later in search of her brother-in-law. She found him sitting in +his room working, applying a stout blue pencil authoritatively to bundles of +filmy paper. Papers lay to left and to right of him, there were great envelopes +so gorged with papers that they spilt papers on to the table. Above him hung a +photograph of a woman’s head. The need of sitting absolutely still before +a Cockney photographer had given her lips a queer little pucker, and her eyes +for the same reason looked as though she thought the whole situation +ridiculous. Nevertheless it was the head of an individual and interesting +woman, who would no doubt have turned and laughed at Willoughby if she could +have caught his eye; but when he looked up at her he sighed profoundly. In his +mind this work of his, the great factories at Hull which showed like mountains +at night, the ships that crossed the ocean punctually, the schemes for +combining this and that and building up a solid mass of industry, was all an +offering to her; he laid his success at her feet; and was always thinking how +to educate his daughter so that Theresa might be glad. He was a very ambitious +man; and although he had not been particularly kind to her while she lived, as +Helen thought, he now believed that she watched him from Heaven, and inspired +what was good in him. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Ambrose apologised for the interruption, and asked whether she might speak +to him about a plan of hers. Would he consent to leave his daughter with them +when they landed, instead of taking her on up the Amazons? +</p> + +<p> +“We would take great care of her,” she added, “and we should +really like it.” +</p> + +<p> +Willoughby looked very grave and carefully laid aside his papers. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a good girl,” he said at length. “There is a +likeness?”—he nodded his head at the photograph of Theresa and +sighed. Helen looked at Theresa pursing up her lips before the Cockney +photographer. It suggested her in an absurd human way, and she felt an intense +desire to share some joke. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s the only thing that’s left to me,” sighed +Willoughby. “We go on year after year without talking about these +things—” He broke off. “But it’s better so. Only +life’s very hard.” +</p> + +<p> +Helen was sorry for him, and patted him on the shoulder, but she felt +uncomfortable when her brother-in-law expressed his feelings, and took refuge +in praising Rachel, and explaining why she thought her plan might be a good +one. +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said Willoughby when she had done. “The social +conditions are bound to be primitive. I should be out a good deal. I agreed +because she wished it. And of course I have complete confidence in you. . . . +You see, Helen,” he continued, becoming confidential, “I want to +bring her up as her mother would have wished. I don’t hold with these +modern views—any more than you do, eh? She’s a nice quiet girl, +devoted to her music—a little less of <i>that</i> would do no harm. +Still, it’s kept her happy, and we lead a very quiet life at Richmond. I +should like her to begin to see more people. I want to take her about with me +when I get home. I’ve half a mind to rent a house in London, leaving my +sisters at Richmond, and take her to see one or two people who’d be kind +to her for my sake. I’m beginning to realise,” he continued, +stretching himself out, “that all this is tending to Parliament, Helen. +It’s the only way to get things done as one wants them done. I talked to +Dalloway about it. In that case, of course, I should want Rachel to be able to +take more part in things. A certain amount of entertaining would be +necessary—dinners, an occasional evening party. One’s constituents +like to be fed, I believe. In all these ways Rachel could be of great help to +me. So,” he wound up, “I should be very glad, if we arrange this +visit (which must be upon a business footing, mind), if you could see your way +to helping my girl, bringing her out—she’s a little shy +now,—making a woman of her, the kind of woman her mother would have liked +her to be,” he ended, jerking his head at the photograph. +</p> + +<p> +Willoughby’s selfishness, though consistent as Helen saw with real +affection for his daughter, made her determined to have the girl to stay with +her, even if she had to promise a complete course of instruction in the +feminine graces. She could not help laughing at the notion of it—Rachel a +Tory hostess!—and marvelling as she left him at the astonishing ignorance +of a father. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel, when consulted, showed less enthusiasm than Helen could have wished. +One moment she was eager, the next doubtful. Visions of a great river, now +blue, now yellow in the tropical sun and crossed by bright birds, now white in +the moon, now deep in shade with moving trees and canoes sliding out from the +tangled banks, beset her. Helen promised a river. Then she did not want to +leave her father. That feeling seemed genuine too, but in the end Helen +prevailed, although when she had won her case she was beset by doubts, and more +than once regretted the impulse which had entangled her with the fortunes of +another human being. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p> +From a distance the <i>Euphrosyne</i> looked very small. Glasses were turned +upon her from the decks of great liners, and she was pronounced a tramp, a +cargo-boat, or one of those wretched little passenger steamers where people +rolled about among the cattle on deck. The insect-like figures of Dalloways, +Ambroses, and Vinraces were also derided, both from the extreme smallness of +their persons and the doubt which only strong glasses could dispel as to +whether they were really live creatures or only lumps on the rigging. Mr. +Pepper with all his learning had been mistaken for a cormorant, and then, as +unjustly, transformed into a cow. At night, indeed, when the waltzes were +swinging in the saloon, and gifted passengers reciting, the little +ship—shrunk to a few beads of light out among the dark waves, and one +high in air upon the mast-head—seemed something mysterious and impressive +to heated partners resting from the dance. She became a ship passing in the +night—an emblem of the loneliness of human life, an occasion for queer +confidences and sudden appeals for sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +On and on she went, by day and by night, following her path, until one morning +broke and showed the land. Losing its shadow-like appearance it became first +cleft and mountainous, next coloured grey and purple, next scattered with white +blocks which gradually separated themselves, and then, as the progress of the +ship acted upon the view like a field-glass of increasing power, became streets +of houses. By nine o’clock the <i>Euphrosyne</i> had taken up her +position in the middle of a great bay; she dropped her anchor; immediately, as +if she were a recumbent giant requiring examination, small boats came swarming +about her. She rang with cries; men jumped on to her; her deck was thumped by +feet. The lonely little island was invaded from all quarters at once, and after +four weeks of silence it was bewildering to hear human speech. Mrs. Ambrose +alone heeded none of this stir. She was pale with suspense while the boat with +mail bags was making towards them. Absorbed in her letters she did not notice +that she had left the <i>Euphrosyne</i>, and felt no sadness when the ship +lifted up her voice and bellowed thrice like a cow separated from its calf. +</p> + +<p> +“The children are well!” she exclaimed. Mr. Pepper, who sat +opposite with a great mound of bag and rug upon his knees, said, +“Gratifying.” Rachel, to whom the end of the voyage meant a +complete change of perspective, was too much bewildered by the approach of the +shore to realise what children were well or why it was gratifying. Helen went +on reading. +</p> + +<p> +Moving very slowly, and rearing absurdly high over each wave, the little boat +was now approaching a white crescent of sand. Behind this was a deep green +valley, with distinct hills on either side. On the slope of the right-hand hill +white houses with brown roofs were settled, like nesting sea-birds, and at +intervals cypresses striped the hill with black bars. Mountains whose sides +were flushed with red, but whose crowns were bald, rose as a pinnacle, +half-concealing another pinnacle behind it. The hour being still early, the +whole view was exquisitely light and airy; the blues and greens of sky and tree +were intense but not sultry. As they drew nearer and could distinguish details, +the effect of the earth with its minute objects and colours and different forms +of life was overwhelming after four weeks of the sea, and kept them silent. +</p> + +<p> +“Three hundred years odd,” said Mr. Pepper meditatively at length. +</p> + +<p> +As nobody said, “What?” he merely extracted a bottle and swallowed +a pill. The piece of information that died within him was to the effect that +three hundred years ago five Elizabethan barques had anchored where the +<i>Euphrosyne</i> now floated. Half-drawn up upon the beach lay an equal number +of Spanish galleons, unmanned, for the country was still a virgin land behind a +veil. Slipping across the water, the English sailors bore away bars of silver, +bales of linen, timbers of cedar wood, golden crucifixes knobbed with emeralds. +When the Spaniards came down from their drinking, a fight ensued, the two +parties churning up the sand, and driving each other into the surf. The +Spaniards, bloated with fine living upon the fruits of the miraculous land, +fell in heaps; but the hardy Englishmen, tawny with sea-voyaging, hairy for +lack of razors, with muscles like wire, fangs greedy for flesh, and fingers +itching for gold, despatched the wounded, drove the dying into the sea, and +soon reduced the natives to a state of superstitious wonderment. Here a +settlement was made; women were imported; children grew. All seemed to favour +the expansion of the British Empire, and had there been men like Richard +Dalloway in the time of Charles the First, the map would undoubtedly be red +where it is now an odious green. But it must be supposed that the political +mind of that age lacked imagination, and, merely for want of a few thousand +pounds and a few thousand men, the spark died that should have been a +conflagration. From the interior came Indians with subtle poisons, naked +bodies, and painted idols; from the sea came vengeful Spaniards and rapacious +Portuguese; exposed to all these enemies (though the climate proved wonderfully +kind and the earth abundant) the English dwindled away and all but disappeared. +Somewhere about the middle of the seventeenth century a single sloop watched +its season and slipped out by night, bearing within it all that was left of the +great British colony, a few men, a few women, and perhaps a dozen dusky +children. English history then denies all knowledge of the place. Owing to one +cause and another civilisation shifted its centre to a spot some four or five +hundred miles to the south, and to-day Santa Marina is not much larger than it +was three hundred years ago. In population it is a happy compromise, for +Portuguese fathers wed Indian mothers, and their children intermarry with the +Spanish. Although they get their ploughs from Manchester, they make their coats +from their own sheep, their silk from their own worms, and their furniture from +their own cedar trees, so that in arts and industries the place is still much +where it was in Elizabethan days. +</p> + +<p> +The reasons which had drawn the English across the sea to found a small colony +within the last ten years are not so easily described, and will never perhaps +be recorded in history books. Granted facility of travel, peace, good trade, +and so on, there was besides a kind of dissatisfaction among the English with +the older countries and the enormous accumulations of carved stone, stained +glass, and rich brown painting which they offered to the tourist. The movement +in search of something new was of course infinitely small, affecting only a +handful of well-to-do people. It began by a few schoolmasters serving their +passage out to South America as the pursers of tramp steamers. They returned in +time for the summer term, when their stories of the splendours and hardships of +life at sea, the humours of sea-captains, the wonders of night and dawn, and +the marvels of the place delighted outsiders, and sometimes found their way +into print. The country itself taxed all their powers of description, for they +said it was much bigger than Italy, and really nobler than Greece. Again, they +declared that the natives were strangely beautiful, very big in stature, dark, +passionate, and quick to seize the knife. The place seemed new and full of new +forms of beauty, in proof of which they showed handkerchiefs which the women +had worn round their heads, and primitive carvings coloured bright greens and +blues. Somehow or other, as fashions do, the fashion spread; an old monastery +was quickly turned into a hotel, while a famous line of steamships altered its +route for the convenience of passengers. +</p> + +<p> +Oddly enough it happened that the least satisfactory of Helen Ambrose’s +brothers had been sent out years before to make his fortune, at any rate to +keep clear of race-horses, in the very spot which had now become so popular. +Often, leaning upon the column in the verandah, he had watched the English +ships with English schoolmasters for pursers steaming into the bay. Having at +length earned enough to take a holiday, and being sick of the place, he +proposed to put his villa, on the slope of the mountain, at his sister’s +disposal. She, too, had been a little stirred by the talk of a new world, where +there was always sun and never a fog, which went on around her, and the chance, +when they were planning where to spend the winter out of England, seemed too +good to be missed. For these reasons she determined to accept +Willoughby’s offer of free passages on his ship, to place the children +with their grand-parents, and to do the thing thoroughly while she was about +it. +</p> + +<p> +Taking seats in a carriage drawn by long-tailed horses with pheasants’ +feathers erect between their ears, the Ambroses, Mr. Pepper, and Rachel rattled +out of the harbour. The day increased in heat as they drove up the hill. The +road passed through the town, where men seemed to be beating brass and crying +“Water,” where the passage was blocked by mules and cleared by +whips and curses, where the women walked barefoot, their heads balancing +baskets, and cripples hastily displayed mutilated members; it issued among +steep green fields, not so green but that the earth showed through. Great trees +now shaded all but the centre of the road, and a mountain stream, so shallow +and so swift that it plaited itself into strands as it ran, raced along the +edge. Higher they went, until Ridley and Rachel walked behind; next they turned +along a lane scattered with stones, where Mr. Pepper raised his stick and +silently indicated a shrub, bearing among sparse leaves a voluminous purple +blossom; and at a rickety canter the last stage of the way was accomplished. +</p> + +<p> +The villa was a roomy white house, which, as is the case with most continental +houses, looked to an English eye frail, ramshackle, and absurdly frivolous, +more like a pagoda in a tea-garden than a place where one slept. The garden +called urgently for the services of gardener. Bushes waved their branches +across the paths, and the blades of grass, with spaces of earth between them, +could be counted. In the circular piece of ground in front of the verandah were +two cracked vases, from which red flowers drooped, with a stone fountain +between them, now parched in the sun. The circular garden led to a long garden, +where the gardener’s shears had scarcely been, unless now and then, when +he cut a bough of blossom for his beloved. A few tall trees shaded it, and +round bushes with wax-like flowers mobbed their heads together in a row. A +garden smoothly laid with turf, divided by thick hedges, with raised beds of +bright flowers, such as we keep within walls in England, would have been out of +place upon the side of this bare hill. There was no ugliness to shut out, and +the villa looked straight across the shoulder of a slope, ribbed with olive +trees, to the sea. +</p> + +<p> +The indecency of the whole place struck Mrs. Chailey forcibly. There were no +blinds to shut out the sun, nor was there any furniture to speak of for the sun +to spoil. Standing in the bare stone hall, and surveying a staircase of superb +breadth, but cracked and carpetless, she further ventured the opinion that +there were rats, as large as terriers at home, and that if one put one’s +foot down with any force one would come through the floor. As for hot +water—at this point her investigations left her speechless. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor creature!” she murmured to the sallow Spanish servant-girl +who came out with the pigs and hens to receive them, “no wonder you +hardly look like a human being!” Maria accepted the compliment with an +exquisite Spanish grace. In Chailey’s opinion they would have done better +to stay on board an English ship, but none knew better than she that her duty +commanded her to stay. +</p> + +<p> +When they were settled in, and in train to find daily occupation, there was +some speculation as to the reasons which induced Mr. Pepper to stay, taking up +his lodging in the Ambroses’ house. Efforts had been made for some days +before landing to impress upon him the advantages of the Amazons. +</p> + +<p> +“That great stream!” Helen would begin, gazing as if she saw a +visionary cascade, “I’ve a good mind to go with you myself, +Willoughby—only I can’t. Think of the sunsets and the +moonrises—I believe the colours are unimaginable.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are wild peacocks,” Rachel hazarded. +</p> + +<p> +“And marvellous creatures in the water,” Helen asserted. +</p> + +<p> +“One might discover a new reptile,” Rachel continued. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s certain to be a revolution, I’m told,” Helen +urged. +</p> + +<p> +The effect of these subterfuges was a little dashed by Ridley, who, after +regarding Pepper for some moments, sighed aloud, “Poor fellow!” and +inwardly speculated upon the unkindness of women. +</p> + +<p> +He stayed, however, in apparent contentment for six days, playing with a +microscope and a notebook in one of the many sparsely furnished sitting-rooms, +but on the evening of the seventh day, as they sat at dinner, he appeared more +restless than usual. The dinner-table was set between two long windows which +were left uncurtained by Helen’s orders. Darkness fell as sharply as a +knife in this climate, and the town then sprang out in circles and lines of +bright dots beneath them. Buildings which never showed by day showed by night, +and the sea flowed right over the land judging by the moving lights of the +steamers. The sight fulfilled the same purpose as an orchestra in a London +restaurant, and silence had its setting. William Pepper observed it for some +time; he put on his spectacles to contemplate the scene. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve identified the big block to the left,” he observed, and +pointed with his fork at a square formed by several rows of lights. +</p> + +<p> +“One should infer that they can cook vegetables,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“An hotel?” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“Once a monastery,” said Mr. Pepper. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing more was said then, but, the day after, Mr. Pepper returned from a +midday walk, and stood silently before Helen who was reading in the verandah. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve taken a room over there,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not going?” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“On the whole—yes,” he remarked. “No private cook +<i>can</i> cook vegetables.” +</p> + +<p> +Knowing his dislike of questions, which she to some extent shared, Helen asked +no more. Still, an uneasy suspicion lurked in her mind that William was hiding +a wound. She flushed to think that her words, or her husband’s, or +Rachel’s had penetrated and stung. She was half-moved to cry, +“Stop, William; explain!” and would have returned to the subject at +luncheon if William had not shown himself inscrutable and chill, lifting +fragments of salad on the point of his fork, with the gesture of a man pronging +seaweed, detecting gravel, suspecting germs. +</p> + +<p> +“If you all die of typhoid I won’t be responsible!” he +snapped. +</p> + +<p> +“If you die of dulness, neither will I,” Helen echoed in her heart. +</p> + +<p> +She reflected that she had never yet asked him whether he had been in love. +They had got further and further from that subject instead of drawing nearer to +it, and she could not help feeling it a relief when William Pepper, with all +his knowledge, his microscope, his note-books, his genuine kindliness and good +sense, but a certain dryness of soul, took his departure. Also she could not +help feeling it sad that friendships should end thus, although in this case to +have the room empty was something of a comfort, and she tried to console +herself with the reflection that one never knows how far other people feel the +things they might be supposed to feel. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p> +The next few months passed away, as many years can pass away, without definite +events, and yet, if suddenly disturbed, it would be seen that such months or +years had a character unlike others. The three months which had passed had +brought them to the beginning of March. The climate had kept its promise, and +the change of season from winter to spring had made very little difference, so +that Helen, who was sitting in the drawing-room with a pen in her hand, could +keep the windows open though a great fire of logs burnt on one side of her. +Below, the sea was still blue and the roofs still brown and white, though the +day was fading rapidly. It was dusk in the room, which, large and empty at all +times, now appeared larger and emptier than usual. Her own figure, as she sat +writing with a pad on her knee, shared the general effect of size and lack of +detail, for the flames which ran along the branches, suddenly devouring little +green tufts, burnt intermittently and sent irregular illuminations across her +face and the plaster walls. There were no pictures on the walls but here and +there boughs laden with heavy-petalled flowers spread widely against them. Of +the books fallen on the bare floor and heaped upon the large table, it was only +possible in this light to trace the outline. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Ambrose was writing a very long letter. Beginning “Dear +Bernard,” it went on to describe what had been happening in the Villa San +Gervasio during the past three months, as, for instance, that they had had the +British Consul to dinner, and had been taken over a Spanish man-of-war, and had +seen a great many processions and religious festivals, which were so beautiful +that Mrs. Ambrose couldn’t conceive why, if people must have a religion, +they didn’t all become Roman Catholics. They had made several expeditions +though none of any length. It was worth coming if only for the sake of the +flowering trees which grew wild quite near the house, and the amazing colours +of sea and earth. The earth, instead of being brown, was red, purple, green. +“You won’t believe me,” she added, “there is no colour +like it in England.” She adopted, indeed, a condescending tone towards +that poor island, which was now advancing chilly crocuses and nipped violets in +nooks, in copses, in cosy corners, tended by rosy old gardeners in mufflers, +who were always touching their hats and bobbing obsequiously. She went on to +deride the islanders themselves. Rumours of London all in a ferment over a +General Election had reached them even out here. “It seems +incredible,” she went on, “that people should care whether Asquith +is in or Austen Chamberlain out, and while you scream yourselves hoarse about +politics you let the only people who are trying for something good starve or +simply laugh at them. When have you ever encouraged a living artist? Or bought +his best work? Why are you all so ugly and so servile? Here the servants are +human beings. They talk to one as if they were equals. As far as I can tell +there are no aristocrats.” +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps it was the mention of aristocrats that reminded her of Richard Dalloway +and Rachel, for she ran on with the same penful to describe her niece. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s an odd fate that has put me in charge of a girl,” she +wrote, “considering that I have never got on well with women, or had much +to do with them. However, I must retract some of the things that I have said +against them. If they were properly educated I don’t see why they +shouldn’t be much the same as men—as satisfactory I mean; though, +of course, very different. The question is, how should one educate them. The +present method seems to me abominable. This girl, though twenty-four, had never +heard that men desired women, and, until I explained it, did not know how +children were born. Her ignorance upon other matters as important” (here +Mrs. Ambrose’s letter may not be quoted) . . . “was complete. It +seems to me not merely foolish but criminal to bring people up like that. Let +alone the suffering to them, it explains why women are what they are—the +wonder is they’re no worse. I have taken it upon myself to enlighten her, +and now, though still a good deal prejudiced and liable to exaggerate, she is +more or less a reasonable human being. Keeping them ignorant, of course, +defeats its own object, and when they begin to understand they take it all much +too seriously. My brother-in-law really deserved a catastrophe—which he +won’t get. I now pray for a young man to come to my help; some one, I +mean, who would talk to her openly, and prove how absurd most of her ideas +about life are. Unluckily such men seem almost as rare as the women. The +English colony certainly doesn’t provide one; artists, merchants, +cultivated people—they are stupid, conventional, and flirtatious. . . +.” She ceased, and with her pen in her hand sat looking into the fire, +making the logs into caves and mountains, for it had grown too dark to go on +writing. Moreover, the house began to stir as the hour of dinner approached; +she could hear the plates being chinked in the dining-room next door, and +Chailey instructing the Spanish girl where to put things down in vigorous +English. The bell rang; she rose, met Ridley and Rachel outside, and they all +went in to dinner. +</p> + +<p> +Three months had made but little difference in the appearance either of Ridley +or Rachel; yet a keen observer might have thought that the girl was more +definite and self-confident in her manner than before. Her skin was brown, her +eyes certainly brighter, and she attended to what was said as though she might +be going to contradict it. The meal began with the comfortable silence of +people who are quite at their ease together. Then Ridley, leaning on his elbow +and looking out of the window, observed that it was a lovely night. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Helen. She added, “The season’s +begun,” looking at the lights beneath them. She asked Maria in Spanish +whether the hotel was not filling up with visitors. Maria informed her with +pride that there would come a time when it was positively difficult to buy +eggs—the shopkeepers would not mind what prices they asked; they would +get them, at any rate, from the English. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s an English steamer in the bay,” said Rachel, looking +at a triangle of lights below. “She came in early this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we may hope for some letters and send ours back,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +For some reason the mention of letters always made Ridley groan, and the rest +of the meal passed in a brisk argument between husband and wife as to whether +he was or was not wholly ignored by the entire civilised world. +</p> + +<p> +“Considering the last batch,” said Helen, “you deserve +beating. You were asked to lecture, you were offered a degree, and some silly +woman praised not only your books but your beauty—she said he was what +Shelley would have been if Shelley had lived to fifty-five and grown a beard. +Really, Ridley, I think you’re the vainest man I know,” she ended, +rising from the table, “which I may tell you is saying a good +deal.” +</p> + +<p> +Finding her letter lying before the fire she added a few lines to it, and then +announced that she was going to take the letters now—Ridley must bring +his—and Rachel? +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you’ve written to your Aunts? It’s high time.” +</p> + +<p> +The women put on cloaks and hats, and after inviting Ridley to come with them, +which he emphatically refused to do, exclaiming that Rachel he expected to be a +fool, but Helen surely knew better, they turned to go. He stood over the fire +gazing into the depths of the looking-glass, and compressing his face into the +likeness of a commander surveying a field of battle, or a martyr watching the +flames lick his toes, rather than that of a secluded Professor. +</p> + +<p> +Helen laid hold of his beard. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I a fool?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go, Helen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I a fool?” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Vile woman!” he exclaimed, and kissed her. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll leave you to your vanities,” she called back as they +went out of the door. +</p> + +<p> +It was a beautiful evening, still light enough to see a long way down the road, +though the stars were coming out. The pillar-box was let into a high yellow +wall where the lane met the road, and having dropped the letters into it, Helen +was for turning back. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” said Rachel, taking her by the wrist. “We’re +going to see life. You promised.” +</p> + +<p> +“Seeing life” was the phrase they used for their habit of strolling +through the town after dark. The social life of Santa Marina was carried on +almost entirely by lamp-light, which the warmth of the nights and the scents +culled from flowers made pleasant enough. The young women, with their hair +magnificently swept in coils, a red flower behind the ear, sat on the +doorsteps, or issued out on to balconies, while the young men ranged up and +down beneath, shouting up a greeting from time to time and stopping here and +there to enter into amorous talk. At the open windows merchants could be seen +making up the day’s account, and older women lifting jars from shelf to +shelf. The streets were full of people, men for the most part, who interchanged +their views of the world as they walked, or gathered round the wine-tables at +the street corner, where an old cripple was twanging his guitar strings, while +a poor girl cried her passionate song in the gutter. The two Englishwomen +excited some friendly curiosity, but no one molested them. +</p> + +<p> +Helen sauntered on, observing the different people in their shabby clothes, who +seemed so careless and so natural, with satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Just think of the Mall to-night!” she exclaimed at length. +“It’s the fifteenth of March. Perhaps there’s a Court.” +She thought of the crowd waiting in the cold spring air to see the grand +carriages go by. “It’s very cold, if it’s not raining,” +she said. “First there are men selling picture postcards; then there are +wretched little shop-girls with round bandboxes; then there are bank clerks in +tail coats; and then—any number of dressmakers. People from South +Kensington drive up in a hired fly; officials have a pair of bays; earls, on +the other hand, are allowed one footman to stand up behind; dukes have two, +royal dukes—so I was told—have three; the king, I suppose, can have +as many as he likes. And the people believe in it!” +</p> + +<p> +Out here it seemed as though the people of England must be shaped in the body +like the kings and queens, knights and pawns of the chessboard, so strange were +their differences, so marked and so implicitly believed in. +</p> + +<p> +They had to part in order to circumvent a crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“They believe in God,” said Rachel as they regained each other. She +meant that the people in the crowd believed in Him; for she remembered the +crosses with bleeding plaster figures that stood where foot-paths joined, and +the inexplicable mystery of a service in a Roman Catholic church. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall never understand!” she sighed. +</p> + +<p> +They had walked some way and it was now night, but they could see a large iron +gate a little way farther down the road on their left. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to go right up to the hotel?” Helen asked. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel gave the gate a push; it swung open, and, seeing no one about and +judging that nothing was private in this country, they walked straight on. An +avenue of trees ran along the road, which was completely straight. The trees +suddenly came to an end; the road turned a corner, and they found themselves +confronted by a large square building. They had come out upon the broad terrace +which ran round the hotel and were only a few feet distant from the windows. A +row of long windows opened almost to the ground. They were all of them +uncurtained, and all brilliantly lighted, so that they could see everything +inside. Each window revealed a different section of the life of the hotel. They +drew into one of the broad columns of shadow which separated the windows and +gazed in. They found themselves just outside the dining-room. It was being +swept; a waiter was eating a bunch of grapes with his leg across the corner of +a table. Next door was the kitchen, where they were washing up; white cooks +were dipping their arms into cauldrons, while the waiters made their meal +voraciously off broken meats, sopping up the gravy with bits of crumb. Moving +on, they became lost in a plantation of bushes, and then suddenly found +themselves outside the drawing-room, where the ladies and gentlemen, having +dined well, lay back in deep arm-chairs, occasionally speaking or turning over +the pages of magazines. A thin woman was flourishing up and down the piano. +</p> + +<p> +“What is a dahabeeyah, Charles?” the distinct voice of a widow, +seated in an arm-chair by the window, asked her son. +</p> + +<p> +It was the end of the piece, and his answer was lost in the general clearing of +throats and tapping of knees. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re all old in this room,” Rachel whispered. +</p> + +<p> +Creeping on, they found that the next window revealed two men in shirt-sleeves +playing billiards with two young ladies. +</p> + +<p> +“He pinched my arm!” the plump young woman cried, as she missed her +stroke. +</p> + +<p> +“Now you two—no ragging,” the young man with the red face +reproved them, who was marking. +</p> + +<p> +“Take care or we shall be seen,” whispered Helen, plucking Rachel +by the arm. Incautiously her head had risen to the middle of the window. +</p> + +<p> +Turning the corner they came to the largest room in the hotel, which was +supplied with four windows, and was called the Lounge, although it was really a +hall. Hung with armour and native embroideries, furnished with divans and +screens, which shut off convenient corners, the room was less formal than the +others, and was evidently the haunt of youth. Signor Rodriguez, whom they knew +to be the manager of the hotel, stood quite near them in the doorway surveying +the scene—the gentlemen lounging in chairs, the couples leaning over +coffee-cups, the game of cards in the centre under profuse clusters of electric +light. He was congratulating himself upon the enterprise which had turned the +refectory, a cold stone room with pots on trestles, into the most comfortable +room in the house. The hotel was very full, and proved his wisdom in decreeing +that no hotel can flourish without a lounge. +</p> + +<p> +The people were scattered about in couples or parties of four, and either they +were actually better acquainted, or the informal room made their manners +easier. Through the open window came an uneven humming sound like that which +rises from a flock of sheep pent within hurdles at dusk. The card-party +occupied the centre of the foreground. +</p> + +<p> +Helen and Rachel watched them play for some minutes without being able to +distinguish a word. Helen was observing one of the men intently. He was a lean, +somewhat cadaverous man of about her own age, whose profile was turned to them, +and he was the partner of a highly-coloured girl, obviously English by birth. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, in the strange way in which some words detach themselves from the +rest, they heard him say quite distinctly:— +</p> + +<p> +“All you want is practice, Miss Warrington; courage and +practice—one’s no good without the other.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hughling Elliot! Of course!” Helen exclaimed. She ducked her head +immediately, for at the sound of his name he looked up. The game went on for a +few minutes, and was then broken up by the approach of a wheeled chair, +containing a voluminous old lady who paused by the table and said:— +</p> + +<p> +“Better luck to-night, Susan?” +</p> + +<p> +“All the luck’s on our side,” said a young man who until now +had kept his back turned to the window. He appeared to be rather stout, and had +a thick crop of hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Luck, Mr. Hewet?” said his partner, a middle-aged lady with +spectacles. “I assure you, Mrs. Paley, our success is due solely to our +brilliant play.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unless I go to bed early I get practically no sleep at all,” Mrs. +Paley was heard to explain, as if to justify her seizure of Susan, who got up +and proceeded to wheel the chair to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll get some one else to take my place,” she said +cheerfully. But she was wrong. No attempt was made to find another player, and +after the young man had built three stories of a card-house, which fell down, +the players strolled off in different directions. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hewet turned his full face towards the window. They could see that he had +large eyes obscured by glasses; his complexion was rosy, his lips clean-shaven; +and, seen among ordinary people, it appeared to be an interesting face. He came +straight towards them, but his eyes were fixed not upon the eavesdroppers but +upon a spot where the curtain hung in folds. +</p> + +<p> +“Asleep?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Helen and Rachel started to think that some one had been sitting near to them +unobserved all the time. There were legs in the shadow. A melancholy voice +issued from above them. +</p> + +<p> +“Two women,” it said. +</p> + +<p> +A scuffling was heard on the gravel. The women had fled. They did not stop +running until they felt certain that no eye could penetrate the darkness and +the hotel was only a square shadow in the distance, with red holes regularly +cut in it. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p> +An hour passed, and the downstairs rooms at the hotel grew dim and were almost +deserted, while the little box-like squares above them were brilliantly +irradiated. Some forty or fifty people were going to bed. The thump of jugs set +down on the floor above could be heard and the clink of china, for there was +not as thick a partition between the rooms as one might wish, so Miss Allan, +the elderly lady who had been playing bridge, determined, giving the wall a +smart rap with her knuckles. It was only matchboard, she decided, run up to +make many little rooms of one large one. Her grey petticoats slipped to the +ground, and, stooping, she folded her clothes with neat, if not loving fingers, +screwed her hair into a plait, wound her father’s great gold watch, and +opened the complete works of Wordsworth. She was reading the +“Prelude,” partly because she always read the “Prelude” +abroad, and partly because she was engaged in writing a short <i>Primer of +English Literature</i>—<i>Beowulf to Swinburne</i>—which would have +a paragraph on Wordsworth. She was deep in the fifth book, stopping indeed to +pencil a note, when a pair of boots dropped, one after another, on the floor +above her. She looked up and speculated. Whose boots were they, she wondered. +She then became aware of a swishing sound next door—a woman, clearly, +putting away her dress. It was succeeded by a gentle tapping sound, such as +that which accompanies hair-dressing. It was very difficult to keep her +attention fixed upon the “Prelude.” Was it Susan Warrington +tapping? She forced herself, however, to read to the end of the book, when she +placed a mark between the pages, sighed contentedly, and then turned out the +light. +</p> + +<p> +Very different was the room through the wall, though as like in shape as one +egg-box is like another. As Miss Allan read her book, Susan Warrington was +brushing her hair. Ages have consecrated this hour, and the most majestic of +all domestic actions, to talk of love between women; but Miss Warrington being +alone could not talk; she could only look with extreme solicitude at her own +face in the glass. She turned her head from side to side, tossing heavy locks +now this way now that; and then withdrew a pace or two, and considered herself +seriously. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m nice-looking,” she determined. “Not +pretty—possibly,” she drew herself up a little. +“Yes—most people would say I was handsome.” +</p> + +<p> +She was really wondering what Arthur Venning would say she was. Her feeling +about him was decidedly queer. She would not admit to herself that she was in +love with him or that she wanted to marry him, yet she spent every minute when +she was alone in wondering what he thought of her, and in comparing what they +had done to-day with what they had done the day before. +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t ask me to play, but he certainly followed me into the +hall,” she meditated, summing up the evening. She was thirty years of +age, and owing to the number of her sisters and the seclusion of life in a +country parsonage had as yet had no proposal of marriage. The hour of +confidences was often a sad one, and she had been known to jump into bed, +treating her hair unkindly, feeling herself overlooked by life in comparison +with others. She was a big, well-made woman, the red lying upon her cheeks in +patches that were too well defined, but her serious anxiety gave her a kind of +beauty. +</p> + +<p> +She was just about to pull back the bed-clothes when she exclaimed, “Oh, +but I’m forgetting,” and went to her writing-table. A brown volume +lay there stamped with the figure of the year. She proceeded to write in the +square ugly hand of a mature child, as she wrote daily year after year, keeping +the diaries, though she seldom looked at them. +</p> + +<p> +“A.M.—Talked to Mrs. H. Elliot about country neighbours. She knows +the Manns; also the Selby-Carroways. How small the world is! Like her. Read a +chapter of <i>Miss Appleby’s Adventure</i> to Aunt E. P.M.—Played +lawn-tennis with Mr. Perrott and Evelyn M. Don’t <i>like</i> Mr. P. Have +a feeling that he is not ‘quite,’ though clever certainly. Beat +them. Day splendid, view wonderful. One gets used to no trees, though much too +bare at first. Cards after dinner. Aunt E. cheerful, though twingy, she says. +Mem.: <i>ask about damp sheets</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +She knelt in prayer, and then lay down in bed, tucking the blankets comfortably +about her, and in a few minutes her breathing showed that she was asleep. With +its profoundly peaceful sighs and hesitations it resembled that of a cow +standing up to its knees all night through in the long grass. +</p> + +<p> +A glance into the next room revealed little more than a nose, prominent above +the sheets. Growing accustomed to the darkness, for the windows were open and +showed grey squares with splinters of starlight, one could distinguish a lean +form, terribly like the body of a dead person, the body indeed of William +Pepper, asleep too. Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight—here were +three Portuguese men of business, asleep presumably, since a snore came with +the regularity of a great ticking clock. Thirty-nine was a corner room, at the +end of the passage, but late though it was—“One” struck +gently downstairs—a line of light under the door showed that some one was +still awake. +</p> + +<p> +“How late you are, Hugh!” a woman, lying in bed, said in a peevish +but solicitous voice. Her husband was brushing his teeth, and for some moments +did not answer. +</p> + +<p> +“You should have gone to sleep,” he replied. “I was talking +to Thornbury.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you know that I never can sleep when I’m waiting for +you,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +To that he made no answer, but only remarked, “Well then, we’ll +turn out the light.” They were silent. +</p> + +<p> +The faint but penetrating pulse of an electric bell could now be heard in the +corridor. Old Mrs. Paley, having woken hungry but without her spectacles, was +summoning her maid to find the biscuit-box. The maid having answered the bell, +drearily respectful even at this hour though muffled in a mackintosh, the +passage was left in silence. Downstairs all was empty and dark; but on the +upper floor a light still burnt in the room where the boots had dropped so +heavily above Miss Allan’s head. Here was the gentleman who, a few hours +previously, in the shade of the curtain, had seemed to consist entirely of +legs. Deep in an arm-chair he was reading the third volume of Gibbon’s +<i>History of the Decline and Fall of Rome</i> by candle-light. As he read he +knocked the ash automatically, now and again, from his cigarette and turned the +page, while a whole procession of splendid sentences entered his capacious brow +and went marching through his brain in order. It seemed likely that this +process might continue for an hour or more, until the entire regiment had +shifted its quarters, had not the door opened, and the young man, who was +inclined to be stout, come in with large naked feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Hirst, what I forgot to say was—” +</p> + +<p> +“Two minutes,” said Hirst, raising his finger. +</p> + +<p> +He safely stowed away the last words of the paragraph. +</p> + +<p> +“What was it you forgot to say?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you think you <i>do</i> make enough allowance for +feelings?” asked Mr. Hewet. He had again forgotten what he had meant to +say. +</p> + +<p> +After intense contemplation of the immaculate Gibbon Mr. Hirst smiled at the +question of his friend. He laid aside his book and considered. +</p> + +<p> +“I should call yours a singularly untidy mind,” he observed. +“Feelings? Aren’t they just what we do allow for? We put love up +there, and all the rest somewhere down below.” With his left hand he +indicated the top of a pyramid, and with his right the base. +</p> + +<p> +“But you didn’t get out of bed to tell me that,” he added +severely. +</p> + +<p> +“I got out of bed,” said Hewet vaguely, “merely to talk I +suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meanwhile I shall undress,” said Hirst. When naked of all but his +shirt, and bent over the basin, Mr. Hirst no longer impressed one with the +majesty of his intellect, but with the pathos of his young yet ugly body, for +he stooped, and he was so thin that there were dark lines between the different +bones of his neck and shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Women interest me,” said Hewet, who, sitting on the bed with his +chin resting on his knees, paid no attention to the undressing of Mr. Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re so stupid,” said Hirst. “You’re sitting +on my pyjamas.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose they <i>are</i> stupid?” Hewet wondered. +</p> + +<p> +“There can’t be two opinions about that, I imagine,” said +Hirst, hopping briskly across the room, “unless you’re in +love—that fat woman Warrington?” he enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Not one fat woman—all fat women,” Hewet sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“The women I saw to-night were not fat,” said Hirst, who was taking +advantage of Hewet’s company to cut his toe-nails. +</p> + +<p> +“Describe them,” said Hewet. +</p> + +<p> +“You know I can’t describe things!” said Hirst. “They +were much like other women, I should think. They always are.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; that’s where we differ,” said Hewet. “I say +everything’s different. No two people are in the least the same. Take you +and me now.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I used to think once,” said Hirst. “But now they’re +all types. Don’t take us,—take this hotel. You could draw circles +round the whole lot of them, and they’d never stray outside.” +</p> + +<p> +(“You can kill a hen by doing that”), Hewet murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Hughling Elliot, Mrs. Hughling Elliot, Miss Allan, Mr. and Mrs. +Thornbury—one circle,” Hirst continued. “Miss Warrington, Mr. +Arthur Venning, Mr. Perrott, Evelyn M. another circle; then there are a whole +lot of natives; finally ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are we all alone in our circle?” asked Hewet. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite alone,” said Hirst. “You try to get out, but you +can’t. You only make a mess of things by trying.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not a hen in a circle,” said Hewet. “I’m a +dove on a tree-top.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if this is what they call an ingrowing toe-nail?” said +Hirst, examining the big toe on his left foot. +</p> + +<p> +“I flit from branch to branch,” continued Hewet. “The world +is profoundly pleasant.” He lay back on the bed, upon his arms. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if it’s really nice to be as vague as you are?” +asked Hirst, looking at him. “It’s the lack of +continuity—that’s what’s so odd about you,” he went on. +“At the age of twenty-seven, which is nearly thirty, you seem to have +drawn no conclusions. A party of old women excites you still as though you were +three.” +</p> + +<p> +Hewet contemplated the angular young man who was neatly brushing the rims of +his toe-nails into the fire-place in silence for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I respect you, Hirst,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“I envy you—some things,” said Hirst. “One: your +capacity for not thinking; two: people like you better than they like me. Women +like you, I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder whether that isn’t really what matters most?” said +Hewet. Lying now flat on the bed he waved his hand in vague circles above him. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it is,” said Hirst. “But that’s not the +difficulty. The difficulty is, isn’t it, to find an appropriate +object?” +</p> + +<p> +“There are no female hens in your circle?” asked Hewet. +</p> + +<p> +“Not the ghost of one,” said Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +Although they had known each other for three years Hirst had never yet heard +the true story of Hewet’s loves. In general conversation it was taken for +granted that they were many, but in private the subject was allowed to lapse. +The fact that he had money enough to do no work, and that he had left Cambridge +after two terms owing to a difference with the authorities, and had then +travelled and drifted, made his life strange at many points where his +friends’ lives were much of a piece. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see your circles—I don’t see them,” +Hewet continued. “I see a thing like a teetotum spinning in and +out—knocking into things—dashing from side to side—collecting +numbers—more and more and more, till the whole place is thick with them. +Round and round they go—out there, over the rim—out of +sight.” +</p> + +<p> +His fingers showed that the waltzing teetotums had spun over the edge of the +counterpane and fallen off the bed into infinity. +</p> + +<p> +“Could you contemplate three weeks alone in this hotel?” asked +Hirst, after a moment’s pause. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet proceeded to think. +</p> + +<p> +“The truth of it is that one never is alone, and one never is in +company,” he concluded. +</p> + +<p> +“Meaning?” said Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +“Meaning? Oh, something about bubbles—auras—what d’you +call ’em? You can’t see my bubble; I can’t see yours; all we +see of each other is a speck, like the wick in the middle of that flame. The +flame goes about with us everywhere; it’s not ourselves exactly, but what +we feel; the world is short, or people mainly; all kinds of people.” +</p> + +<p> +“A nice streaky bubble yours must be!” said Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +“And supposing my bubble could run into some one else’s +bubble—” +</p> + +<p> +“And they both burst?” put in Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +“Then—then—then—” pondered Hewet, as if to +himself, “it would be an e-nor-mous world,” he said, stretching his +arms to their full width, as though even so they could hardly clasp the billowy +universe, for when he was with Hirst he always felt unusually sanguine and +vague. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think you altogether as foolish as I used to, +Hewet,” said Hirst. “You don’t know what you mean but you try +to say it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But aren’t you enjoying yourself here?” asked Hewet. +</p> + +<p> +“On the whole—yes,” said Hirst. “I like observing +people. I like looking at things. This country is amazingly beautiful. Did you +notice how the top of the mountain turned yellow to-night? Really we must take +our lunch and spend the day out. You’re getting disgustingly fat.” +He pointed at the calf of Hewet’s bare leg. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll get up an expedition,” said Hewet energetically. +“We’ll ask the entire hotel. We’ll hire donkeys +and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lord!” said Hirst, “do shut it! I can see Miss +Warrington and Miss Allan and Mrs. Elliot and the rest squatting on the stones +and quacking, ‘How jolly!’” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll ask Venning and Perrott and Miss Murgatroyd—every one +we can lay hands on,” went on Hewet. “What’s the name of the +little old grasshopper with the eyeglasses? Pepper?—Pepper shall lead +us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God, you’ll never get the donkeys,” said Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +“I must make a note of that,” said Hewet, slowly dropping his feet +to the floor. “Hirst escorts Miss Warrington; Pepper advances alone on a +white ass; provisions equally distributed—or shall we hire a mule? The +matrons—there’s Mrs. Paley, by Jove!—share a carriage.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s where you’ll go wrong,” said Hirst. +“Putting virgins among matrons.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long should you think that an expedition like that would take, +Hirst?” asked Hewet. +</p> + +<p> +“From twelve to sixteen hours I would say,” said Hirst. “The +time usually occupied by a first confinement.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will need considerable organisation,” said Hewet. He was now +padding softly round the room, and stopped to stir the books on the table. They +lay heaped one upon another. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall want some poets too,” he remarked. “Not Gibbon; no; +d’you happen to have <i>Modern Love</i> or <i>John Donne</i>? You see, I +contemplate pauses when people get tired of looking at the view, and then it +would be nice to read something rather difficult aloud.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Paley <i>will</i> enjoy herself,” said Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Paley will enjoy it certainly,” said Hewet. “It’s +one of the saddest things I know—the way elderly ladies cease to read +poetry. And yet how appropriate this is: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I speak as one who plumbs<br /> +    Life’s dim profound,<br /> +One who at length can sound<br /> +    Clear views and certain.<br /> +But—after love what comes?<br /> +    A scene that lours,<br /> +A few sad vacant hours,<br /> +    And then, the Curtain. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +I daresay Mrs. Paley is the only one of us who can really understand +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll ask her,” said Hirst. “Please, Hewet, if you +must go to bed, draw my curtain. Few things distress me more than the +moonlight.” +</p> + +<p> +Hewet retreated, pressing the poems of Thomas Hardy beneath his arm, and in +their beds next door to each other both the young men were soon asleep. +</p> + +<p> +Between the extinction of Hewet’s candle and the rising of a dusky +Spanish boy who was the first to survey the desolation of the hotel in the +early morning, a few hours of silence intervened. One could almost hear a +hundred people breathing deeply, and however wakeful and restless it would have +been hard to escape sleep in the middle of so much sleep. Looking out of the +windows, there was only darkness to be seen. All over the shadowed half of the +world people lay prone, and a few flickering lights in empty streets marked the +places where their cities were built. Red and yellow omnibuses were crowding +each other in Piccadilly; sumptuous women were rocking at a standstill; but +here in the darkness an owl flitted from tree to tree, and when the breeze +lifted the branches the moon flashed as if it were a torch. Until all people +should awake again the houseless animals were abroad, the tigers and the stags, +and the elephants coming down in the darkness to drink at pools. The wind at +night blowing over the hills and woods was purer and fresher than the wind by +day, and the earth, robbed of detail, more mysterious than the earth coloured +and divided by roads and fields. For six hours this profound beauty existed, +and then as the east grew whiter and whiter the ground swam to the surface, the +roads were revealed, the smoke rose and the people stirred, and the sun shone +upon the windows of the hotel at Santa Marina until they were uncurtained, and +the gong blaring all through the house gave notice of breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +Directly breakfast was over, the ladies as usual circled vaguely, picking up +papers and putting them down again, about the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“And what are you going to do to-day?” asked Mrs. Elliot drifting +up against Miss Warrington. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Elliot, the wife of Hughling the Oxford Don, was a short woman, whose +expression was habitually plaintive. Her eyes moved from thing to thing as +though they never found anything sufficiently pleasant to rest upon for any +length of time. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to try to get Aunt Emma out into the town,” said +Susan. “She’s not seen a thing yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“I call it so spirited of her at her age,” said Mrs. Elliot, +“coming all this way from her own fireside.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, we always tell her she’ll die on board ship,” Susan +replied. “She was born on one,” she added. +</p> + +<p> +“In the old days,” said Mrs. Elliot, “a great many people +were. I always pity the poor women so! We’ve got a lot to complain +of!” She shook her head. Her eyes wandered about the table, and she +remarked irrelevantly, “The poor little Queen of Holland! Newspaper +reporters practically, one may say, at her bedroom door!” +</p> + +<p> +“Were you talking of the Queen of Holland?” said the pleasant voice +of Miss Allan, who was searching for the thick pages of <i>The Times</i> among +a litter of thin foreign sheets. +</p> + +<p> +“I always envy any one who lives in such an excessively flat +country,” she remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“How very strange!” said Mrs. Elliot. “I find a flat country +so depressing.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid you can’t be very happy here then, Miss +Allan,” said Susan. +</p> + +<p> +“On the contrary,” said Miss Allan, “I am exceedingly fond of +mountains.” Perceiving <i>The Times</i> at some distance, she moved off +to secure it. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I must find my husband,” said Mrs. Elliot, fidgeting away. +</p> + +<p> +“And I must go to my aunt,” said Miss Warrington, and taking up the +duties of the day they moved away. +</p> + +<p> +Whether the flimsiness of foreign sheets and the coarseness of their type is +any proof of frivolity and ignorance, there is no doubt that English people +scarce consider news read there as news, any more than a programme bought from +a man in the street inspires confidence in what it says. A very respectable +elderly pair, having inspected the long tables of newspapers, did not think it +worth their while to read more than the headlines. +</p> + +<p> +“The debate on the fifteenth should have reached us by now,” Mrs. +Thornbury murmured. Mr. Thornbury, who was beautifully clean and had red rubbed +into his handsome worn face like traces of paint on a weather-beaten wooden +figure, looked over his glasses and saw that Miss Allan had <i>The Times</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The couple therefore sat themselves down in arm-chairs and waited. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, there’s Mr. Hewet,” said Mrs. Thornbury. “Mr. +Hewet,” she continued, “do come and sit by us. I was telling my +husband how much you reminded me of a dear old friend of mine—Mary +Umpleby. She was a most delightful woman, I assure you. She grew roses. We used +to stay with her in the old days.” +</p> + +<p> +“No young man likes to have it said that he resembles an elderly +spinster,” said Mr. Thornbury. +</p> + +<p> +“On the contrary,” said Mr. Hewet, “I always think it a +compliment to remind people of some one else. But Miss Umpleby—why did +she grow roses?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, poor thing,” said Mrs. Thornbury, “that’s a long +story. She had gone through dreadful sorrows. At one time I think she would +have lost her senses if it hadn’t been for her garden. The soil was very +much against her—a blessing in disguise; she had to be up at +dawn—out in all weathers. And then there are creatures that eat roses. +But she triumphed. She always did. She was a brave soul.” She sighed +deeply but at the same time with resignation. +</p> + +<p> +“I did not realise that I was monopolising the paper,” said Miss +Allan, coming up to them. +</p> + +<p> +“We were so anxious to read about the debate,” said Mrs. Thornbury, +accepting it on behalf of her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“One doesn’t realise how interesting a debate can be until one has +sons in the navy. My interests are equally balanced, though; I have sons in the +army too; and one son who makes speeches at the Union—my baby!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hirst would know him, I expect,” said Hewet. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Hirst has such an interesting face,” said Mrs. Thornbury. +“But I feel one ought to be very clever to talk to him. Well, +William?” she enquired, for Mr. Thornbury grunted. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re making a mess of it,” said Mr. Thornbury. He had +reached the second column of the report, a spasmodic column, for the Irish +members had been brawling three weeks ago at Westminster over a question of +naval efficiency. After a disturbed paragraph or two, the column of print once +more ran smoothly. +</p> + +<p> +“You have read it?” Mrs. Thornbury asked Miss Allan. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I am ashamed to say I have only read about the discoveries in +Crete,” said Miss Allan. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but I would give so much to realise the ancient world!” cried +Mrs. Thornbury. “Now that we old people are alone,—we’re on +our second honeymoon,—I am really going to put myself to school again. +After all we are <i>founded</i> on the past, aren’t we, Mr. Hewet? My +soldier son says that there is still a great deal to be learnt from Hannibal. +One ought to know so much more than one does. Somehow when I read the paper, I +begin with the debates first, and, before I’ve done, the door always +opens—we’re a very large party at home—and so one never does +think enough about the ancients and all they’ve done for us. But +<i>you</i> begin at the beginning, Miss Allan.” +</p> + +<p> +“When I think of the Greeks I think of them as naked black men,” +said Miss Allan, “which is quite incorrect, I’m sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you, Mr. Hirst?” said Mrs. Thornbury, perceiving that the +gaunt young man was near. “I’m sure you read everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“I confine myself to cricket and crime,” said Hirst. “The +worst of coming from the upper classes,” he continued, “is that +one’s friends are never killed in railway accidents.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornbury threw down the paper, and emphatically dropped his eyeglasses. +The sheets fell in the middle of the group, and were eyed by them all. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not gone well?” asked his wife solicitously. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet picked up one sheet and read, “A lady was walking yesterday in the +streets of Westminster when she perceived a cat in the window of a deserted +house. The famished animal—” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be out of it anyway,” Mr. Thornbury interrupted peevishly. +</p> + +<p> +“Cats are often forgotten,” Miss Allan remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Remember, William, the Prime Minister has reserved his answer,” +said Mrs. Thornbury. +</p> + +<p> +“At the age of eighty, Mr. Joshua Harris of Eeles Park, Brondesbury, has +had a son,” said Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +“. . . The famished animal, which had been noticed by workmen for some +days, was rescued, but—by Jove! it bit the man’s hand to +pieces!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wild with hunger, I suppose,” commented Miss Allan. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re all neglecting the chief advantage of being abroad,” +said Mr. Hughling Elliot, who had joined the group. “You might read your +news in French, which is equivalent to reading no news at all.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Elliot had a profound knowledge of Coptic, which he concealed as far as +possible, and quoted French phrases so exquisitely that it was hard to believe +that he could also speak the ordinary tongue. He had an immense respect for the +French. +</p> + +<p> +“Coming?” he asked the two young men. “We ought to start +before it’s really hot.” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg of you not to walk in the heat, Hugh,” his wife pleaded, +giving him an angular parcel enclosing half a chicken and some raisins. +</p> + +<p> +“Hewet will be our barometer,” said Mr. Elliot. “He will melt +before I shall.” Indeed, if so much as a drop had melted off his spare +ribs, the bones would have lain bare. The ladies were left alone now, +surrounding <i>The Times</i> which lay upon the floor. Miss Allan looked at her +father’s watch. +</p> + +<p> +“Ten minutes to eleven,” she observed. +</p> + +<p> +“Work?” asked Mrs. Thornbury. +</p> + +<p> +“Work,” replied Miss Allan. +</p> + +<p> +“What a fine creature she is!” murmured Mrs. Thornbury, as the +square figure in its manly coat withdrew. +</p> + +<p> +“And I’m sure she has a hard life,” sighed Mrs. Elliot. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it <i>is</i> a hard life,” said Mrs. Thornbury. +“Unmarried women—earning their livings—it’s the hardest +life of all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet she seems pretty cheerful,” said Mrs. Elliot. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be very interesting,” said Mrs. Thornbury. “I envy +her her knowledge.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that isn’t what women want,” said Mrs. Elliot. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid it’s all a great many can hope to have,” +sighed Mrs. Thornbury. “I believe that there are more of us than ever +now. Sir Harley Lethbridge was telling me only the other day how difficult it +is to find boys for the navy—partly because of their teeth, it is true. +And I have heard young women talk quite openly of—” +</p> + +<p> +“Dreadful, dreadful!” exclaimed Mrs. Elliot. “The crown, as +one may call it, of a woman’s life. I, who know what it is to be +childless—” she sighed and ceased. +</p> + +<p> +“But we must not be hard,” said Mrs. Thornbury. “The +conditions are so much changed since I was a young woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely <i>maternity</i> does not change,” said Mrs. Elliot. +</p> + +<p> +“In some ways we can learn a great deal from the young,” said Mrs. +Thornbury. “I learn so much from my own daughters.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe that Hughling really doesn’t mind,” said Mrs. +Elliot. “But then he has his work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Women without children can do so much for the children of others,” +observed Mrs. Thornbury gently. +</p> + +<p> +“I sketch a great deal,” said Mrs. Elliot, “but that +isn’t really an occupation. It’s so disconcerting to find girls +just beginning doing better than one does oneself! And nature’s +difficult—very difficult!” +</p> + +<p> +“Are there not institutions—clubs—that you could help?” +asked Mrs. Thornbury. +</p> + +<p> +“They are so exhausting,” said Mrs. Elliot. “I look strong, +because of my colour; but I’m not; the youngest of eleven never +is.” +</p> + +<p> +“If the mother is careful before,” said Mrs. Thornbury judicially, +“there is no reason why the size of the family should make any +difference. And there is no training like the training that brothers and +sisters give each other. I am sure of that. I have seen it with my own +children. My eldest boy Ralph, for instance—” +</p> + +<p> +But Mrs. Elliot was inattentive to the elder lady’s experience, and her +eyes wandered about the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“My mother had two miscarriages, I know,” she said suddenly. +“The first because she met one of those great dancing bears—they +shouldn’t be allowed; the other—it was a horrid story—our +cook had a child and there was a dinner party. So I put my dyspepsia down to +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“And a miscarriage is so much worse than a confinement,” Mrs. +Thornbury murmured absentmindedly, adjusting her spectacles and picking up +<i>The Times</i>. Mrs. Elliot rose and fluttered away. +</p> + +<p> +When she had heard what one of the million voices speaking in the paper had to +say, and noticed that a cousin of hers had married a clergyman at +Minehead—ignoring the drunken women, the golden animals of Crete, the +movements of battalions, the dinners, the reforms, the fires, the indignant, +the learned and benevolent, Mrs. Thornbury went upstairs to write a letter for +the mail. +</p> + +<p> +The paper lay directly beneath the clock, the two together seeming to represent +stability in a changing world. Mr. Perrott passed through; Mr. Venning poised +for a second on the edge of a table. Mrs. Paley was wheeled past. Susan +followed. Mr. Venning strolled after her. Portuguese military families, their +clothes suggesting late rising in untidy bedrooms, trailed across, attended by +confidential nurses carrying noisy children. As midday drew on, and the sun +beat straight upon the roof, an eddy of great flies droned in a circle; iced +drinks were served under the palms; the long blinds were pulled down with a +shriek, turning all the light yellow. The clock now had a silent hall to tick +in, and an audience of four or five somnolent merchants. By degrees white +figures with shady hats came in at the door, admitting a wedge of the hot +summer day, and shutting it out again. After resting in the dimness for a +minute, they went upstairs. Simultaneously, the clock wheezed one, and the gong +sounded, beginning softly, working itself into a frenzy, and ceasing. There was +a pause. Then all those who had gone upstairs came down; cripples came, +planting both feet on the same step lest they should slip; prim little girls +came, holding the nurse’s finger; fat old men came still buttoning +waistcoats. The gong had been sounded in the garden, and by degrees recumbent +figures rose and strolled in to eat, since the time had come for them to feed +again. There were pools and bars of shade in the garden even at midday, where +two or three visitors could lie working or talking at their ease. +</p> + +<p> +Owing to the heat of the day, luncheon was generally a silent meal, when people +observed their neighbors and took stock of any new faces there might be, +hazarding guesses as to who they were and what they did. Mrs. Paley, although +well over seventy and crippled in the legs, enjoyed her food and the +peculiarities of her fellow-beings. She was seated at a small table with Susan. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t like to say what <i>she</i> is!” she chuckled, +surveying a tall woman dressed conspicuously in white, with paint in the +hollows of her cheeks, who was always late, and always attended by a shabby +female follower, at which remark Susan blushed, and wondered why her aunt said +such things. +</p> + +<p> +Lunch went on methodically, until each of the seven courses was left in +fragments and the fruit was merely a toy, to be peeled and sliced as a child +destroys a daisy, petal by petal. The food served as an extinguisher upon any +faint flame of the human spirit that might survive the midday heat, but Susan +sat in her room afterwards, turning over and over the delightful fact that Mr. +Venning had come to her in the garden, and had sat there quite half an hour +while she read aloud to her aunt. Men and women sought different corners where +they could lie unobserved, and from two to four it might be said without +exaggeration that the hotel was inhabited by bodies without souls. Disastrous +would have been the result if a fire or a death had suddenly demanded something +heroic of human nature, but tragedies come in the hungry hours. Towards four +o’clock the human spirit again began to lick the body, as a flame licks a +black promontory of coal. Mrs. Paley felt it unseemly to open her toothless jaw +so widely, though there was no one near, and Mrs. Elliot surveyed her round +flushed face anxiously in the looking-glass. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later, having removed the traces of sleep, they met each other in +the hall, and Mrs. Paley observed that she was going to have her tea. +</p> + +<p> +“You like your tea too, don’t you?” she said, and invited +Mrs. Elliot, whose husband was still out, to join her at a special table which +she had placed for her under a tree. +</p> + +<p> +“A little silver goes a long way in this country,” she chuckled. +</p> + +<p> +She sent Susan back to fetch another cup. +</p> + +<p> +“They have such excellent biscuits here,” she said, contemplating a +plateful. “Not sweet biscuits, which I don’t like—dry +biscuits . . . Have you been sketching?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ve done two or three little daubs,” said Mrs. Elliot, +speaking rather louder than usual. “But it’s so difficult after +Oxfordshire, where there are so many trees. The light’s so strong here. +Some people admire it, I know, but I find it very fatiguing.” +</p> + +<p> +“I really don’t need cooking, Susan,” said Mrs. Paley, when +her niece returned. “I must trouble you to move me.” Everything had +to be moved. Finally the old lady was placed so that the light wavered over +her, as though she were a fish in a net. Susan poured out tea, and was just +remarking that they were having hot weather in Wiltshire too, when Mr. Venning +asked whether he might join them. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s so nice to find a young man who doesn’t despise +tea,” said Mrs. Paley, regaining her good humour. “One of my +nephews the other day asked for a glass of sherry—at five o’clock! +I told him he could get it at the public house round the corner, but not in my +drawing room.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather go without lunch than tea,” said Mr. Venning. +“That’s not strictly true. I want both.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Venning was a dark young man, about thirty-two years of age, very slapdash +and confident in his manner, although at this moment obviously a little +excited. His friend Mr. Perrott was a barrister, and as Mr. Perrott refused to +go anywhere without Mr. Venning it was necessary, when Mr. Perrott came to +Santa Marina about a Company, for Mr. Venning to come too. He was a barrister +also, but he loathed a profession which kept him indoors over books, and +directly his widowed mother died he was going, so he confided to Susan, to take +up flying seriously, and become partner in a large business for making +aeroplanes. The talk rambled on. It dealt, of course, with the beauties and +singularities of the place, the streets, the people, and the quantities of +unowned yellow dogs. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think it dreadfully cruel the way they treat dogs in +this country?” asked Mrs. Paley. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d have ’em all shot,” said Mr. Venning. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but the darling puppies,” said Susan. +</p> + +<p> +“Jolly little chaps,” said Mr. Venning. “Look here, +you’ve got nothing to eat.” A great wedge of cake was handed Susan +on the point of a trembling knife. Her hand trembled too as she took it. +</p> + +<p> +“I have such a dear dog at home,” said Mrs. Elliot. +</p> + +<p> +“My parrot can’t stand dogs,” said Mrs. Paley, with the air +of one making a confidence. “I always suspect that he (or she) was teased +by a dog when I was abroad.” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t get far this morning, Miss Warrington,” said Mr. +Venning. +</p> + +<p> +“It was hot,” she answered. Their conversation became private, +owing to Mrs. Paley’s deafness and the long sad history which Mrs. Elliot +had embarked upon of a wire-haired terrier, white with just one black spot, +belonging to an uncle of hers, which had committed suicide. “Animals do +commit suicide,” she sighed, as if she asserted a painful fact. +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t we explore the town this evening?” Mr. Venning +suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“My aunt—” Susan began. +</p> + +<p> +“You deserve a holiday,” he said. “You’re always doing +things for other people.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that’s my life,” she said, under cover of refilling the +teapot. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s no one’s life,” he returned, “no young +person’s. You’ll come?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to come,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +At this moment Mrs. Elliot looked up and exclaimed, “Oh, Hugh! He’s +bringing some one,” she added. +</p> + +<p> +“He would like some tea,” said Mrs. Paley. “Susan, run and +get some cups—there are the two young men.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re thirsting for tea,” said Mr. Elliot. “You know +Mr. Ambrose, Hilda? We met on the hill.” +</p> + +<p> +“He dragged me in,” said Ridley, “or I should have been +ashamed. I’m dusty and dirty and disagreeable.” He pointed to his +boots which were white with dust, while a dejected flower drooping in his +buttonhole, like an exhausted animal over a gate, added to the effect of length +and untidiness. He was introduced to the others. Mr. Hewet and Mr. Hirst +brought chairs, and tea began again, Susan pouring cascades of water from pot +to pot, always cheerfully, and with the competence of long use. +</p> + +<p> +“My wife’s brother,” Ridley explained to Hilda, whom he +failed to remember, “has a house here, which he has lent us. I was +sitting on a rock thinking of nothing at all when Elliot started up like a +fairy in a pantomime.” +</p> + +<p> +“Our chicken got into the salt,” Hewet said dolefully to Susan. +“Nor is it true that bananas include moisture as well as +sustenance.” +</p> + +<p> +Hirst was already drinking. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve been cursing you,” said Ridley in answer to Mrs. +Elliot’s kind enquiries about his wife. “You tourists eat up all +the eggs, Helen tells me. That’s an eye-sore too”—he nodded +his head at the hotel. “Disgusting luxury, I call it. We live with pigs +in the drawing-room.” +</p> + +<p> +“The food is not at all what it ought to be, considering the +price,” said Mrs. Paley seriously. “But unless one goes to a hotel +where is one to go to?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stay at home,” said Ridley. “I often wish I had! Everyone +ought to stay at home. But, of course, they won’t.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Paley conceived a certain grudge against Ridley, who seemed to be +criticising her habits after an acquaintance of five minutes. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe in foreign travel myself,” she stated, “if one +knows one’s native land, which I think I can honestly say I do. I should +not allow any one to travel until they had visited Kent and +Dorsetshire—Kent for the hops, and Dorsetshire for its old stone +cottages. There is nothing to compare with them here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—I always think that some people like the flat and other people +like the downs,” said Mrs. Elliot rather vaguely. +</p> + +<p> +Hirst, who had been eating and drinking without interruption, now lit a +cigarette, and observed, “Oh, but we’re all agreed by this time +that nature’s a mistake. She’s either very ugly, appallingly +uncomfortable, or absolutely terrifying. I don’t know which alarms me +most—a cow or a tree. I once met a cow in a field by night. The creature +looked at me. I assure you it turned my hair grey. It’s a disgrace that +the animals should be allowed to go at large.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what did the cow think of <i>him</i>?” Venning mumbled to +Susan, who immediately decided in her own mind that Mr. Hirst was a dreadful +young man, and that although he had such an air of being clever he probably +wasn’t as clever as Arthur, in the ways that really matter. +</p> + +<p> +“Wasn’t it Wilde who discovered the fact that nature makes no +allowance for hip-bones?” enquired Hughling Elliot. He knew by this time +exactly what scholarships and distinction Hirst enjoyed, and had formed a very +high opinion of his capacities. +</p> + +<p> +But Hirst merely drew his lips together very tightly and made no reply. +</p> + +<p> +Ridley conjectured that it was now permissible for him to take his leave. +Politeness required him to thank Mrs. Elliot for his tea, and to add, with a +wave of his hand, “You must come up and see us.” +</p> + +<p> +The wave included both Hirst and Hewet, and Hewet answered, “I should +like it immensely.” +</p> + +<p> +The party broke up, and Susan, who had never felt so happy in her life, was +just about to start for her walk in the town with Arthur, when Mrs. Paley +beckoned her back. She could not understand from the book how Double Demon +patience is played; and suggested that if they sat down and worked it out +together it would fill up the time nicely before dinner. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p> +Among the promises which Mrs. Ambrose had made her niece should she stay was a +room cut off from the rest of the house, large, private—a room in which +she could play, read, think, defy the world, a fortress as well as a sanctuary. +Rooms, she knew, became more like worlds than rooms at the age of twenty-four. +Her judgment was correct, and when she shut the door Rachel entered an +enchanted place, where the poets sang and things fell into their right +proportions. Some days after the vision of the hotel by night she was sitting +alone, sunk in an arm-chair, reading a brightly-covered red volume lettered on +the back <i>Works of Henrik Ibsen</i>. Music was open on the piano, and books +of music rose in two jagged pillars on the floor; but for the moment music was +deserted. +</p> + +<p> +Far from looking bored or absent-minded, her eyes were concentrated almost +sternly upon the page, and from her breathing, which was slow but repressed, it +could be seen that her whole body was constrained by the working of her mind. +At last she shut the book sharply, lay back, and drew a deep breath, expressive +of the wonder which always marks the transition from the imaginary world to the +real world. +</p> + +<p> +“What I want to know,” she said aloud, “is this: What is the +truth? What’s the truth of it all?” She was speaking partly as +herself, and partly as the heroine of the play she had just read. The landscape +outside, because she had seen nothing but print for the space of two hours, now +appeared amazingly solid and clear, but although there were men on the hill +washing the trunks of olive trees with a white liquid, for the moment she +herself was the most vivid thing in it—an heroic statue in the middle of +the foreground, dominating the view. Ibsen’s plays always left her in +that condition. She acted them for days at a time, greatly to Helen’s +amusement; and then it would be Meredith’s turn and she became Diana of +the Crossways. But Helen was aware that it was not all acting, and that some +sort of change was taking place in the human being. When Rachel became tired of +the rigidity of her pose on the back of the chair, she turned round, slid +comfortably down into it, and gazed out over the furniture through the window +opposite which opened on the garden. (Her mind wandered away from Nora, but she +went on thinking of things that the book suggested to her, of women and life.) +</p> + +<p> +During the three months she had been here she had made up considerably, as +Helen meant she should, for time spent in interminable walks round sheltered +gardens, and the household gossip of her aunts. But Mrs. Ambrose would have +been the first to disclaim any influence, or indeed any belief that to +influence was within her power. She saw her less shy, and less serious, which +was all to the good, and the violent leaps and the interminable mazes which had +led to that result were usually not even guessed at by her. Talk was the +medicine she trusted to, talk about everything, talk that was free, unguarded, +and as candid as a habit of talking with men made natural in her own case. Nor +did she encourage those habits of unselfishness and amiability founded upon +insincerity which are put at so high a value in mixed households of men and +women. She desired that Rachel should think, and for this reason offered books +and discouraged too entire a dependence upon Bach and Beethoven and Wagner. But +when Mrs. Ambrose would have suggested Defoe, Maupassant, or some spacious +chronicle of family life, Rachel chose modern books, books in shiny yellow +covers, books with a great deal of gilding on the back, which were tokens in +her aunt’s eyes of harsh wrangling and disputes about facts which had no +such importance as the moderns claimed for them. But she did not interfere. +Rachel read what she chose, reading with the curious literalness of one to whom +written sentences are unfamiliar, and handling words as though they were made +of wood, separately of great importance, and possessed of shapes like tables or +chairs. In this way she came to conclusions, which had to be remodelled +according to the adventures of the day, and were indeed recast as liberally as +any one could desire, leaving always a small grain of belief behind them. +</p> + +<p> +Ibsen was succeeded by a novel such as Mrs. Ambrose detested, whose purpose was +to distribute the guilt of a woman’s downfall upon the right shoulders; a +purpose which was achieved, if the reader’s discomfort were any proof of +it. She threw the book down, looked out of the window, turned away from the +window, and relapsed into an arm-chair. +</p> + +<p> +The morning was hot, and the exercise of reading left her mind contracting and +expanding like the main-spring of a clock, and the small noises of midday, +which one can ascribe to no definite cause, in a regular rhythm. It was all +very real, very big, very impersonal, and after a moment or two she began to +raise her first finger and to let it fall on the arm of her chair so as to +bring back to herself some consciousness of her own existence. She was next +overcome by the unspeakable queerness of the fact that she should be sitting in +an arm-chair, in the morning, in the middle of the world. Who were the people +moving in the house—moving things from one place to another? And life, +what was that? It was only a light passing over the surface and vanishing, as +in time she would vanish, though the furniture in the room would remain. Her +dissolution became so complete that she could not raise her finger any more, +and sat perfectly still, listening and looking always at the same spot. It +became stranger and stranger. She was overcome with awe that things should +exist at all. . . . She forgot that she had any fingers to raise. . . . The +things that existed were so immense and so desolate. . . . She continued to be +conscious of these vast masses of substance for a long stretch of time, the +clock still ticking in the midst of the universal silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in,” she said mechanically, for a string in her brain seemed +to be pulled by a persistent knocking at the door. With great slowness the door +opened and a tall human being came towards her, holding out her arm and saying: +</p> + +<p> +“What am I to say to this?” +</p> + +<p> +The utter absurdity of a woman coming into a room with a piece of paper in her +hand amazed Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what to answer, or who Terence Hewet is,” Helen +continued, in the toneless voice of a ghost. She put a paper before Rachel on +which were written the incredible words: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +D<small>EAR</small> M<small>RS</small>. A<small>MBROSE</small>—I am getting up a picnic for next Friday, when we +propose to start at eleven-thirty if the weather is fine, and to make the +ascent of Monte Rosa. It will take some time, but the view should be +magnificent. It would give me great pleasure if you and Miss Vinrace would +consent to be of the party.—Yours sincerely, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +T<small>ERENCE</small> H<small>EWET</small> +</p> + +<p> +Rachel read the words aloud to make herself believe in them. For the same +reason she put her hand on Helen’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Books—books—books,” said Helen, in her absent-minded +way. “More new books—I wonder what you find in them. . . .” +</p> + +<p> +For the second time Rachel read the letter, but to herself. This time, instead +of seeming vague as ghosts, each word was astonishingly prominent; they came +out as the tops of mountains come through a mist. +<i>Friday</i>—<i>eleven-thirty</i>—<i>Miss Vinrace</i>. The blood +began to run in her veins; she felt her eyes brighten. +</p> + +<p> +“We must go,” she said, rather surprising Helen by her decision. +“We must certainly go”—such was the relief of finding that +things still happened, and indeed they appeared the brighter for the mist +surrounding them. +</p> + +<p> +“Monte Rosa—that’s the mountain over there, isn’t +it?” said Helen; “but Hewet—who’s he? One of the young +men Ridley met, I suppose. Shall I say yes, then? It may be dreadfully +dull.” +</p> + +<p> +She took the letter back and went, for the messenger was waiting for her +answer. +</p> + +<p> +The party which had been suggested a few nights ago in Mr. Hirst’s +bedroom had taken shape and was the source of great satisfaction to Mr. Hewet, +who had seldom used his practical abilities, and was pleased to find them equal +to the strain. His invitations had been universally accepted, which was the +more encouraging as they had been issued against Hirst’s advice to people +who were very dull, not at all suited to each other, and sure not to come. +</p> + +<p> +“Undoubtedly,” he said, as he twirled and untwirled a note signed +Helen Ambrose, “the gifts needed to make a great commander have been +absurdly overrated. About half the intellectual effort which is needed to +review a book of modern poetry has enabled me to get together seven or eight +people, of opposite sexes, at the same spot at the same hour on the same day. +What else is generalship, Hirst? What more did Wellington do on the field of +Waterloo? It’s like counting the number of pebbles of a path, tedious but +not difficult.” +</p> + +<p> +He was sitting in his bedroom, one leg over the arm of the chair, and Hirst was +writing a letter opposite. Hirst was quick to point out that all the +difficulties remained. +</p> + +<p> +“For instance, here are two women you’ve never seen. Suppose one of +them suffers from mountain-sickness, as my sister does, and the +other—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the women are for you,” Hewet interrupted. “I asked them +solely for your benefit. What you want, Hirst, you know, is the society of +young women of your own age. You don’t know how to get on with women, +which is a great defect, considering that half the world consists of +women.” +</p> + +<p> +Hirst groaned that he was quite aware of that. +</p> + +<p> +But Hewet’s complacency was a little chilled as he walked with Hirst to +the place where a general meeting had been appointed. He wondered why on earth +he had asked these people, and what one really expected to get from bunching +human beings up together. +</p> + +<p> +“Cows,” he reflected, “draw together in a field; ships in a +calm; and we’re just the same when we’ve nothing else to do. But +why do we do it?—is it to prevent ourselves from seeing to the bottom of +things” (he stopped by a stream and began stirring it with his +walking-stick and clouding the water with mud), “making cities and +mountains and whole universes out of nothing, or do we really love each other, +or do we, on the other hand, live in a state of perpetual uncertainty, knowing +nothing, leaping from moment to moment as from world to world?—which is, +on the whole, the view <i>I</i> incline to.” +</p> + +<p> +He jumped over the stream; Hirst went round and joined him, remarking that he +had long ceased to look for the reason of any human action. +</p> + +<p> +Half a mile further, they came to a group of plane trees and the salmon-pink +farmhouse standing by the stream which had been chosen as meeting-place. It was +a shady spot, lying conveniently just where the hill sprung out from the flat. +Between the thin stems of the plane trees the young men could see little knots +of donkeys pasturing, and a tall woman rubbing the nose of one of them, while +another woman was kneeling by the stream lapping water out of her palms. +</p> + +<p> +As they entered the shady place, Helen looked up and then held out her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I must introduce myself,” she said. “I am Mrs. +Ambrose.” +</p> + +<p> +Having shaken hands, she said, “That’s my niece.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel approached awkwardly. She held out her hand, but withdrew it. +“It’s all wet,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Scarcely had they spoken, when the first carriage drew up. +</p> + +<p> +The donkeys were quickly jerked into attention, and the second carriage +arrived. By degrees the grove filled with people—the Elliots, the +Thornburys, Mr. Venning and Susan, Miss Allan, Evelyn Murgatroyd, and Mr. +Perrott. Mr. Hirst acted the part of hoarse energetic sheep-dog. By means of a +few words of caustic Latin he had the animals marshalled, and by inclining a +sharp shoulder he lifted the ladies. “What Hewet fails to +understand,” he remarked, “is that we must break the back of the +ascent before midday.” He was assisting a young lady, by name Evelyn +Murgatroyd, as he spoke. She rose light as a bubble to her seat. With a feather +drooping from a broad-brimmed hat, in white from top to toe, she looked like a +gallant lady of the time of Charles the First leading royalist troops into +action. +</p> + +<p> +“Ride with me,” she commanded; and, as soon as Hirst had swung +himself across a mule, the two started, leading the cavalcade. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not to call me Miss Murgatroyd. I hate it,” she said. +“My name’s Evelyn. What’s yours?” +</p> + +<p> +“St. John,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I like that,” said Evelyn. “And what’s your +friend’s name?” +</p> + +<p> +“His initials being R. S. T., we call him Monk,” said Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you’re all too clever,” she said. “Which way? Pick +me a branch. Let’s canter.” +</p> + +<p> +She gave her donkey a sharp cut with a switch and started forward. The full and +romantic career of Evelyn Murgatroyd is best hit off by her own words, +“Call me Evelyn and I’ll call you St. John.” She said that on +very slight provocation—her surname was enough—but although a great +many young men had answered her already with considerable spirit she went on +saying it and making choice of none. But her donkey stumbled to a jog-trot, and +she had to ride in advance alone, for the path when it began to ascend one of +the spines of the hill became narrow and scattered with stones. The cavalcade +wound on like a jointed caterpillar, tufted with the white parasols of the +ladies, and the panama hats of the gentlemen. At one point where the ground +rose sharply, Evelyn M. jumped off, threw her reins to the native boy, and +adjured St. John Hirst to dismount too. Their example was followed by those who +felt the need of stretching. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see any need to get off,” said Miss Allan to Mrs. +Elliot just behind her, “considering the difficulty I had getting +on.” +</p> + +<p> +“These little donkeys stand anything, <i>n’est-ce pas</i>?” +Mrs. Elliot addressed the guide, who obligingly bowed his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Flowers,” said Helen, stooping to pick the lovely little bright +flowers which grew separately here and there. “You pinch their leaves and +then they smell,” she said, laying one on Miss Allan’s knee. +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t we met before?” asked Miss Allan, looking at her. +</p> + +<p> +“I was taking it for granted,” Helen laughed, for in the confusion +of meeting they had not been introduced. +</p> + +<p> +“How sensible!” chirped Mrs. Elliot. “That’s just what +one would always like—only unfortunately it’s not possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not possible?” said Helen. “Everything’s possible. Who +knows what mayn’t happen before night-fall?” she continued, mocking +the poor lady’s timidity, who depended so implicitly upon one thing +following another that the mere glimpse of a world where dinner could be +disregarded, or the table moved one inch from its accustomed place, filled her +with fears for her own stability. +</p> + +<p> +Higher and higher they went, becoming separated from the world. The world, when +they turned to look back, flattened itself out, and was marked with squares of +thin green and grey. +</p> + +<p> +“Towns are very small,” Rachel remarked, obscuring the whole of +Santa Marina and its suburbs with one hand. The sea filled in all the angles of +the coast smoothly, breaking in a white frill, and here and there ships were +set firmly in the blue. The sea was stained with purple and green blots, and +there was a glittering line upon the rim where it met the sky. The air was very +clear and silent save for the sharp noise of grasshoppers and the hum of bees, +which sounded loud in the ear as they shot past and vanished. The party halted +and sat for a time in a quarry on the hillside. +</p> + +<p> +“Amazingly clear,” exclaimed St. John, identifying one cleft in the +land after another. +</p> + +<p> +Evelyn M. sat beside him, propping her chin on her hand. She surveyed the view +with a certain look of triumph. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you think Garibaldi was ever up here?” she asked Mr. +Hirst. Oh, if she had been his bride! If, instead of a picnic party, this was a +party of patriots, and she, red-shirted like the rest, had lain among grim men, +flat on the turf, aiming her gun at the white turrets beneath them, screening +her eyes to pierce through the smoke! So thinking, her foot stirred restlessly, +and she exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t call this <i>life</i>, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you call life?” said St. John. +</p> + +<p> +“Fighting—revolution,” she said, still gazing at the doomed +city. “You only care for books, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re quite wrong,” said St. John. +</p> + +<p> +“Explain,” she urged, for there were no guns to be aimed at bodies, +and she turned to another kind of warfare. +</p> + +<p> +“What do I care for? People,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I <i>am</i> surprised!” she exclaimed. “You look so +awfully serious. Do let’s be friends and tell each other what we’re +like. I hate being cautious, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +But St. John was decidedly cautious, as she could see by the sudden +constriction of his lips, and had no intention of revealing his soul to a young +lady. “The ass is eating my hat,” he remarked, and stretched out +for it instead of answering her. Evelyn blushed very slightly and then turned +with some impetuosity upon Mr. Perrott, and when they mounted again it was Mr. +Perrott who lifted her to her seat. +</p> + +<p> +“When one has laid the eggs one eats the omelette,” said Hughling +Elliot, exquisitely in French, a hint to the rest of them that it was time to +ride on again. +</p> + +<p> +The midday sun which Hirst had foretold was beginning to beat down hotly. The +higher they got the more of the sky appeared, until the mountain was only a +small tent of earth against an enormous blue background. The English fell +silent; the natives who walked beside the donkeys broke into queer wavering +songs and tossed jokes from one to the other. The way grew very steep, and each +rider kept his eyes fixed on the hobbling curved form of the rider and donkey +directly in front of him. Rather more strain was being put upon their bodies +than is quite legitimate in a party of pleasure, and Hewet overheard one or two +slightly grumbling remarks. +</p> + +<p> +“Expeditions in such heat are perhaps a little unwise,” Mrs. Elliot +murmured to Miss Allan. +</p> + +<p> +But Miss Allan returned, “I always like to get to the top”; and it +was true, although she was a big woman, stiff in the joints, and unused to +donkey-riding, but as her holidays were few she made the most of them. +</p> + +<p> +The vivacious white figure rode well in front; she had somehow possessed +herself of a leafy branch and wore it round her hat like a garland. They went +on for a few minutes in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“The view will be wonderful,” Hewet assured them, turning round in +his saddle and smiling encouragement. Rachel caught his eye and smiled too. +They struggled on for some time longer, nothing being heard but the clatter of +hooves striving on the loose stones. Then they saw that Evelyn was off her ass, +and that Mr. Perrott was standing in the attitude of a statesman in Parliament +Square, stretching an arm of stone towards the view. A little to the left of +them was a low ruined wall, the stump of an Elizabethan watch-tower. +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t have stood it much longer,” Mrs. Elliot confided +to Mrs. Thornbury, but the excitement of being at the top in another moment and +seeing the view prevented any one from answering her. One after another they +came out on the flat space at the top and stood overcome with wonder. Before +them they beheld an immense space—grey sands running into forest, and +forest merging in mountains, and mountains washed by air, the infinite +distances of South America. A river ran across the plain, as flat as the land, +and appearing quite as stationary. The effect of so much space was at first +rather chilling. They felt themselves very small, and for some time no one said +anything. Then Evelyn exclaimed, “Splendid!” She took hold of the +hand that was next her; it chanced to be Miss Allan’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“North—South—East—West,” said Miss Allan, jerking +her head slightly towards the points of the compass. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet, who had gone a little in front, looked up at his guests as if to justify +himself for having brought them. He observed how strangely the people standing +in a row with their figures bent slightly forward and their clothes plastered +by the wind to the shape of their bodies resembled naked statues. On their +pedestal of earth they looked unfamiliar and noble, but in another moment they +had broken their rank, and he had to see to the laying out of food. Hirst came +to his help, and they handed packets of chicken and bread from one to another. +</p> + +<p> +As St. John gave Helen her packet she looked him full in the face and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember—two women?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“So you’re the two women!” Hewet exclaimed, looking from +Helen to Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“Your lights tempted us,” said Helen. “We watched you playing +cards, but we never knew that we were being watched.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was like a thing in a play,” Rachel added. +</p> + +<p> +“And Hirst couldn’t describe you,” said Hewet. +</p> + +<p> +It was certainly odd to have seen Helen and to find nothing to say about her. +</p> + +<p> +Hughling Elliot put up his eyeglass and grasped the situation. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know of anything more dreadful,” he said, pulling at +the joint of a chicken’s leg, “than being seen when one isn’t +conscious of it. One feels sure one has been caught doing something +ridiculous—looking at one’s tongue in a hansom, for +instance.” +</p> + +<p> +Now the others ceased to look at the view, and drawing together sat down in a +circle round the baskets. +</p> + +<p> +“And yet those little looking-glasses in hansoms have a fascination of +their own,” said Mrs. Thornbury. “One’s features look so +different when one can only see a bit of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“There will soon be very few hansom cabs left,” said Mrs. Elliot. +“And four-wheeled cabs—I assure you even at Oxford it’s +almost impossible to get a four-wheeled cab.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder what happens to the horses,” said Susan. +</p> + +<p> +“Veal pie,” said Arthur. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s high time that horses should become extinct anyhow,” +said Hirst. “They’re distressingly ugly, besides being +vicious.” +</p> + +<p> +But Susan, who had been brought up to understand that the horse is the noblest +of God’s creatures, could not agree, and Venning thought Hirst an +unspeakable ass, but was too polite not to continue the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“When they see us falling out of aeroplanes they get some of their own +back, I expect,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“You fly?” said old Mr. Thornbury, putting on his spectacles to +look at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope to, some day,” said Arthur. +</p> + +<p> +Here flying was discussed at length, and Mrs. Thornbury delivered an opinion +which was almost a speech to the effect that it would be quite necessary in +time of war, and in England we were terribly behind-hand. “If I were a +young fellow,” she concluded, “I should certainly qualify.” +It was odd to look at the little elderly lady, in her grey coat and skirt, with +a sandwich in her hand, her eyes lighting up with zeal as she imagined herself +a young man in an aeroplane. For some reason, however, the talk did not run +easily after this, and all they said was about drink and salt and the view. +Suddenly Miss Allan, who was seated with her back to the ruined wall, put down +her sandwich, picked something off her neck, and remarked, “I’m +covered with little creatures.” It was true, and the discovery was very +welcome. The ants were pouring down a glacier of loose earth heaped between the +stones of the ruin—large brown ants with polished bodies. She held out +one on the back of her hand for Helen to look at. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose they sting?” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“They will not sting, but they may infest the victuals,” said Miss +Allan, and measures were taken at once to divert the ants from their course. At +Hewet’s suggestion it was decided to adopt the methods of modern warfare +against an invading army. The table-cloth represented the invaded country, and +round it they built barricades of baskets, set up the wine bottles in a +rampart, made fortifications of bread and dug fosses of salt. When an ant got +through it was exposed to a fire of bread-crumbs, until Susan pronounced that +that was cruel, and rewarded those brave spirits with spoil in the shape of +tongue. Playing this game they lost their stiffness, and even became unusually +daring, for Mr. Perrott, who was very shy, said, “Permit me,” and +removed an ant from Evelyn’s neck. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be no laughing matter really,” said Mrs. Elliot +confidentially to Mrs. Thornbury, “if an ant did get between the vest and +the skin.” +</p> + +<p> +The noise grew suddenly more clamorous, for it was discovered that a long line +of ants had found their way on to the table-cloth by a back entrance, and if +success could be gauged by noise, Hewet had every reason to think his party a +success. Nevertheless he became, for no reason at all, profoundly depressed. +</p> + +<p> +“They are not satisfactory; they are ignoble,” he thought, +surveying his guests from a little distance, where he was gathering together +the plates. He glanced at them all, stooping and swaying and gesticulating +round the table-cloth. Amiable and modest, respectable in many ways, lovable +even in their contentment and desire to be kind, how mediocre they all were, +and capable of what insipid cruelty to one another! There was Mrs. Thornbury, +sweet but trivial in her maternal egoism; Mrs. Elliot, perpetually complaining +of her lot; her husband a mere pea in a pod; and Susan—she had no self, +and counted neither one way nor the other; Venning was as honest and as brutal +as a schoolboy; poor old Thornbury merely trod his round like a horse in a +mill; and the less one examined into Evelyn’s character the better, he +suspected. Yet these were the people with money, and to them rather than to +others was given the management of the world. Put among them some one more +vital, who cared for life or for beauty, and what an agony, what a waste would +they inflict on him if he tried to share with them and not to scourge! +</p> + +<p> +“There’s Hirst,” he concluded, coming to the figure of his +friend; with his usual little frown of concentration upon his forehead he was +peeling the skin off a banana. “And he’s as ugly as sin.” For +the ugliness of St. John Hirst, and the limitations that went with it, he made +the rest in some way responsible. It was their fault that he had to live alone. +Then he came to Helen, attracted to her by the sound of her laugh. She was +laughing at Miss Allan. “You wear combinations in this heat?” she +said in a voice which was meant to be private. He liked the look of her +immensely, not so much her beauty, but her largeness and simplicity, which made +her stand out from the rest like a great stone woman, and he passed on in a +gentler mood. His eye fell upon Rachel. She was lying back rather behind the +others resting on one elbow; she might have been thinking precisely the same +thoughts as Hewet himself. Her eyes were fixed rather sadly but not intently +upon the row of people opposite her. Hewet crawled up to her on his knees, with +a piece of bread in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you looking at?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +She was a little startled, but answered directly, “Human beings.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p> +One after another they rose and stretched themselves, and in a few minutes +divided more or less into two separate parties. One of these parties was +dominated by Hughling Elliot and Mrs. Thornbury, who, having both read the same +books and considered the same questions, were now anxious to name the places +beneath them and to hang upon them stores of information about navies and +armies, political parties, natives and mineral products—all of which +combined, they said, to prove that South America was the country of the future. +</p> + +<p> +Evelyn M. listened with her bright blue eyes fixed upon the oracles. +</p> + +<p> +“How it makes one long to be a man!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Perrott answered, surveying the plain, that a country with a future was a +very fine thing. +</p> + +<p> +“If I were you,” said Evelyn, turning to him and drawing her glove +vehemently through her fingers, “I’d raise a troop and conquer some +great territory and make it splendid. You’d want women for that. +I’d love to start life from the very beginning as it ought to +be—nothing squalid—but great halls and gardens and splendid men and +women. But you—you only like Law Courts!” +</p> + +<p> +“And would you really be content without pretty frocks and sweets and all +the things young ladies like?” asked Mr. Perrott, concealing a certain +amount of pain beneath his ironical manner. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not a young lady,” Evelyn flashed; she bit her underlip. +“Just because I like splendid things you laugh at me. Why are there no +men like Garibaldi now?” she demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” said Mr. Perrott, “you don’t give me a +chance. You think we ought to begin things fresh. Good. But I don’t see +precisely—conquer a territory? They’re all conquered already, +aren’t they?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not any territory in particular,” Evelyn explained. +“It’s the idea, don’t you see? We lead such tame lives. And I +feel sure you’ve got splendid things in you.” +</p> + +<p> +Hewet saw the scars and hollows in Mr. Perrott’s sagacious face relax +pathetically. He could imagine the calculations which even then went on within +his mind, as to whether he would be justified in asking a woman to marry him, +considering that he made no more than five hundred a year at the Bar, owned no +private means, and had an invalid sister to support. Mr. Perrott again knew +that he was not “quite,” as Susan stated in her diary; not quite a +gentleman she meant, for he was the son of a grocer in Leeds, had started life +with a basket on his back, and now, though practically indistinguishable from a +born gentleman, showed his origin to keen eyes in an impeccable neatness of +dress, lack of freedom in manner, extreme cleanliness of person, and a certain +indescribable timidity and precision with his knife and fork which might be the +relic of days when meat was rare, and the way of handling it by no means +gingerly. +</p> + +<p> +The two parties who were strolling about and losing their unity now came +together, and joined each other in a long stare over the yellow and green +patches of the heated landscape below. The hot air danced across it, making it +impossible to see the roofs of a village on the plain distinctly. Even on the +top of the mountain where a breeze played lightly, it was very hot, and the +heat, the food, the immense space, and perhaps some less well-defined cause +produced a comfortable drowsiness and a sense of happy relaxation in them. They +did not say much, but felt no constraint in being silent. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we go and see what’s to be seen over there?” said +Arthur to Susan, and the pair walked off together, their departure certainly +sending some thrill of emotion through the rest. +</p> + +<p> +“An odd lot, aren’t they?” said Arthur. “I thought we +should never get ’em all to the top. But I’m glad we came, by Jove! +I wouldn’t have missed this for something.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t <i>like</i> Mr. Hirst,” said Susan inconsequently. +“I suppose he’s very clever, but why should clever people be +so—I expect he’s awfully nice, really,” she added, +instinctively qualifying what might have seemed an unkind remark. +</p> + +<p> +“Hirst? Oh, he’s one of these learned chaps,” said Arthur +indifferently. “He don’t look as if he enjoyed it. You should hear +him talking to Elliot. It’s as much as I can do to follow ’em at +all. . . . I was never good at my books.” +</p> + +<p> +With these sentences and the pauses that came between them they reached a +little hillock, on the top of which grew several slim trees. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you mind if we sit down here?” said Arthur, looking about +him. “It’s jolly in the shade—and the view—” They +sat down, and looked straight ahead of them in silence for some time. +</p> + +<p> +“But I do envy those clever chaps sometimes,” Arthur remarked. +“I don’t suppose they ever . . .” He did not finish his +sentence. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t see why you should envy them,” said Susan, with +great sincerity. +</p> + +<p> +“Odd things happen to one,” said Arthur. “One goes along +smoothly enough, one thing following another, and it’s all very jolly and +plain sailing, and you think you know all about it, and suddenly one +doesn’t know where one is a bit, and everything seems different from what +it used to seem. Now to-day, coming up that path, riding behind you, I seemed +to see everything as if—” he paused and plucked a piece of grass up +by the roots. He scattered the little lumps of earth which were sticking to the +roots—“As if it had a kind of meaning. You’ve made the +difference to me,” he jerked out, “I don’t see why I +shouldn’t tell you. I’ve felt it ever since I knew you. . . . +It’s because I love you.” +</p> + +<p> +Even while they had been saying commonplace things Susan had been conscious of +the excitement of intimacy, which seemed not only to lay bare something in her, +but in the trees and the sky, and the progress of his speech which seemed +inevitable was positively painful to her, for no human being had ever come so +close to her before. +</p> + +<p> +She was struck motionless as his speech went on, and her heart gave great +separate leaps at the last words. She sat with her fingers curled round a +stone, looking straight in front of her down the mountain over the plain. So +then, it had actually happened to her, a proposal of marriage. +</p> + +<p> +Arthur looked round at her; his face was oddly twisted. She was drawing her +breath with such difficulty that she could hardly answer. +</p> + +<p> +“You might have known.” He seized her in his arms; again and again +and again they clasped each other, murmuring inarticulately. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sighed Arthur, sinking back on the ground, +“that’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to +me.” He looked as if he were trying to put things seen in a dream beside +real things. +</p> + +<p> +There was a long silence. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the most perfect thing in the world,” Susan stated, +very gently and with great conviction. It was no longer merely a proposal of +marriage, but of marriage with Arthur, with whom she was in love. +</p> + +<p> +In the silence that followed, holding his hand tightly in hers, she prayed to +God that she might make him a good wife. +</p> + +<p> +“And what will Mr. Perrott say?” she asked at the end of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear old fellow,” said Arthur who, now that the first shock was +over, was relaxing into an enormous sense of pleasure and contentment. +“We must be very nice to him, Susan.” +</p> + +<p> +He told her how hard Perrott’s life had been, and how absurdly devoted he +was to Arthur himself. He went on to tell her about his mother, a widow lady, +of strong character. In return Susan sketched the portraits of her own +family—Edith in particular, her youngest sister, whom she loved better +than any one else, “except you, Arthur. . . . Arthur,” she +continued, “what was it that you first liked me for?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a buckle you wore one night at sea,” said Arthur, after due +consideration. “I remember noticing—it’s an absurd thing to +notice!—that you didn’t take peas, because I don’t +either.” +</p> + +<p> +From this they went on to compare their more serious tastes, or rather Susan +ascertained what Arthur cared about, and professed herself very fond of the +same thing. They would live in London, perhaps have a cottage in the country +near Susan’s family, for they would find it strange without her at first. +Her mind, stunned to begin with, now flew to the various changes that her +engagement would make—how delightful it would be to join the ranks of the +married women—no longer to hang on to groups of girls much younger than +herself—to escape the long solitude of an old maid’s life. Now and +then her amazing good fortune overcame her, and she turned to Arthur with an +exclamation of love. +</p> + +<p> +They lay in each other’s arms and had no notion that they were observed. +Yet two figures suddenly appeared among the trees above them. +“Here’s shade,” began Hewet, when Rachel suddenly stopped +dead. They saw a man and woman lying on the ground beneath them, rolling +slightly this way and that as the embrace tightened and slackened. The man then +sat upright and the woman, who now appeared to be Susan Warrington, lay back +upon the ground, with her eyes shut and an absorbed look upon her face, as +though she were not altogether conscious. Nor could you tell from her +expression whether she was happy, or had suffered something. When Arthur again +turned to her, butting her as a lamb butts a ewe, Hewet and Rachel retreated +without a word. Hewet felt uncomfortably shy. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like that,” said Rachel after a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I can remember not liking it either,” said Hewet. “I can +remember—” but he changed his mind and continued in an ordinary +tone of voice, “Well, we may take it for granted that they’re +engaged. D’you think he’ll ever fly, or will she put a stop to +that?” +</p> + +<p> +But Rachel was still agitated; she could not get away from the sight they had +just seen. Instead of answering Hewet she persisted. +</p> + +<p> +“Love’s an odd thing, isn’t it, making one’s heart +beat.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s so enormously important, you see,” Hewet replied. +“Their lives are now changed for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“And it makes one sorry for them too,” Rachel continued, as though +she were tracing the course of her feelings. “I don’t know either +of them, but I could almost burst into tears. That’s silly, isn’t +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just because they’re in love,” said Hewet. +“Yes,” he added after a moment’s consideration, +“there’s something horribly pathetic about it, I agree.” +</p> + +<p> +And now, as they had walked some way from the grove of trees, and had come to a +rounded hollow very tempting to the back, they proceeded to sit down, and the +impression of the lovers lost some of its force, though a certain intensity of +vision, which was probably the result of the sight, remained with them. As a +day upon which any emotion has been repressed is different from other days, so +this day was now different, merely because they had seen other people at a +crisis of their lives. +</p> + +<p> +“A great encampment of tents they might be,” said Hewet, looking in +front of him at the mountains. “Isn’t it like a water-colour +too—you know the way water-colours dry in ridges all across the +paper—I’ve been wondering what they looked like.” +</p> + +<p> +His eyes became dreamy, as though he were matching things, and reminded Rachel +in their colour of the green flesh of a snail. She sat beside him looking at +the mountains too. When it became painful to look any longer, the great size of +the view seeming to enlarge her eyes beyond their natural limit, she looked at +the ground; it pleased her to scrutinise this inch of the soil of South America +so minutely that she noticed every grain of earth and made it into a world +where she was endowed with the supreme power. She bent a blade of grass, and +set an insect on the utmost tassel of it, and wondered if the insect realised +his strange adventure, and thought how strange it was that she should have bent +that tassel rather than any other of the million tassels. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve never told me your name,” said Hewet suddenly. +“Miss Somebody Vinrace. . . . I like to know people’s Christian +names.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rachel,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Rachel,” he repeated. “I have an aunt called Rachel, who put +the life of Father Damien into verse. She is a religious fanatic—the +result of the way she was brought up, down in Northamptonshire, never seeing a +soul. Have you any aunts?” +</p> + +<p> +“I live with them,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“And I wonder what they’re doing now?” Hewet enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“They are probably buying wool,” Rachel determined. She tried to +describe them. “They are small, rather pale women,” she began, +“very clean. We live in Richmond. They have an old dog, too, who will +only eat the marrow out of bones. . . . They are always going to church. They +tidy their drawers a good deal.” But here she was overcome by the +difficulty of describing people. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s impossible to believe that it’s all going on +still!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +The sun was behind them and two long shadows suddenly lay upon the ground in +front of them, one waving because it was made by a skirt, and the other +stationary, because thrown by a pair of legs in trousers. +</p> + +<p> +“You look very comfortable!” said Helen’s voice above them. +</p> + +<p> +“Hirst,” said Hewet, pointing at the scissorlike shadow; he then +rolled round to look up at them. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s room for us all here,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +When Hirst had seated himself comfortably, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Did you congratulate the young couple?” +</p> + +<p> +It appeared that, coming to the same spot a few minutes after Hewet and Rachel, +Helen and Hirst had seen precisely the same thing. +</p> + +<p> +“No, we didn’t congratulate them,” said Hewet. “They +seemed very happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Hirst, pursing up his lips, “so long as I +needn’t marry either of them—” +</p> + +<p> +“We were very much moved,” said Hewet. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you would be,” said Hirst. “Which was it, Monk? +The thought of the immortal passions, or the thought of new-born males to keep +the Roman Catholics out? I assure you,” he said to Helen, +“he’s capable of being moved by either.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel was a good deal stung by his banter, which she felt to be directed +equally against them both, but she could think of no repartee. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing moves Hirst,” Hewet laughed; he did not seem to be stung +at all. “Unless it were a transfinite number falling in love with a +finite one—I suppose such things do happen, even in mathematics.” +</p> + +<p> +“On the contrary,” said Hirst with a touch of annoyance, “I +consider myself a person of very strong passions.” It was clear from the +way he spoke that he meant it seriously; he spoke of course for the benefit of +the ladies. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way, Hirst,” said Hewet, after a pause, “I have a +terrible confession to make. Your book—the poems of Wordsworth, which if +you remember I took off your table just as we were starting, and certainly put +in my pocket here—” +</p> + +<p> +“Is lost,” Hirst finished for him. +</p> + +<p> +“I consider that there is still a chance,” Hewet urged, slapping +himself to right and left, “that I never did take it after all.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Hirst. “It is here.” He pointed to his +breast. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God,” Hewet exclaimed. “I need no longer feel as +though I’d murdered a child!” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think you were always losing things,” Helen remarked, +looking at him meditatively. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t lose things,” said Hewet. “I mislay them. That +was the reason why Hirst refused to share a cabin with me on the voyage +out.” +</p> + +<p> +“You came out together?” Helen enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“I propose that each member of this party now gives a short biographical +sketch of himself or herself,” said Hirst, sitting upright. “Miss +Vinrace, you come first; begin.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel stated that she was twenty-four years of age, the daughter of a +ship-owner, that she had never been properly educated; played the piano, had no +brothers or sisters, and lived at Richmond with aunts, her mother being dead. +</p> + +<p> +“Next,” said Hirst, having taken in these facts; he pointed at +Hewet. “I am the son of an English gentleman. I am twenty-seven,” +Hewet began. “My father was a fox-hunting squire. He died when I was ten +in the hunting field. I can remember his body coming home, on a shutter I +suppose, just as I was going down to tea, and noticing that there was jam for +tea, and wondering whether I should be allowed—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but keep to the facts,” Hirst put in. +</p> + +<p> +“I was educated at Winchester and Cambridge, which I had to leave after a +time. I have done a good many things since—” +</p> + +<p> +“Profession?” +</p> + +<p> +“None—at least—” +</p> + +<p> +“Tastes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Literary. I’m writing a novel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Brothers and sisters?” +</p> + +<p> +“Three sisters, no brother, and a mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that all we’re to hear about you?” said Helen. She stated +that she was very old—forty last October, and her father had been a +solicitor in the city who had gone bankrupt, for which reason she had never had +much education—they lived in one place after another—but an elder +brother used to lend her books. +</p> + +<p> +“If I were to tell you everything—” she stopped and smiled. +“It would take too long,” she concluded. “I married when I +was thirty, and I have two children. My husband is a scholar. And +now—it’s your turn,” she nodded at Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve left out a great deal,” he reproved her. “My +name is St. John Alaric Hirst,” he began in a jaunty tone of voice. +“I’m twenty-four years old. I’m the son of the Reverend +Sidney Hirst, vicar of Great Wappyng in Norfolk. Oh, I got scholarships +everywhere—Westminster—King’s. I’m now a fellow of +King’s. Don’t it sound dreary? Parents both alive (alas). Two +brothers and one sister. I’m a very distinguished young man,” he +added. +</p> + +<p> +“One of the three, or is it five, most distinguished men in +England,” Hewet remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite correct,” said Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all very interesting,” said Helen after a pause. +“But of course we’ve left out the only questions that matter. For +instance, are we Christians?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not,” “I am not,” both the young men replied. +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” Rachel stated. +</p> + +<p> +“You believe in a personal God?” Hirst demanded, turning round and +fixing her with his eyeglasses. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe—I believe,” Rachel stammered, “I believe +there are things we don’t know about, and the world might change in a +minute and anything appear.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Helen laughed outright. “Nonsense,” she said. +“You’re not a Christian. You’ve never thought what you +are.—And there are lots of other questions,” she continued, +“though perhaps we can’t ask them yet.” Although they had +talked so freely they were all uncomfortably conscious that they really knew +nothing about each other. +</p> + +<p> +“The important questions,” Hewet pondered, “the really +interesting ones. I doubt that one ever does ask them.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel, who was slow to accept the fact that only a very few things can be said +even by people who know each other well, insisted on knowing what he meant. +</p> + +<p> +“Whether we’ve ever been in love?” she enquired. “Is +that the kind of question you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +Again Helen laughed at her, benignantly strewing her with handfuls of the long +tasselled grass, for she was so brave and so foolish. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Rachel,” she cried. “It’s like having a puppy in +the house having you with one—a puppy that brings one’s +underclothes down into the hall.” +</p> + +<p> +But again the sunny earth in front of them was crossed by fantastic wavering +figures, the shadows of men and women. +</p> + +<p> +“There they are!” exclaimed Mrs. Elliot. There was a touch of +peevishness in her voice. “And we’ve had <i>such</i> a hunt to find +you. Do you know what the time is?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Elliot and Mr. and Mrs. Thornbury now confronted them; Mrs. Elliot was +holding out her watch, and playfully tapping it upon the face. Hewet was +recalled to the fact that this was a party for which he was responsible, and he +immediately led them back to the watch-tower, where they were to have tea +before starting home again. A bright crimson scarf fluttered from the top of +the wall, which Mr. Perrott and Evelyn were tying to a stone as the others came +up. The heat had changed just so far that instead of sitting in the shadow they +sat in the sun, which was still hot enough to paint their faces red and yellow, +and to colour great sections of the earth beneath them. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing half so nice as tea!” said Mrs. Thornbury, +taking her cup. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” said Helen. “Can’t you remember as a child +chopping up hay—” she spoke much more quickly than usual, and kept +her eye fixed upon Mrs. Thornbury, “and pretending it was tea, and +getting scolded by the nurses—why I can’t imagine, except that +nurses are such brutes, won’t allow pepper instead of salt though +there’s no earthly harm in it. Weren’t your nurses just the +same?” +</p> + +<p> +During this speech Susan came into the group, and sat down by Helen’s +side. A few minutes later Mr. Venning strolled up from the opposite direction. +He was a little flushed, and in the mood to answer hilariously whatever was +said to him. +</p> + +<p> +“What have you been doing to that old chap’s grave?” he +asked, pointing to the red flag which floated from the top of the stones. +</p> + +<p> +“We have tried to make him forget his misfortune in having died three +hundred years ago,” said Mr. Perrott. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be awful—to be dead!” ejaculated Evelyn M. +</p> + +<p> +“To be dead?” said Hewet. “I don’t think it would be +awful. It’s quite easy to imagine. When you go to bed to-night fold your +hands so—breathe slower and slower—” He lay back with his +hands clasped upon his breast, and his eyes shut, “Now,” he +murmured in an even monotonous voice, “I shall never, never, never move +again.” His body, lying flat among them, did for a moment suggest death. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a horrible exhibition, Mr. Hewet!” cried Mrs. Thornbury. +</p> + +<p> +“More cake for us!” said Arthur. +</p> + +<p> +“I assure you there’s nothing horrible about it,” said Hewet, +sitting up and laying hands upon the cake. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s so natural,” he repeated. “People with children +should make them do that exercise every night. . . . Not that I look forward to +being dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when you allude to a grave,” said Mr. Thornbury, who spoke +almost for the first time, “have you any authority for calling that ruin +a grave? I am quite with you in refusing to accept the common interpretation +which declares it to be the remains of an Elizabethan watch-tower—any +more than I believe that the circular mounds or barrows which we find on the +top of our English downs were camps. The antiquaries call everything a camp. I +am always asking them, Well then, where do you think our ancestors kept their +cattle? Half the camps in England are merely the ancient pound or barton as we +call it in my part of the world. The argument that no one would keep his cattle +in such exposed and inaccessible spots has no weight at all, if you reflect +that in those days a man’s cattle were his capital, his stock-in-trade, +his daughter’s dowries. Without cattle he was a serf, another man’s +man. . . .” His eyes slowly lost their intensity, and he muttered a few +concluding words under his breath, looking curiously old and forlorn. +</p> + +<p> +Hughling Elliot, who might have been expected to engage the old gentleman in +argument, was absent at the moment. He now came up holding out a large square +of cotton upon which a fine design was printed in pleasant bright colours that +made his hand look pale. +</p> + +<p> +“A bargain,” he announced, laying it down on the cloth. +“I’ve just bought it from the big man with the ear-rings. Fine, +isn’t it? It wouldn’t suit every one, of course, but it’s +just the thing—isn’t it, Hilda?—for Mrs. Raymond +Parry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Raymond Parry!” cried Helen and Mrs. Thornbury at the same +moment. +</p> + +<p> +They looked at each other as though a mist hitherto obscuring their faces had +been blown away. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah—you have been to those wonderful parties too?” Mrs. +Elliot asked with interest. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Parry’s drawing-room, though thousands of miles away, behind a vast +curve of water on a tiny piece of earth, came before their eyes. They who had +had no solidity or anchorage before seemed to be attached to it somehow, and at +once grown more substantial. Perhaps they had been in the drawing-room at the +same moment; perhaps they had passed each other on the stairs; at any rate they +knew some of the same people. They looked one another up and down with new +interest. But they could do no more than look at each other, for there was no +time to enjoy the fruits of the discovery. The donkeys were advancing, and it +was advisable to begin the descent immediately, for the night fell so quickly +that it would be dark before they were home again. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, remounting in order, they filed off down the hillside. Scraps of +talk came floating back from one to another. There were jokes to begin with, +and laughter; some walked part of the way, and picked flowers, and sent stones +bounding before them. +</p> + +<p> +“Who writes the best Latin verse in your college, Hirst?” Mr. +Elliot called back incongruously, and Mr. Hirst returned that he had no idea. +</p> + +<p> +The dusk fell as suddenly as the natives had warned them, the hollows of the +mountain on either side filling up with darkness and the path becoming so dim +that it was surprising to hear the donkeys’ hooves still striking on hard +rock. Silence fell upon one, and then upon another, until they were all silent, +their minds spilling out into the deep blue air. The way seemed shorter in the +dark than in the day; and soon the lights of the town were seen on the flat far +beneath them. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly some one cried, “Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +In a moment the slow yellow drop rose again from the plain below; it rose, +paused, opened like a flower, and fell in a shower of drops. +</p> + +<p> +“Fireworks,” they cried. +</p> + +<p> +Another went up more quickly; and then another; they could almost hear it twist +and roar. +</p> + +<p> +“Some Saint’s day, I suppose,” said a voice. The rush and +embrace of the rockets as they soared up into the air seemed like the fiery way +in which lovers suddenly rose and united, leaving the crowd gazing up at them +with strained white faces. But Susan and Arthur, riding down the hill, never +said a word to each other, and kept accurately apart. +</p> + +<p> +Then the fireworks became erratic, and soon they ceased altogether, and the +rest of the journey was made almost in darkness, the mountain being a great +shadow behind them, and bushes and trees little shadows which threw darkness +across the road. Among the plane-trees they separated, bundling into carriages +and driving off, without saying good-night, or saying it only in a half-muffled +way. +</p> + +<p> +It was so late that there was no time for normal conversation between their +arrival at the hotel and their retirement to bed. But Hirst wandered into +Hewet’s room with a collar in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Hewet,” he remarked, on the crest of a gigantic yawn, +“that was a great success, I consider.” He yawned. “But take +care you’re not landed with that young woman. . . . I don’t really +like young women. . . .” +</p> + +<p> +Hewet was too much drugged by hours in the open air to make any reply. In fact +every one of the party was sound asleep within ten minutes or so of each other, +with the exception of Susan Warrington. She lay for a considerable time looking +blankly at the wall opposite, her hands clasped above her heart, and her light +burning by her side. All articulate thought had long ago deserted her; her +heart seemed to have grown to the size of a sun, and to illuminate her entire +body, shedding like the sun a steady tide of warmth. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m happy, I’m happy, I’m happy,” she repeated. +“I love every one. I’m happy.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p> +When Susan’s engagement had been approved at home, and made public to any +one who took an interest in it at the hotel—and by this time the society +at the hotel was divided so as to point to invisible chalk-marks such as Mr. +Hirst had described, the news was felt to justify some celebration—an +expedition? That had been done already. A dance then. The advantage of a dance +was that it abolished one of those long evenings which were apt to become +tedious and lead to absurdly early hours in spite of bridge. +</p> + +<p> +Two or three people standing under the erect body of the stuffed leopard in the +hall very soon had the matter decided. Evelyn slid a pace or two this way and +that, and pronounced that the floor was excellent. Signor Rodriguez informed +them of an old Spaniard who fiddled at weddings—fiddled so as to make a +tortoise waltz; and his daughter, although endowed with eyes as black as +coal-scuttles, had the same power over the piano. If there were any so sick or +so surly as to prefer sedentary occupations on the night in question to +spinning and watching others spin, the drawing-room and billiard-room were +theirs. Hewet made it his business to conciliate the outsiders as much as +possible. To Hirst’s theory of the invisible chalk-marks he would pay no +attention whatever. He was treated to a snub or two, but, in reward, found +obscure lonely gentlemen delighted to have this opportunity of talking to their +kind, and the lady of doubtful character showed every symptom of confiding her +case to him in the near future. Indeed it was made quite obvious to him that +the two or three hours between dinner and bed contained an amount of +unhappiness, which was really pitiable, so many people had not succeeded in +making friends. +</p> + +<p> +It was settled that the dance was to be on Friday, one week after the +engagement, and at dinner Hewet declared himself satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re all coming!” he told Hirst. “Pepper!” he +called, seeing William Pepper slip past in the wake of the soup with a pamphlet +beneath his arm, “We’re counting on you to open the ball.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will certainly put sleep out of the question,” Pepper +returned. +</p> + +<p> +“You are to take the floor with Miss Allan,” Hewet continued, +consulting a sheet of pencilled notes. +</p> + +<p> +Pepper stopped and began a discourse upon round dances, country dances, morris +dances, and quadrilles, all of which are entirely superior to the bastard waltz +and spurious polka which have ousted them most unjustly in contemporary +popularity—when the waiters gently pushed him on to his table in the +corner. +</p> + +<p> +The dining-room at this moment had a certain fantastic resemblance to a +farmyard scattered with grain on which bright pigeons kept descending. Almost +all the ladies wore dresses which they had not yet displayed, and their hair +rose in waves and scrolls so as to appear like carved wood in Gothic churches +rather than hair. The dinner was shorter and less formal than usual, even the +waiters seeming to be affected with the general excitement. Ten minutes before +the clock struck nine the committee made a tour through the ballroom. The hall, +when emptied of its furniture, brilliantly lit, adorned with flowers whose +scent tinged the air, presented a wonderful appearance of ethereal gaiety. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s like a starlit sky on an absolutely cloudless night,” +Hewet murmured, looking about him, at the airy empty room. +</p> + +<p> +“A heavenly floor, anyhow,” Evelyn added, taking a run and sliding +two or three feet along. +</p> + +<p> +“What about those curtains?” asked Hirst. The crimson curtains were +drawn across the long windows. “It’s a perfect night +outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but curtains inspire confidence,” Miss Allan decided. +“When the ball is in full swing it will be time to draw them. We might +even open the windows a little. . . . If we do it now elderly people will +imagine there are draughts.” +</p> + +<p> +Her wisdom had come to be recognised, and held in respect. Meanwhile as they +stood talking, the musicians were unwrapping their instruments, and the violin +was repeating again and again a note struck upon the piano. Everything was +ready to begin. +</p> + +<p> +After a few minutes’ pause, the father, the daughter, and the son-in-law +who played the horn flourished with one accord. Like the rats who followed the +piper, heads instantly appeared in the doorway. There was another flourish; and +then the trio dashed spontaneously into the triumphant swing of the waltz. It +was as though the room were instantly flooded with water. After a +moment’s hesitation first one couple, then another, leapt into +mid-stream, and went round and round in the eddies. The rhythmic swish of the +dancers sounded like a swirling pool. By degrees the room grew perceptibly +hotter. The smell of kid gloves mingled with the strong scent of flowers. The +eddies seemed to circle faster and faster, until the music wrought itself into +a crash, ceased, and the circles were smashed into little separate bits. The +couples struck off in different directions, leaving a thin row of elderly +people stuck fast to the walls, and here and there a piece of trimming or a +handkerchief or a flower lay upon the floor. There was a pause, and then the +music started again, the eddies whirled, the couples circled round in them, +until there was a crash, and the circles were broken up into separate pieces. +</p> + +<p> +When this had happened about five times, Hirst, who leant against a +window-frame, like some singular gargoyle, perceived that Helen Ambrose and +Rachel stood in the doorway. The crowd was such that they could not move, but +he recognised them by a piece of Helen’s shoulder and a glimpse of +Rachel’s head turning round. He made his way to them; they greeted him +with relief. +</p> + +<p> +“We are suffering the tortures of the damned,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“This is my idea of hell,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes were bright and she looked bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet and Miss Allan, who had been waltzing somewhat laboriously, paused and +greeted the newcomers. +</p> + +<p> +“This <i>is</i> nice,” said Hewet. “But where is Mr. +Ambrose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pindar,” said Helen. “May a married woman who was forty in +October dance? I can’t stand still.” She seemed to fade into Hewet, +and they both dissolved in the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“We must follow suit,” said Hirst to Rachel, and he took her +resolutely by the elbow. Rachel, without being expert, danced well, because of +a good ear for rhythm, but Hirst had no taste for music, and a few dancing +lessons at Cambridge had only put him into possession of the anatomy of a +waltz, without imparting any of its spirit. A single turn proved to them that +their methods were incompatible; instead of fitting into each other their bones +seemed to jut out in angles making smooth turning an impossibility, and +cutting, moreover, into the circular progress of the other dancers. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we stop?” said Hirst. Rachel gathered from his expression +that he was annoyed. +</p> + +<p> +They staggered to seats in the corner, from which they had a view of the room. +It was still surging, in waves of blue and yellow, striped by the black +evening-clothes of the gentlemen. +</p> + +<p> +“An amazing spectacle,” Hirst remarked. “Do you dance much in +London?” They were both breathing fast, and both a little excited, though +each was determined not to show any excitement at all. +</p> + +<p> +“Scarcely ever. Do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“My people give a dance every Christmas.” +</p> + +<p> +“This isn’t half a bad floor,” Rachel said. Hirst did not +attempt to answer her platitude. He sat quite silent, staring at the dancers. +After three minutes the silence became so intolerable to Rachel that she was +goaded to advance another commonplace about the beauty of the night. Hirst +interrupted her ruthlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Was that all nonsense what you said the other day about being a +Christian and having no education?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“It was practically true,” she replied. “But I also play the +piano very well,” she said, “better, I expect than any one in this +room. You are the most distinguished man in England, aren’t you?” +she asked shyly. +</p> + +<p> +“One of the three,” he corrected. +</p> + +<p> +Helen whirling past here tossed a fan into Rachel’s lap. +</p> + +<p> +“She is very beautiful,” Hirst remarked. +</p> + +<p> +They were again silent. Rachel was wondering whether he thought her also +nice-looking; St. John was considering the immense difficulty of talking to +girls who had no experience of life. Rachel had obviously never thought or felt +or seen anything, and she might be intelligent or she might be just like all +the rest. But Hewet’s taunt rankled in his mind—“you +don’t know how to get on with women,” and he was determined to +profit by this opportunity. Her evening-clothes bestowed on her just that +degree of unreality and distinction which made it romantic to speak to her, and +stirred a desire to talk, which irritated him because he did not know how to +begin. He glanced at her, and she seemed to him very remote and inexplicable, +very young and chaste. He drew a sigh, and began. +</p> + +<p> +“About books now. What have you read? Just Shakespeare and the +Bible?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t read many classics,” Rachel stated. She was +slightly annoyed by his jaunty and rather unnatural manner, while his masculine +acquirements induced her to take a very modest view of her own power. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you mean to tell me you’ve reached the age of twenty-four +without reading Gibbon?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Mon Dieu!” he exclaimed, throwing out his hands. “You must +begin to-morrow. I shall send you my copy. What I want to know is—” +he looked at her critically. “You see, the problem is, can one really +talk to you? Have you got a mind, or are you like the rest of your sex? You +seem to me absurdly young compared with men of your age.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel looked at him but said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“About Gibbon,” he continued. “D’you think you’ll +be able to appreciate him? He’s the test, of course. It’s awfully +difficult to tell about women,” he continued, “how much, I mean, is +due to lack of training, and how much is native incapacity. I don’t see +myself why you shouldn’t understand—only I suppose you’ve led +an absurd life until now—you’ve just walked in a crocodile, I +suppose, with your hair down your back.” +</p> + +<p> +The music was again beginning. Hirst’s eye wandered about the room in +search of Mrs. Ambrose. With the best will in the world he was conscious that +they were not getting on well together. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like awfully to lend you books,” he said, buttoning his +gloves, and rising from his seat. “We shall meet again. I’m going +to leave you now.” +</p> + +<p> +He got up and left her. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel looked round. She felt herself surrounded, like a child at a party, by +the faces of strangers all hostile to her, with hooked noses and sneering, +indifferent eyes. She was by a window, she pushed it open with a jerk. She +stepped out into the garden. Her eyes swam with tears of rage. +</p> + +<p> +“Damn that man!” she exclaimed, having acquired some of +Helen’s words. “Damn his insolence!” +</p> + +<p> +She stood in the middle of the pale square of light which the window she had +opened threw upon the grass. The forms of great black trees rose massively in +front of her. She stood still, looking at them, shivering slightly with anger +and excitement. She heard the trampling and swinging of the dancers behind her, +and the rhythmic sway of the waltz music. +</p> + +<p> +“There are trees,” she said aloud. Would the trees make up for St. +John Hirst? She would be a Persian princess far from civilisation, riding her +horse upon the mountains alone, and making her women sing to her in the +evening, far from all this, from the strife and men and women—a form came +out of the shadow; a little red light burnt high up in its blackness. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Vinrace, is it?” said Hewet, peering at her. “You were +dancing with Hirst?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s made me furious!” she cried vehemently. “No +one’s any right to be insolent!” +</p> + +<p> +“Insolent?” Hewet repeated, taking his cigar from his mouth in +surprise. “Hirst—insolent?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s insolent to—” said Rachel, and stopped. She did +not know exactly why she had been made so angry. With a great effort she pulled +herself together. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well,” she added, the vision of Helen and her mockery before +her, “I dare say I’m a fool.” She made as though she were +going back into the ballroom, but Hewet stopped her. +</p> + +<p> +“Please explain to me,” he said. “I feel sure Hirst +didn’t mean to hurt you.” +</p> + +<p> +When Rachel tried to explain, she found it very difficult. She could not say +that she found the vision of herself walking in a crocodile with her hair down +her back peculiarly unjust and horrible, nor could she explain why +Hirst’s assumption of the superiority of his nature and experience had +seemed to her not only galling but terrible—as if a gate had clanged in +her face. Pacing up and down the terrace beside Hewet she said bitterly: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no good; we should live separate; we cannot understand each +other; we only bring out what’s worst.” +</p> + +<p> +Hewet brushed aside her generalisation as to the natures of the two sexes, for +such generalisations bored him and seemed to him generally untrue. But, knowing +Hirst, he guessed fairly accurately what had happened, and, though secretly +much amused, was determined that Rachel should not store the incident away in +her mind to take its place in the view she had of life. +</p> + +<p> +“Now you’ll hate him,” he said, “which is wrong. Poor +old Hirst—he can’t help his method. And really, Miss Vinrace, he +was doing his best; he was paying you a compliment—he was trying—he +was trying—” he could not finish for the laughter that overcame +him. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel veered round suddenly and laughed out too. She saw that there was +something ridiculous about Hirst, and perhaps about herself. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s his way of making friends, I suppose,” she laughed. +“Well—I shall do my part. I shall begin—‘Ugly in body, +repulsive in mind as you are, Mr. Hirst—’” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear, hear!” cried Hewet. “That’s the way to treat +him. You see, Miss Vinrace, you must make allowances for Hirst. He’s +lived all his life in front of a looking-glass, so to speak, in a beautiful +panelled room, hung with Japanese prints and lovely old chairs and tables, just +one splash of colour, you know, in the right place,—between the windows I +think it is,—and there he sits hour after hour with his toes on the +fender, talking about philosophy and God and his liver and his heart and the +hearts of his friends. They’re all broken. You can’t expect him to +be at his best in a ballroom. He wants a cosy, smoky, masculine place, where he +can stretch his legs out, and only speak when he’s got something to say. +For myself, I find it rather dreary. But I do respect it. They’re all so +much in earnest. They do take the serious things very seriously.” +</p> + +<p> +The description of Hirst’s way of life interested Rachel so much that she +almost forgot her private grudge against him, and her respect revived. +</p> + +<p> +“They are really very clever then?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course they are. So far as brains go I think it’s true what he +said the other day; they’re the cleverest people in England. +But—you ought to take him in hand,” he added. “There’s +a great deal more in him than’s ever been got at. He wants some one to +laugh at him. . . . The idea of Hirst telling you that you’ve had no +experiences! Poor old Hirst!” +</p> + +<p> +They had been pacing up and down the terrace while they talked, and now one by +one the dark windows were uncurtained by an invisible hand, and panes of light +fell regularly at equal intervals upon the grass. They stopped to look in at +the drawing-room, and perceived Mr. Pepper writing alone at a table. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s Pepper writing to his aunt,” said Hewet. “She +must be a very remarkable old lady, eighty-five he tells me, and he takes her +for walking tours in the New Forest. . . . Pepper!” he cried, rapping on +the window. “Go and do your duty. Miss Allan expects you.” +</p> + +<p> +When they came to the windows of the ballroom, the swing of the dancers and the +lilt of the music was irresistible. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we?” said Hewet, and they clasped hands and swept off +magnificently into the great swirling pool. Although this was only the second +time they had met, the first time they had seen a man and woman kissing each +other, and the second time Mr. Hewet had found that a young woman angry is very +like a child. So that when they joined hands in the dance they felt more at +their ease than is usual. +</p> + +<p> +It was midnight and the dance was now at its height. Servants were peeping in +at the windows; the garden was sprinkled with the white shapes of couples +sitting out. Mrs. Thornbury and Mrs. Elliot sat side by side under a palm tree, +holding fans, handkerchiefs, and brooches deposited in their laps by flushed +maidens. Occasionally they exchanged comments. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Warrington <i>does</i> look happy,” said Mrs. Elliot; they +both smiled; they both sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“He has a great deal of character,” said Mrs. Thornbury, alluding +to Arthur. +</p> + +<p> +“And character is what one wants,” said Mrs. Elliot. “Now +that young man is <i>clever</i> enough,” she added, nodding at Hirst, who +came past with Miss Allan on his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“He does not look strong,” said Mrs. Thornbury. “His +complexion is not good.—Shall I tear it off?” she asked, for Rachel +had stopped, conscious of a long strip trailing behind her. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you are enjoying yourselves?” Hewet asked the ladies. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a very familiar position for me!” smiled Mrs. Thornbury. +“I have brought out five daughters—and they all loved dancing! You +love it too, Miss Vinrace?” she asked, looking at Rachel with maternal +eyes. “I know I did when I was your age. How I used to beg my mother to +let me stay—and now I sympathise with the poor mothers—but I +sympathise with the daughters too!” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled sympathetically, and at the same time rather keenly, at Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“They seem to find a great deal to say to each other,” said Mrs. +Elliot, looking significantly at the backs of the couple as they turned away. +“Did you notice at the picnic? He was the only person who could make her +utter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Her father is a very interesting man,” said Mrs. Thornbury. +“He has one of the largest shipping businesses in Hull. He made a very +able reply, you remember, to Mr. Asquith at the last election. It is so +interesting to find that a man of his experience is a strong +Protectionist.” +</p> + +<p> +She would have liked to discuss politics, which interested her more than +personalities, but Mrs. Elliot would only talk about the Empire in a less +abstract form. +</p> + +<p> +“I hear there are dreadful accounts from England about the rats,” +she said. “A sister-in-law, who lives at Norwich, tells me it has been +quite unsafe to order poultry. The plague—you see. It attacks the rats, +and through them other creatures.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the local authorities are not taking proper steps?” asked Mrs. +Thornbury. +</p> + +<p> +“That she does not say. But she describes the attitude of the educated +people—who should know better—as callous in the extreme. Of course, +my sister-in-law is one of those active modern women, who always takes things +up, you know—the kind of woman one admires, though one does not feel, at +least I do not feel—but then she has a constitution of iron.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Elliot, brought back to the consideration of her own delicacy, here +sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“A very animated face,” said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at Evelyn M. +who had stopped near them to pin tight a scarlet flower at her breast. It would +not stay, and, with a spirited gesture of impatience, she thrust it into her +partner’s button-hole. He was a tall melancholy youth, who received the +gift as a knight might receive his lady’s token. +</p> + +<p> +“Very trying to the eyes,” was Mrs. Eliot’s next remark, +after watching the yellow whirl in which so few of the whirlers had either name +or character for her, for a few minutes. Bursting out of the crowd, Helen +approached them, and took a vacant chair. +</p> + +<p> +“May I sit by you?” she said, smiling and breathing fast. “I +suppose I ought to be ashamed of myself,” she went on, sitting down, +“at my age.” +</p> + +<p> +Her beauty, now that she was flushed and animated, was more expansive than +usual, and both the ladies felt the same desire to touch her. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>am</i> enjoying myself,” she panted. +“Movement—isn’t it amazing?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have always heard that nothing comes up to dancing if one is a good +dancer,” said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at her with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +Helen swayed slightly as if she sat on wires. +</p> + +<p> +“I could dance for ever!” she said. “They ought to let +themselves go more!” she exclaimed. “They ought to leap and swing. +Look! How they mince!” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you seen those wonderful Russian dancers?” began Mrs. Elliot. +But Helen saw her partner coming and rose as the moon rises. She was half round +the room before they took their eyes off her, for they could not help admiring +her, although they thought it a little odd that a woman of her age should enjoy +dancing. +</p> + +<p> +Directly Helen was left alone for a minute she was joined by St. John Hirst, +who had been watching for an opportunity. +</p> + +<p> +“Should you mind sitting out with me?” he asked. “I’m +quite incapable of dancing.” He piloted Helen to a corner which was +supplied with two arm-chairs, and thus enjoyed the advantage of semi-privacy. +They sat down, and for a few minutes Helen was too much under the influence of +dancing to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Astonishing!” she exclaimed at last. “What sort of shape can +she think her body is?” This remark was called forth by a lady who came +past them, waddling rather than walking, and leaning on the arm of a stout man +with globular green eyes set in a fat white face. Some support was necessary, +for she was very stout, and so compressed that the upper part of her body hung +considerably in advance of her feet, which could only trip in tiny steps, owing +to the tightness of the skirt round her ankles. The dress itself consisted of a +small piece of shiny yellow satin, adorned here and there indiscriminately with +round shields of blue and green beads made to imitate hues of a peacock’s +breast. On the summit of a frothy castle of hair a purple plume stood erect, +while her short neck was encircled by a black velvet ribbon knobbed with gems, +and golden bracelets were tightly wedged into the flesh of her fat gloved arms. +She had the face of an impertinent but jolly little pig, mottled red under a +dusting of powder. +</p> + +<p> +St. John could not join in Helen’s laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“It makes me sick,” he declared. “The whole thing makes me +sick. . . . Consider the minds of those people—their feelings. +Don’t you agree?” +</p> + +<p> +“I always make a vow never to go to another party of any +description,” Helen replied, “and I always break it.” +</p> + +<p> +She leant back in her chair and looked laughingly at the young man. She could +see that he was genuinely cross, if at the same time slightly excited. +</p> + +<p> +“However,” he said, resuming his jaunty tone, “I suppose one +must just make up one’s mind to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“To what?” +</p> + +<p> +“There never will be more than five people in the world worth talking +to.” +</p> + +<p> +Slowly the flush and sparkle in Helen’s face died away, and she looked as +quiet and as observant as usual. +</p> + +<p> +“Five people?” she remarked. “I should say there were more +than five.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been very fortunate, then,” said Hirst. “Or +perhaps I’ve been very unfortunate.” He became silent. +</p> + +<p> +“Should you say I was a difficult kind of person to get on with?” +he asked sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Most clever people are when they’re young,” Helen replied. +</p> + +<p> +“And of course I am—immensely clever,” said Hirst. +“I’m infinitely cleverer than Hewet. It’s quite +possible,” he continued in his curiously impersonal manner, “that +I’m going to be one of the people who really matter. That’s utterly +different from being clever, though one can’t expect one’s family +to see it,” he added bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +Helen thought herself justified in asking, “Do you find your family +difficult to get on with?” +</p> + +<p> +“Intolerable. . . . They want me to be a peer and a privy councillor. +I’ve come out here partly in order to settle the matter. It’s got +to be settled. Either I must go to the bar, or I must stay on in Cambridge. Of +course, there are obvious drawbacks to each, but the arguments certainly do +seem to me in favour of Cambridge. This kind of thing!” he waved his hand +at the crowded ballroom. “Repulsive. I’m conscious of great powers +of affection too. I’m not susceptible, of course, in the way Hewet is. +I’m very fond of a few people. I think, for example, that there’s +something to be said for my mother, though she is in many ways so deplorable. . +. . At Cambridge, of course, I should inevitably become the most important man +in the place, but there are other reasons why I dread Cambridge—” +he ceased. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you finding me a dreadful bore?” he asked. He changed +curiously from a friend confiding in a friend to a conventional young man at a +party. +</p> + +<p> +“Not in the least,” said Helen. “I like it very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t think,” he exclaimed, speaking almost with +emotion, “what a difference it makes finding someone to talk to! Directly +I saw you I felt you might possibly understand me. I’m very fond of +Hewet, but he hasn’t the remotest idea what I’m like. You’re +the only woman I’ve ever met who seems to have the faintest conception of +what I mean when I say a thing.” +</p> + +<p> +The next dance was beginning; it was the Barcarolle out of Hoffman, which made +Helen beat her toe in time to it; but she felt that after such a compliment it +was impossible to get up and go, and, besides being amused, she was really +flattered, and the honesty of his conceit attracted her. She suspected that he +was not happy, and was sufficiently feminine to wish to receive confidences. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very old,” she sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“The odd thing is that I don’t find you old at all,” he +replied. “I feel as though we were exactly the same age. +Moreover—” here he hesitated, but took courage from a glance at her +face, “I feel as if I could talk quite plainly to you as one does to a +man—about the relations between the sexes, about . . . and . . .” +</p> + +<p> +In spite of his certainty a slight redness came into his face as he spoke the +last two words. +</p> + +<p> +She reassured him at once by the laugh with which she exclaimed, “I +should hope so!” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her with real cordiality, and the lines which were drawn about his +nose and lips slackened for the first time. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God!” he exclaimed. “Now we can behave like civilised +human beings.” +</p> + +<p> +Certainly a barrier which usually stands fast had fallen, and it was possible +to speak of matters which are generally only alluded to between men and women +when doctors are present, or the shadow of death. In five minutes he was +telling her the history of his life. It was long, for it was full of extremely +elaborate incidents, which led on to a discussion of the principles on which +morality is founded, and thus to several very interesting matters, which even +in this ballroom had to be discussed in a whisper, lest one of the pouter +pigeon ladies or resplendent merchants should overhear them, and proceed to +demand that they should leave the place. When they had come to an end, or, to +speak more accurately, when Helen intimated by a slight slackening of her +attention that they had sat there long enough, Hirst rose, exclaiming, +“So there’s no reason whatever for all this mystery!” +</p> + +<p> +“None, except that we are English people,” she answered. She took +his arm and they crossed the ball-room, making their way with difficulty +between the spinning couples, who were now perceptibly dishevelled, and +certainly to a critical eye by no means lovely in their shapes. The excitement +of undertaking a friendship and the length of their talk had made them hungry, +and they went in search of food to the dining-room, which was now full of +people eating at little separate tables. In the doorway they met Rachel, going +up to dance again with Arthur Venning. She was flushed and looked very happy, +and Helen was struck by the fact that in this mood she was certainly more +attractive than the generality of young women. She had never noticed it so +clearly before. +</p> + +<p> +“Enjoying yourself?” she asked, as they stopped for a second. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Vinrace,” Arthur answered for her, “has just made a +confession; she’d no idea that dances could be so delightful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” Rachel exclaimed. “I’ve changed my view of life +completely!” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t say so!” Helen mocked. They passed on. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s typical of Rachel,” she said. “She changes her +view of life about every other day. D’you know, I believe you’re +just the person I want,” she said, as they sat down, “to help me +complete her education? She’s been brought up practically in a nunnery. +Her father’s too absurd. I’ve been doing what I can—but +I’m too old, and I’m a woman. Why shouldn’t you talk to +her—explain things to her—talk to her, I mean, as you talk to +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have made one attempt already this evening,” said St. John. +“I rather doubt that it was successful. She seems to me so very young and +inexperienced. I have promised to lend her Gibbon.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not Gibbon exactly,” Helen pondered. “It’s +the facts of life, I think—d’you see what I mean? What really goes +on, what people feel, although they generally try to hide it? There’s +nothing to be frightened of. It’s so much more beautiful than the +pretences—always more interesting—always better, I should say, than +<i>that</i> kind of thing.” +</p> + +<p> +She nodded her head at a table near them, where two girls and two young men +were chaffing each other very loudly, and carrying on an arch insinuating +dialogue, sprinkled with endearments, about, it seemed, a pair of stockings or +a pair of legs. One of the girls was flirting a fan and pretending to be +shocked, and the sight was very unpleasant, partly because it was obvious that +the girls were secretly hostile to each other. +</p> + +<p> +“In my old age, however,” Helen sighed, “I’m coming to +think that it doesn’t much matter in the long run what one does: people +always go their own way—nothing will ever influence them.” She +nodded her head at the supper party. +</p> + +<p> +But St. John did not agree. He said that he thought one could really make a +great deal of difference by one’s point of view, books and so on, and +added that few things at the present time mattered more than the enlightenment +of women. He sometimes thought that almost everything was due to education. +</p> + +<p> +In the ballroom, meanwhile, the dancers were being formed into squares for the +lancers. Arthur and Rachel, Susan and Hewet, Miss Allan and Hughling Elliot +found themselves together. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Allan looked at her watch. +</p> + +<p> +“Half-past one,” she stated. “And I have to despatch +Alexander Pope to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pope!” snorted Mr. Elliot. “Who reads Pope, I should like to +know? And as for reading about him—No, no, Miss Allan; be persuaded you +will benefit the world much more by dancing than by writing.” It was one +of Mr. Elliot’s affectations that nothing in the world could compare with +the delights of dancing—nothing in the world was so tedious as +literature. Thus he sought pathetically enough to ingratiate himself with the +young, and to prove to them beyond a doubt that though married to a ninny of a +wife, and rather pale and bent and careworn by his weight of learning, he was +as much alive as the youngest of them all. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a question of bread and butter,” said Miss Allan +calmly. “However, they seem to expect me.” She took up her position +and pointed a square black toe. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Hewet, you bow to me.” It was evident at once that Miss Allan +was the only one of them who had a thoroughly sound knowledge of the figures of +the dance. +</p> + +<p> +After the lancers there was a waltz; after the waltz a polka; and then a +terrible thing happened; the music, which had been sounding regularly with +five-minute pauses, stopped suddenly. The lady with the great dark eyes began +to swathe her violin in silk, and the gentleman placed his horn carefully in +its case. They were surrounded by couples imploring them in English, in French, +in Spanish, of one more dance, one only; it was still early. But the old man at +the piano merely exhibited his watch and shook his head. He turned up the +collar of his coat and produced a red silk muffler, which completely dashed his +festive appearance. Strange as it seemed, the musicians were pale and +heavy-eyed; they looked bored and prosaic, as if the summit of their desire was +cold meat and beer, succeeded immediately by bed. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel was one of those who had begged them to continue. When they refused she +began turning over the sheets of dance music which lay upon the piano. The +pieces were generally bound in coloured covers, with pictures on them of +romantic scenes—gondoliers astride on the crescent of the moon, nuns +peering through the bars of a convent window, or young women with their hair +down pointing a gun at the stars. She remembered that the general effect of the +music to which they had danced so gaily was one of passionate regret for dead +love and the innocent years of youth; dreadful sorrows had always separated the +dancers from their past happiness. +</p> + +<p> +“No wonder they get sick of playing stuff like this,” she remarked +reading a bar or two; “they’re really hymn tunes, played very fast, +with bits out of Wagner and Beethoven.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you play? Would you play? Anything, so long as we can dance to +it!” From all sides her gift for playing the piano was insisted upon, and +she had to consent. As very soon she had played the only pieces of dance music +she could remember, she went on to play an air from a sonata by Mozart. +</p> + +<p> +“But that’s not a dance,” said some one pausing by the piano. +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” she replied, emphatically nodding her head. “Invent +the steps.” Sure of her melody she marked the rhythm boldly so as to +simplify the way. Helen caught the idea; seized Miss Allan by the arm, and +whirled round the room, now curtseying, now spinning round, now tripping this +way and that like a child skipping through a meadow. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the dance for people who don’t know how to dance!” +she cried. The tune changed to a minuet; St. John hopped with incredible +swiftness first on his left leg, then on his right; the tune flowed +melodiously; Hewet, swaying his arms and holding out the tails of his coat, +swam down the room in imitation of the voluptuous dreamy dance of an Indian +maiden dancing before her Rajah. The tune marched; and Miss Allen advanced with +skirts extended and bowed profoundly to the engaged pair. Once their feet fell +in with the rhythm they showed a complete lack of self-consciousness. From +Mozart Rachel passed without stopping to old English hunting songs, carols, and +hymn tunes, for, as she had observed, any good tune, with a little management, +became a tune one could dance to. By degrees every person in the room was +tripping and turning in pairs or alone. Mr. Pepper executed an ingenious +pointed step derived from figure-skating, for which he once held some local +championship; while Mrs. Thornbury tried to recall an old country dance which +she had seen danced by her father’s tenants in Dorsetshire in the old +days. As for Mr. and Mrs. Elliot, they gallopaded round and round the room with +such impetuosity that the other dancers shivered at their approach. Some people +were heard to criticise the performance as a romp; to others it was the most +enjoyable part of the evening. +</p> + +<p> +“Now for the great round dance!” Hewet shouted. Instantly a +gigantic circle was formed, the dancers holding hands and shouting out, +“D’you ken John Peel,” as they swung faster and faster and +faster, until the strain was too great, and one link of the chain—Mrs. +Thornbury—gave way, and the rest went flying across the room in all +directions, to land upon the floor or the chairs or in each other’s arms +as seemed most convenient. +</p> + +<p> +Rising from these positions, breathless and unkempt, it struck them for the +first time that the electric lights pricked the air very vainly, and +instinctively a great many eyes turned to the windows. Yes—there was the +dawn. While they had been dancing the night had passed, and it had come. +Outside, the mountains showed very pure and remote; the dew was sparkling on +the grass, and the sky was flushed with blue, save for the pale yellows and +pinks in the East. The dancers came crowding to the windows, pushed them open, +and here and there ventured a foot upon the grass. +</p> + +<p> +“How silly the poor old lights look!” said Evelyn M. in a curiously +subdued tone of voice. “And ourselves; it isn’t becoming.” It +was true; the untidy hair, and the green and yellow gems, which had seemed so +festive half an hour ago, now looked cheap and slovenly. The complexions of the +elder ladies suffered terribly, and, as if conscious that a cold eye had been +turned upon them, they began to say good-night and to make their way up to bed. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel, though robbed of her audience, had gone on playing to herself. From +John Peel she passed to Bach, who was at this time the subject of her intense +enthusiasm, and one by one some of the younger dancers came in from the garden +and sat upon the deserted gilt chairs round the piano, the room being now so +clear that they turned out the lights. As they sat and listened, their nerves +were quieted; the heat and soreness of their lips, the result of incessant +talking and laughing, was smoothed away. They sat very still as if they saw a +building with spaces and columns succeeding each other rising in the empty +space. Then they began to see themselves and their lives, and the whole of +human life advancing very nobly under the direction of the music. They felt +themselves ennobled, and when Rachel stopped playing they desired nothing but +sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Susan rose. “I think this has been the happiest night of my life!” +she exclaimed. “I do adore music,” she said, as she thanked Rachel. +“It just seems to say all the things one can’t say oneself.” +She gave a nervous little laugh and looked from one to another with great +benignity, as though she would like to say something but could not find the +words in which to express it. “Every one’s been so kind—so +very kind,” she said. Then she too went to bed. +</p> + +<p> +The party having ended in the very abrupt way in which parties do end, Helen +and Rachel stood by the door with their cloaks on, looking for a carriage. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you realise that there are no carriages left?” said St. +John, who had been out to look. “You must sleep here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said Helen; “we shall walk.” +</p> + +<p> +“May we come too?” Hewet asked. “We can’t go to bed. +Imagine lying among bolsters and looking at one’s washstand on a morning +like this—Is that where you live?” They had begun to walk down the +avenue, and he turned and pointed at the white and green villa on the hillside, +which seemed to have its eyes shut. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not a light burning, is it?” Helen asked anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the sun,” said St. John. The upper windows had each a +spot of gold on them. +</p> + +<p> +“I was afraid it was my husband, still reading Greek,” she said. +“All this time he’s been editing <i>Pindar</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +They passed through the town and turned up the steep road, which was perfectly +clear, though still unbordered by shadows. Partly because they were tired, and +partly because the early light subdued them, they scarcely spoke, but breathed +in the delicious fresh air, which seemed to belong to a different state of life +from the air at midday. When they came to the high yellow wall, where the lane +turned off from the road, Helen was for dismissing the two young men. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve come far enough,” she said. “Go back to +bed.” +</p> + +<p> +But they seemed unwilling to move. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s sit down a moment,” said Hewet. He spread his coat on +the ground. “Let’s sit down and consider.” They sat down and +looked out over the bay; it was very still, the sea was rippling faintly, and +lines of green and blue were beginning to stripe it. There were no sailing +boats as yet, but a steamer was anchored in the bay, looking very ghostly in +the mist; it gave one unearthly cry, and then all was silent. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel occupied herself in collecting one grey stone after another and building +them into a little cairn; she did it very quietly and carefully. +</p> + +<p> +“And so you’ve changed your view of life, Rachel?” said +Helen. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel added another stone and yawned. “I don’t remember,” +she said, “I feel like a fish at the bottom of the sea.” She yawned +again. None of these people possessed any power to frighten her out here in the +dawn, and she felt perfectly familiar even with Mr. Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +“My brain, on the contrary,” said Hirst, “is in a condition +of abnormal activity.” He sat in his favourite position with his arms +binding his legs together and his chin resting on the top of his knees. +“I see through everything—absolutely everything. Life has no more +mysteries for me.” He spoke with conviction, but did not appear to wish +for an answer. Near though they sat, and familiar though they felt, they seemed +mere shadows to each other. +</p> + +<p> +“And all those people down there going to sleep,” Hewet began +dreamily, “thinking such different things,—Miss Warrington, I +suppose, is now on her knees; the Elliots are a little startled, it’s not +often <i>they</i> get out of breath, and they want to get to sleep as quickly +as possible; then there’s the poor lean young man who danced all night +with Evelyn; he’s putting his flower in water and asking himself, +‘Is this love?’—and poor old Perrott, I daresay, can’t +get to sleep at all, and is reading his favourite Greek book to console +himself—and the others—no, Hirst,” he wound up, “I +don’t find it simple at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have a key,” said Hirst cryptically. His chin was still upon his +knees and his eyes fixed in front of him. +</p> + +<p> +A silence followed. Then Helen rose and bade them good-night. +“But,” she said, “remember that you’ve got to come and +see us.” +</p> + +<p> +They waved good-night and parted, but the two young men did not go back to the +hotel; they went for a walk, during which they scarcely spoke, and never +mentioned the names of the two women, who were, to a considerable extent, the +subject of their thoughts. They did not wish to share their impressions. They +returned to the hotel in time for breakfast. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<p> +There were many rooms in the villa, but one room which possessed a character of +its own because the door was always shut, and no sound of music or laughter +issued from it. Every one in the house was vaguely conscious that something +went on behind that door, and without in the least knowing what it was, were +influenced in their own thoughts by the knowledge that if the passed it the +door would be shut, and if they made a noise Mr. Ambrose inside would be +disturbed. Certain acts therefore possessed merit, and others were bad, so that +life became more harmonious and less disconnected than it would have been had +Mr. Ambrose given up editing <i>Pindar</i>, and taken to a nomad existence, in +and out of every room in the house. As it was, every one was conscious that by +observing certain rules, such as punctuality and quiet, by cooking well, and +performing other small duties, one ode after another was satisfactorily +restored to the world, and they shared the continuity of the scholar’s +life. Unfortunately, as age puts one barrier between human beings, and learning +another, and sex a third, Mr. Ambrose in his study was some thousand miles +distant from the nearest human being, who in this household was inevitably a +woman. He sat hour after hour among white-leaved books, alone like an idol in +an empty church, still except for the passage of his hand from one side of the +sheet to another, silent save for an occasional choke, which drove him to +extend his pipe a moment in the air. As he worked his way further and further +into the heart of the poet, his chair became more and more deeply encircled by +books, which lay open on the floor, and could only be crossed by a careful +process of stepping, so delicate that his visitors generally stopped and +addressed him from the outskirts. +</p> + +<p> +On the morning after the dance, however, Rachel came into her uncle’s +room and hailed him twice, “Uncle Ridley,” before he paid her any +attention. +</p> + +<p> +At length he looked over his spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I want a book,” she replied. “Gibbon’s <i>History of +the Roman Empire</i>. May I have it?” +</p> + +<p> +She watched the lines on her uncle’s face gradually rearrange themselves +at her question. It had been smooth as a mask before she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Please say that again,” said her uncle, either because he had not +heard or because he had not understood. +</p> + +<p> +She repeated the same words and reddened slightly as she did so. +</p> + +<p> +“Gibbon! What on earth d’you want him for?” he enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Somebody advised me to read it,” Rachel stammered. +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t travel about with a miscellaneous collection of +eighteenth-century historians!” her uncle exclaimed. “Gibbon! Ten +big volumes at least.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel said that she was sorry to interrupt, and was turning to go. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” cried her uncle. He put down his pipe, placed his book on +one side, and rose and led her slowly round the room, holding her by the arm. +“Plato,” he said, laying one finger on the first of a row of small +dark books, “and Jorrocks next door, which is wrong. Sophocles, Swift. +You don’t care for German commentators, I presume. French, then. You read +French? You should read Balzac. Then we come to Wordsworth and Coleridge, Pope, +Johnson, Addison, Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats. One thing leads to another. Why +is Marlowe here? Mrs. Chailey, I presume. But what’s the use of reading +if you don’t read Greek? After all, if you read Greek, you need never +read anything else, pure waste of time—pure waste of time,” thus +speaking half to himself, with quick movements of his hands; they had come +round again to the circle of books on the floor, and their progress was +stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he demanded, “which shall it be?” +</p> + +<p> +“Balzac,” said Rachel, “or have you the <i>Speech on the +American Revolution</i>, Uncle Ridley?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>The Speech on the American Revolution</i>?” he asked. He looked +at her very keenly again. “Another young man at the dance?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. That was Mr. Dalloway,” she confessed. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” he flung back his head in recollection of Mr. +Dalloway. +</p> + +<p> +She chose for herself a volume at random, submitted it to her uncle, who, +seeing that it was <i>La Cousine bette</i>, bade her throw it away if she found +it too horrible, and was about to leave him when he demanded whether she had +enjoyed her dance? +</p> + +<p> +He then wanted to know what people did at dances, seeing that he had only been +to one thirty-five years ago, when nothing had seemed to him more meaningless +and idiotic. Did they enjoy turning round and round to the screech of a fiddle? +Did they talk, and say pretty things, and if so, why didn’t they do it, +under reasonable conditions? As for himself—he sighed and pointed at the +signs of industry lying all about him, which, in spite of his sigh, filled his +face with such satisfaction that his niece thought good to leave. On bestowing +a kiss she was allowed to go, but not until she had bound herself to learn at +any rate the Greek alphabet, and to return her French novel when done with, +upon which something more suitable would be found for her. +</p> + +<p> +As the rooms in which people live are apt to give off something of the same +shock as their faces when seen for the first time, Rachel walked very slowly +downstairs, lost in wonder at her uncle, and his books, and his neglect of +dances, and his queer, utterly inexplicable, but apparently satisfactory view +of life, when her eye was caught by a note with her name on it lying in the +hall. The address was written in a small strong hand unknown to her, and the +note, which had no beginning, ran:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +I send the first volume of Gibbon as I promised. Personally I find little to be +said for the moderns, but I’m going to send you Wedekind when I’ve +done him. Donne? Have you read Webster and all that set? I envy you reading +them for the first time. Completely exhausted after last night. And you? +</p> + +<p> +The flourish of initials which she took to be St. J. A. H., wound up the +letter. She was very much flattered that Mr. Hirst should have remembered her, +and fulfilled his promise so quickly. +</p> + +<p> +There was still an hour to luncheon, and with Gibbon in one hand, and Balzac in +the other she strolled out of the gate and down the little path of beaten mud +between the olive trees on the slope of the hill. It was too hot for climbing +hills, but along the valley there were trees and a grass path running by the +river bed. In this land where the population was centred in the towns it was +possible to lose sight of civilisation in a very short time, passing only an +occasional farmhouse, where the women were handling red roots in the courtyard; +or a little boy lying on his elbows on the hillside surrounded by a flock of +black strong-smelling goats. Save for a thread of water at the bottom, the +river was merely a deep channel of dry yellow stones. On the bank grew those +trees which Helen had said it was worth the voyage out merely to see. April had +burst their buds, and they bore large blossoms among their glossy green leaves +with petals of a thick wax-like substance coloured an exquisite cream or pink +or deep crimson. But filled with one of those unreasonable exultations which +start generally from an unknown cause, and sweep whole countries and skies into +their embrace, she walked without seeing. The night was encroaching upon the +day. Her ears hummed with the tunes she had played the night before; she sang, +and the singing made her walk faster and faster. She did not see distinctly +where she was going, the trees and the landscape appearing only as masses of +green and blue, with an occasional space of differently coloured sky. Faces of +people she had seen last night came before her; she heard their voices; she +stopped singing, and began saying things over again or saying things +differently, or inventing things that might have been said. The constraint of +being among strangers in a long silk dress made it unusually exciting to stride +thus alone. Hewet, Hirst, Mr. Venning, Miss Allan, the music, the light, the +dark trees in the garden, the dawn,—as she walked they went surging round +in her head, a tumultuous background from which the present moment, with its +opportunity of doing exactly as she liked, sprung more wonderfully vivid even +than the night before. +</p> + +<p> +So she might have walked until she had lost all knowledge of her way, had it +not been for the interruption of a tree, which, although it did not grow across +her path, stopped her as effectively as if the branches had struck her in the +face. It was an ordinary tree, but to her it appeared so strange that it might +have been the only tree in the world. Dark was the trunk in the middle, and the +branches sprang here and there, leaving jagged intervals of light between them +as distinctly as if it had but that second risen from the ground. Having seen a +sight that would last her for a lifetime, and for a lifetime would preserve +that second, the tree once more sank into the ordinary ranks of trees, and she +was able to seat herself in its shade and to pick the red flowers with the thin +green leaves which were growing beneath it. She laid them side by side, flower +to flower and stalk to stalk, caressing them for walking alone. Flowers and +even pebbles in the earth had their own life and disposition, and brought back +the feelings of a child to whom they were companions. Looking up, her eye was +caught by the line of the mountains flying out energetically across the sky +like the lash of a curling whip. She looked at the pale distant sky, and the +high bare places on the mountain-tops lying exposed to the sun. When she sat +down she had dropped her books on to the earth at her feet, and now she looked +down on them lying there, so square in the grass, a tall stem bending over and +tickling the smooth brown cover of Gibbon, while the mottled blue Balzac lay +naked in the sun. With a feeling that to open and read would certainly be a +surprising experience, she turned the historian’s page and read +that— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +His generals, in the early part of his reign, attempted the reduction of +Aethiopia and Arabia Felix. They marched near a thousand miles to the south of +the tropic; but the heat of the climate soon repelled the invaders and +protected the unwarlike natives of those sequestered regions. . . . The +northern countries of Europe scarcely deserved the expense and labour of +conquest. The forests and morasses of Germany were filled with a hardy race of +barbarians, who despised life when it was separated from freedom. +</p> + +<p> +Never had any words been so vivid and so beautiful—Arabia +Felix—Aethiopia. But those were not more noble than the others, hardy +barbarians, forests, and morasses. They seemed to drive roads back to the very +beginning of the world, on either side of which the populations of all times +and countries stood in avenues, and by passing down them all knowledge would be +hers, and the book of the world turned back to the very first page. Such was +her excitement at the possibilities of knowledge now opening before her that +she ceased to read, and a breeze turning the page, the covers of Gibbon gently +ruffled and closed together. She then rose again and walked on. Slowly her mind +became less confused and sought the origins of her exaltation, which were +twofold and could be limited by an effort to the persons of Mr. Hirst and Mr. +Hewet. Any clear analysis of them was impossible owing to the haze of wonder in +which they were enveloped. She could not reason about them as about people +whose feelings went by the same rule as her own did, and her mind dwelt on them +with a kind of physical pleasure such as is caused by the contemplation of +bright things hanging in the sun. From them all life seemed to radiate; the +very words of books were steeped in radiance. She then became haunted by a +suspicion which she was so reluctant to face that she welcomed a trip and +stumble over the grass because thus her attention was dispersed, but in a +second it had collected itself again. Unconsciously she had been walking faster +and faster, her body trying to outrun her mind; but she was now on the summit +of a little hillock of earth which rose above the river and displayed the +valley. She was no longer able to juggle with several ideas, but must deal with +the most persistent, and a kind of melancholy replaced her excitement. She sank +down on to the earth clasping her knees together, and looking blankly in front +of her. For some time she observed a great yellow butterfly, which was opening +and closing its wings very slowly on a little flat stone. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it to be in love?” she demanded, after a long silence; +each word as it came into being seemed to shove itself out into an unknown sea. +Hypnotised by the wings of the butterfly, and awed by the discovery of a +terrible possibility in life, she sat for some time longer. When the butterfly +flew away, she rose, and with her two books beneath her arm returned home +again, much as a soldier prepared for battle. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<p> +The sun of that same day going down, dusk was saluted as usual at the hotel by +an instantaneous sparkle of electric lights. The hours between dinner and +bedtime were always difficult enough to kill, and the night after the dance +they were further tarnished by the peevishness of dissipation. Certainly, in +the opinion of Hirst and Hewet, who lay back in long arm-chairs in the middle +of the hall, with their coffee-cups beside them, and their cigarettes in their +hands, the evening was unusually dull, the women unusually badly dressed, the +men unusually fatuous. Moreover, when the mail had been distributed half an +hour ago there were no letters for either of the two young men. As every other +person, practically, had received two or three plump letters from England, +which they were now engaged in reading, this seemed hard, and prompted Hirst to +make the caustic remark that the animals had been fed. Their silence, he said, +reminded him of the silence in the lion-house when each beast holds a lump of +raw meat in its paws. He went on, stimulated by this comparison, to liken some +to hippopotamuses, some to canary birds, some to swine, some to parrots, and +some to loathsome reptiles curled round the half-decayed bodies of sheep. The +intermittent sounds—now a cough, now a horrible wheezing or +throat-clearing, now a little patter of conversation—were just, he +declared, what you hear if you stand in the lion-house when the bones are being +mauled. But these comparisons did not rouse Hewet, who, after a careless glance +round the room, fixed his eyes upon a thicket of native spears which were so +ingeniously arranged as to run their points at you whichever way you approached +them. He was clearly oblivious of his surroundings; whereupon Hirst, perceiving +that Hewet’s mind was a complete blank, fixed his attention more closely +upon his fellow-creatures. He was too far from them, however, to hear what they +were saying, but it pleased him to construct little theories about them from +their gestures and appearance. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Thornbury had received a great many letters. She was completely engrossed +in them. When she had finished a page she handed it to her husband, or gave him +the sense of what she was reading in a series of short quotations linked +together by a sound at the back of her throat. “Evie writes that George +has gone to Glasgow. ‘He finds Mr. Chadbourne so nice to work with, and +we hope to spend Christmas together, but I should not like to move Betty and +Alfred any great distance (no, quite right), though it is difficult to imagine +cold weather in this heat. . . . Eleanor and Roger drove over in the new trap. +. . . Eleanor certainly looked more like herself than I’ve seen her since +the winter. She has put Baby on three bottles now, which I’m sure is wise +(I’m sure it is too), and so gets better nights. . . . My hair still +falls out. I find it on the pillow! But I am cheered by hearing from Tottie +Hall Green. . . . Muriel is in Torquay enjoying herself greatly at dances. She +<i>is</i> going to show her black pug after all.’ . . . A line from +Herbert—so busy, poor fellow! Ah! Margaret says, ‘Poor old Mrs. +Fairbank died on the eighth, quite suddenly in the conservatory, only a maid in +the house, who hadn’t the presence of mind to lift her up, which they +think might have saved her, but the doctor says it might have come at any +moment, and one can only feel thankful that it was in the house and not in the +street (I should think so!). The pigeons have increased terribly, just as the +rabbits did five years ago . . .’” While she read her husband kept +nodding his head very slightly, but very steadily in sign of approval. +</p> + +<p> +Near by, Miss Allan was reading her letters too. They were not altogether +pleasant, as could be seen from the slight rigidity which came over her large +fine face as she finished reading them and replaced them neatly in their +envelopes. The lines of care and responsibility on her face made her resemble +an elderly man rather than a woman. The letters brought her news of the failure +of last year’s fruit crop in New Zealand, which was a serious matter, for +Hubert, her only brother, made his living on a fruit farm, and if it failed +again, of course, he would throw up his place, come back to England, and what +were they to do with him this time? The journey out here, which meant the loss +of a term’s work, became an extravagance and not the just and wonderful +holiday due to her after fifteen years of punctual lecturing and correcting +essays upon English literature. Emily, her sister, who was a teacher also, +wrote: “We ought to be prepared, though I have no doubt Hubert will be +more reasonable this time.” And then went on in her sensible way to say +that she was enjoying a very jolly time in the Lakes. “They are looking +exceedingly pretty just now. I have seldom seen the trees so forward at this +time of year. We have taken our lunch out several days. Old Alice is as young +as ever, and asks after every one affectionately. The days pass very quickly, +and term will soon be here. Political prospects <i>not</i> good, I think +privately, but do not like to damp Ellen’s enthusiasm. Lloyd George has +taken the Bill up, but so have many before now, and we are where we are; but +trust to find myself mistaken. Anyhow, we have our work cut out for us. . . . +Surely Meredith lacks the <i>human</i> note one likes in W. W.?” she +concluded, and went on to discuss some questions of English literature which +Miss Allan had raised in her last letter. +</p> + +<p> +At a little distance from Miss Allan, on a seat shaded and made semi-private by +a thick clump of palm trees, Arthur and Susan were reading each other’s +letters. The big slashing manuscripts of hockey-playing young women in +Wiltshire lay on Arthur’s knee, while Susan deciphered tight little legal +hands which rarely filled more than a page, and always conveyed the same +impression of jocular and breezy goodwill. +</p> + +<p> +“I do hope Mr. Hutchinson will like me, Arthur,” she said, looking +up. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s your loving Flo?” asked Arthur. +</p> + +<p> +“Flo Graves—the girl I told you about, who was engaged to that +dreadful Mr. Vincent,” said Susan. “Is Mr. Hutchinson +married?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Already her mind was busy with benevolent plans for her friends, or rather with +one magnificent plan—which was simple too—they were all to get +married—at once—directly she got back. Marriage, marriage that was +the right thing, the only thing, the solution required by every one she knew, +and a great part of her meditations was spent in tracing every instance of +discomfort, loneliness, ill-health, unsatisfied ambition, restlessness, +eccentricity, taking things up and dropping them again, public speaking, and +philanthropic activity on the part of men and particularly on the part of women +to the fact that they wanted to marry, were trying to marry, and had not +succeeded in getting married. If, as she was bound to own, these symptoms +sometimes persisted after marriage, she could only ascribe them to the unhappy +law of nature which decreed that there was only one Arthur Venning, and only +one Susan who could marry him. Her theory, of course, had the merit of being +fully supported by her own case. She had been vaguely uncomfortable at home for +two or three years now, and a voyage like this with her selfish old aunt, who +paid her fare but treated her as servant and companion in one, was typical of +the kind of thing people expected of her. Directly she became engaged, Mrs. +Paley behaved with instinctive respect, positively protested when Susan as +usual knelt down to lace her shoes, and appeared really grateful for an hour of +Susan’s company where she had been used to exact two or three as her +right. She therefore foresaw a life of far greater comfort than she had been +used to, and the change had already produced a great increase of warmth in her +feelings towards other people. +</p> + +<p> +It was close on twenty years now since Mrs. Paley had been able to lace her own +shoes or even to see them, the disappearance of her feet having coincided more +or less accurately with the death of her husband, a man of business, soon after +which event Mrs. Paley began to grow stout. She was a selfish, independent old +woman, possessed of a considerable income, which she spent upon the upkeep of a +house that needed seven servants and a charwoman in Lancaster Gate, and another +with a garden and carriage-horses in Surrey. Susan’s engagement relieved +her of the one great anxiety of her life—that her son Christopher should +“entangle himself” with his cousin. Now that this familiar source +of interest was removed, she felt a little low and inclined to see more in +Susan than she used to. She had decided to give her a very handsome wedding +present, a cheque for two hundred, two hundred and fifty, or possibly, +conceivably—it depended upon the under-gardener and Huths’ bill for +doing up the drawing-room—three hundred pounds sterling. +</p> + +<p> +She was thinking of this very question, revolving the figures, as she sat in +her wheeled chair with a table spread with cards by her side. The Patience had +somehow got into a muddle, and she did not like to call for Susan to help her, +as Susan seemed to be busy with Arthur. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s every right to expect a handsome present from me, of +course,” she thought, looking vaguely at the leopard on its hind legs, +“and I’ve no doubt she does! Money goes a long way with every one. +The young are very selfish. If I were to die, nobody would miss me but Dakyns, +and she’ll be consoled by the will! However, I’ve got no reason to +complain. . . . I can still enjoy myself. I’m not a burden to any-one. . +. . I like a great many things a good deal, in spite of my legs.” +</p> + +<p> +Being slightly depressed, however, she went on to think of the only people she +had known who had not seemed to her at all selfish or fond of money, who had +seemed to her somehow rather finer than the general run; people she willingly +acknowledged, who were finer than she was. There were only two of them. One was +her brother, who had been drowned before her eyes, the other was a girl, her +greatest friend, who had died in giving birth to her first child. These things +had happened some fifty years ago. +</p> + +<p> +“They ought not to have died,” she thought. “However, they +did—and we selfish old creatures go on.” The tears came to her +eyes; she felt a genuine regret for them, a kind of respect for their youth and +beauty, and a kind of shame for herself; but the tears did not fall; and she +opened one of those innumerable novels which she used to pronounce good or bad, +or pretty middling, or really wonderful. “I can’t think how people +come to imagine such things,” she would say, taking off her spectacles +and looking up with the old faded eyes, that were becoming ringed with white. +</p> + +<p> +Just behind the stuffed leopard Mr. Elliot was playing chess with Mr. Pepper. +He was being defeated, naturally, for Mr. Pepper scarcely took his eyes off the +board, and Mr. Elliot kept leaning back in his chair and throwing out remarks +to a gentleman who had only arrived the night before, a tall handsome man, with +a head resembling the head of an intellectual ram. After a few remarks of a +general nature had passed, they were discovering that they knew some of the +same people, as indeed had been obvious from their appearance directly they saw +each other. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah yes, old Truefit,” said Mr. Elliot. “He has a son at +Oxford. I’ve often stayed with them. It’s a lovely old Jacobean +house. Some exquisite Greuzes—one or two Dutch pictures which the old boy +kept in the cellars. Then there were stacks upon stacks of prints. Oh, the dirt +in that house! He was a miser, you know. The boy married a daughter of Lord +Pinwells. I know them too. The collecting mania tends to run in families. This +chap collects buckles—men’s shoe-buckles they must be, in use +between the years 1580 and 1660; the dates mayn’t be right, but +fact’s as I say. Your true collector always has some unaccountable fad of +that kind. On other points he’s as level-headed as a breeder of +shorthorns, which is what he happens to be. Then the Pinwells, as you probably +know, have their share of eccentricity too. Lady Maud, for +instance—” he was interrupted here by the necessity of considering +his move,—“Lady Maud has a horror of cats and clergymen, and people +with big front teeth. I’ve heard her shout across a table, ‘Keep +your mouth shut, Miss Smith; they’re as yellow as carrots!’ across +a table, mind you. To me she’s always been civility itself. She dabbles +in literature, likes to collect a few of us in her drawing-room, but mention a +clergyman, a bishop even, nay, the Archbishop himself, and she gobbles like a +turkey-cock. I’ve been told it’s a family feud—something to +do with an ancestor in the reign of Charles the First. Yes,” he +continued, suffering check after check, “I always like to know something +of the grandmothers of our fashionable young men. In my opinion they preserve +all that we admire in the eighteenth century, with the advantage, in the +majority of cases, that they are personally clean. Not that one would insult +old Lady Barborough by calling her clean. How often d’you think, +Hilda,” he called out to his wife, “her ladyship takes a +bath?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should hardly like to say, Hugh,” Mrs. Elliot tittered, +“but wearing puce velvet, as she does even on the hottest August day, it +somehow doesn’t show.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pepper, you have me,” said Mr. Elliot. “My chess is even +worse than I remembered.” He accepted his defeat with great equanimity, +because he really wished to talk. +</p> + +<p> +He drew his chair beside Mr. Wilfrid Flushing, the newcomer. +</p> + +<p> +“Are these at all in your line?” he asked, pointing at a case in +front of them, where highly polished crosses, jewels, and bits of embroidery, +the work of the natives, were displayed to tempt visitors. +</p> + +<p> +“Shams, all of them,” said Mr. Flushing briefly. “This rug, +now, isn’t at all bad.” He stopped and picked up a piece of the rug +at their feet. “Not old, of course, but the design is quite in the right +tradition. Alice, lend me your brooch. See the difference between the old work +and the new.” +</p> + +<p> +A lady, who was reading with great concentration, unfastened her brooch and +gave it to her husband without looking at him or acknowledging the tentative +bow which Mr. Elliot was desirous of giving her. If she had listened, she might +have been amused by the reference to old Lady Barborough, her great-aunt, but, +oblivious of her surroundings, she went on reading. +</p> + +<p> +The clock, which had been wheezing for some minutes like an old man preparing +to cough, now struck nine. The sound slightly disturbed certain somnolent +merchants, government officials, and men of independent means who were lying +back in their chairs, chatting, smoking, ruminating about their affairs, with +their eyes half shut; they raised their lids for an instant at the sound and +then closed them again. They had the appearance of crocodiles so fully gorged +by their last meal that the future of the world gives them no anxiety whatever. +The only disturbance in the placid bright room was caused by a large moth which +shot from light to light, whizzing over elaborate heads of hair, and causing +several young women to raise their hands nervously and exclaim, “Some one +ought to kill it!” +</p> + +<p> +Absorbed in their own thoughts, Hewet and Hirst had not spoken for a long time. +</p> + +<p> +When the clock struck, Hirst said: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, the creatures begin to stir. . . .” He watched them raise +themselves, look about them, and settle down again. “What I abhor most of +all,” he concluded, “is the female breast. Imagine being Venning +and having to get into bed with Susan! But the really repulsive thing is that +they feel nothing at all—about what I do when I have a hot bath. +They’re gross, they’re absurd, they’re utterly +intolerable!” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, and drawing no reply from Hewet, he proceeded to think about +himself, about science, about Cambridge, about the Bar, about Helen and what +she thought of him, until, being very tired, he was nodding off to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly Hewet woke him up. +</p> + +<p> +“How d’you know what you feel, Hirst?” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in love?” asked Hirst. He put in his eyeglass. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be a fool,” said Hewet. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll sit down and think about it,” said Hirst. +“One really ought to. If these people would only think about things, the +world would be a far better place for us all to live in. Are you trying to +think?” +</p> + +<p> +That was exactly what Hewet had been doing for the last half-hour, but he did +not find Hirst sympathetic at the moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall go for a walk,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Remember we weren’t in bed last night,” said Hirst with a +prodigious yawn. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet rose and stretched himself. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to go and get a breath of air,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +An unusual feeling had been bothering him all the evening and forbidding him to +settle into any one train of thought. It was precisely as if he had been in the +middle of a talk which interested him profoundly when some one came up and +interrupted him. He could not finish the talk, and the longer he sat there the +more he wanted to finish it. As the talk that had been interrupted was a talk +with Rachel, he had to ask himself why he felt this, and why he wanted to go on +talking to her. Hirst would merely say that he was in love with her. But he was +not in love with her. Did love begin in that way, with the wish to go on +talking? No. It always began in his case with definite physical sensations, and +these were now absent, he did not even find her physically attractive. There +was something, of course, unusual about her—she was young, inexperienced, +and inquisitive, they had been more open with each other than was usually +possible. He always found girls interesting to talk to, and surely these were +good reasons why he should wish to go on talking to her; and last night, what +with the crowd and the confusion, he had only been able to begin to talk to +her. What was she doing now? Lying on a sofa and looking at the ceiling, +perhaps. He could imagine her doing that, and Helen in an arm-chair, with her +hands on the arm of it, so—looking ahead of her, with her great big +eyes—oh no, they’d be talking, of course, about the dance. But +suppose Rachel was going away in a day or two, suppose this was the end of her +visit, and her father had arrived in one of the steamers anchored in the +bay,—it was intolerable to know so little. Therefore he exclaimed, +“How d’you know what you feel, Hirst?” to stop himself from +thinking. +</p> + +<p> +But Hirst did not help him, and the other people with their aimless movements +and their unknown lives were disturbing, so that he longed for the empty +darkness. The first thing he looked for when he stepped out of the hall door +was the light of the Ambroses’ villa. When he had definitely decided that +a certain light apart from the others higher up the hill was their light, he +was considerably reassured. There seemed to be at once a little stability in +all this incoherence. Without any definite plan in his head, he took the +turning to the right and walked through the town and came to the wall by the +meeting of the roads, where he stopped. The booming of the sea was audible. The +dark-blue mass of the mountains rose against the paler blue of the sky. There +was no moon, but myriads of stars, and lights were anchored up and down in the +dark waves of earth all round him. He had meant to go back, but the single +light of the Ambroses’ villa had now become three separate lights, and he +was tempted to go on. He might as well make sure that Rachel was still there. +Walking fast, he soon stood by the iron gate of their garden, and pushed it +open; the outline of the house suddenly appeared sharply before his eyes, and +the thin column of the verandah cutting across the palely lit gravel of the +terrace. He hesitated. At the back of the house some one was rattling cans. He +approached the front; the light on the terrace showed him that the +sitting-rooms were on that side. He stood as near the light as he could by the +corner of the house, the leaves of a creeper brushing his face. After a moment +he could hear a voice. The voice went on steadily; it was not talking, but from +the continuity of the sound it was a voice reading aloud. He crept a little +closer; he crumpled the leaves together so as to stop their rustling about his +ears. It might be Rachel’s voice. He left the shadow and stepped into the +radius of the light, and then heard a sentence spoken quite distinctly. +</p> + +<p> +“And there we lived from the year 1860 to 1895, the happiest years of my +parents’ lives, and there in 1862 my brother Maurice was born, to the +delight of his parents, as he was destined to be the delight of all who knew +him.” +</p> + +<p> +The voice quickened, and the tone became conclusive rising slightly in pitch, +as if these words were at the end of the chapter. Hewet drew back again into +the shadow. There was a long silence. He could just hear chairs being moved +inside. He had almost decided to go back, when suddenly two figures appeared at +the window, not six feet from him. +</p> + +<p> +“It was Maurice Fielding, of course, that your mother was engaged +to,” said Helen’s voice. She spoke reflectively, looking out into +the dark garden, and thinking evidently as much of the look of the night as of +what she was saying. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother?” said Rachel. Hewet’s heart leapt, and he noticed +the fact. Her voice, though low, was full of surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t know that?” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“I never knew there’d been any one else,” said Rachel. She +was clearly surprised, but all they said was said low and inexpressively, +because they were speaking out into the cool dark night. +</p> + +<p> +“More people were in love with her than with any one I’ve ever +known,” Helen stated. “She had that power—she enjoyed things. +She wasn’t beautiful, but—I was thinking of her last night at the +dance. She got on with every kind of person, and then she made it all so +amazingly—funny.” +</p> + +<p> +It appeared that Helen was going back into the past, choosing her words +deliberately, comparing Theresa with the people she had known since Theresa +died. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know how she did it,” she continued, and ceased, and +there was a long pause, in which a little owl called first here, then there, as +it moved from tree to tree in the garden. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so like Aunt Lucy and Aunt Katie,” said Rachel at +last. “They always make out that she was very sad and very good.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why, for goodness’ sake, did they do nothing but criticize +her when she was alive?” said Helen. Very gentle their voices sounded, as +if they fell through the waves of the sea. +</p> + +<p> +“If I were to die to-morrow . . .” she began. +</p> + +<p> +The broken sentences had an extraordinary beauty and detachment in +Hewet’s ears, and a kind of mystery too, as though they were spoken by +people in their sleep. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Rachel,” Helen’s voice continued, “I’m not +going to walk in the garden; it’s damp—it’s sure to be damp; +besides, I see at least a dozen toads.” +</p> + +<p> +“Toads? Those are stones, Helen. Come out. It’s nicer out. The +flowers smell,” Rachel replied. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet drew still farther back. His heart was beating very quickly. Apparently +Rachel tried to pull Helen out on to the terrace, and Helen resisted. There was +a certain amount of scuffling, entreating, resisting, and laughter from both of +them. Then a man’s form appeared. Hewet could not hear what they were all +saying. In a minute they had gone in; he could hear bolts grating then; there +was dead silence, and all the lights went out. +</p> + +<p> +He turned away, still crumpling and uncrumpling a handful of leaves which he +had torn from the wall. An exquisite sense of pleasure and relief possessed +him; it was all so solid and peaceful after the ball at the hotel, whether he +was in love with them or not, and he was not in love with them; no, but it was +good that they should be alive. +</p> + +<p> +After standing still for a minute or two he turned and began to walk towards +the gate. With the movement of his body, the excitement, the romance and the +richness of life crowded into his brain. He shouted out a line of poetry, but +the words escaped him, and he stumbled among lines and fragments of lines which +had no meaning at all except for the beauty of the words. He shut the gate, and +ran swinging from side to side down the hill, shouting any nonsense that came +into his head. “Here am I,” he cried rhythmically, as his feet +pounded to the left and to the right, “plunging along, like an elephant +in the jungle, stripping the branches as I go (he snatched at the twigs of a +bush at the roadside), roaring innumerable words, lovely words about +innumerable things, running downhill and talking nonsense aloud to myself about +roads and leaves and lights and women coming out into the darkness—about +women—about Rachel, about Rachel.” He stopped and drew a deep +breath. The night seemed immense and hospitable, and although so dark there +seemed to be things moving down there in the harbour and movement out at sea. +He gazed until the darkness numbed him, and then he walked on quickly, still +murmuring to himself. “And I ought to be in bed, snoring and dreaming, +dreaming, dreaming. Dreams and realities, dreams and realities, dreams and +realities,” he repeated all the way up the avenue, scarcely knowing what +he said, until he reached the front door. Here he paused for a second, and +collected himself before he opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +His eyes were dazed, his hands very cold, and his brain excited and yet half +asleep. Inside the door everything was as he had left it except that the hall +was now empty. There were the chairs turning in towards each other where people +had sat talking, and the empty glasses on little tables, and the newspapers +scattered on the floor. As he shut the door he felt as if he were enclosed in a +square box, and instantly shrivelled up. It was all very bright and very small. +He stopped for a minute by the long table to find a paper which he had meant to +read, but he was still too much under the influence of the dark and the fresh +air to consider carefully which paper it was or where he had seen it. +</p> + +<p> +As he fumbled vaguely among the papers he saw a figure cross the tail of his +eye, coming downstairs. He heard the swishing sound of skirts, and to his great +surprise, Evelyn M. came up to him, laid her hand on the table as if to prevent +him from taking up a paper, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“You’re just the person I wanted to talk to.” Her voice was a +little unpleasant and metallic, her eyes were very bright, and she kept them +fixed upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“To talk to me?” he repeated. “But I’m half +asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I think you understand better than most people,” she answered, +and sat down on a little chair placed beside a big leather chair so that Hewet +had to sit down beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” he said. He yawned openly, and lit a cigarette. He could +not believe that this was really happening to him. “What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you really sympathetic, or is it just a pose?” she demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s for you to say,” he replied. “I’m +interested, I think.” He still felt numb all over and as if she was much +too close to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Any one can be interested!” she cried impatiently. “Your +friend Mr. Hirst’s interested, I daresay however, I do believe in you. +You look as if you’d got a nice sister, somehow.” She paused, +picking at some sequins on her knees, and then, as if she had made up her mind, +she started off, “Anyhow, I’m going to ask your advice. D’you +ever get into a state where you don’t know your own mind? That’s +the state I’m in now. You see, last night at the dance Raymond +Oliver,—he’s the tall dark boy who looks as if he had Indian blood +in him, but he says he’s not really,—well, we were sitting out +together, and he told me all about himself, how unhappy he is at home, and how +he hates being out here. They’ve put him into some beastly mining +business. He says it’s beastly—I should like it, I know, but +that’s neither here nor there. And I felt awfully sorry for him, one +couldn’t help being sorry for him, and when he asked me to let him kiss +me, I did. I don’t see any harm in that, do you? And then this morning he +said he’d thought I meant something more, and I wasn’t the sort to +let any one kiss me. And we talked and talked. I daresay I was very silly, but +one can’t help liking people when one’s sorry for them. I do like +him most awfully—” She paused. “So I gave him half a promise, +and then, you see, there’s Alfred Perrott.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Perrott,” said Hewet. +</p> + +<p> +“We got to know each other on that picnic the other day,” she +continued. “He seemed so lonely, especially as Arthur had gone off with +Susan, and one couldn’t help guessing what was in his mind. So we had +quite a long talk when you were looking at the ruins, and he told me all about +his life, and his struggles, and how fearfully hard it had been. D’you +know, he was a boy in a grocer’s shop and took parcels to people’s +houses in a basket? That interested me awfully, because I always say it +doesn’t matter how you’re born if you’ve got the right stuff +in you. And he told me about his sister who’s paralysed, poor girl, and +one can see she’s a great trial, though he’s evidently very devoted +to her. I must say I do admire people like that! I don’t expect you do +because you’re so clever. Well, last night we sat out in the garden +together, and I couldn’t help seeing what he wanted to say, and +comforting him a little, and telling him I did care—I really +do—only, then, there’s Raymond Oliver. What I want you to tell me +is, can one be in love with two people at once, or can’t one?” +</p> + +<p> +She became silent, and sat with her chin on her hands, looking very intent, as +if she were facing a real problem which had to be discussed between them. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it depends what sort of person you are,” said Hewet. He +looked at her. She was small and pretty, aged perhaps twenty-eight or +twenty-nine, but though dashing and sharply cut, her features expressed nothing +very clearly, except a great deal of spirit and good health. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you, what are you; you see, I know nothing about you,” he +continued. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I was coming to that,” said Evelyn M. She continued to rest +her chin on her hands and to look intently ahead of her. “I’m the +daughter of a mother and no father, if that interests you,” she said. +“It’s not a very nice thing to be. It’s what often happens in +the country. She was a farmer’s daughter, and he was rather a +swell—the young man up at the great house. He never made things +straight—never married her—though he allowed us quite a lot of +money. His people wouldn’t let him. Poor father! I can’t help +liking him. Mother wasn’t the sort of woman who could keep him straight, +anyhow. He was killed in the war. I believe his men worshipped him. They say +great big troopers broke down and cried over his body on the battlefield. I +wish I’d known him. Mother had all the life crushed out of her. The +world—” She clenched her fist. “Oh, people can be horrid to a +woman like that!” She turned upon Hewet. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she said, “d’you want to know any more about +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“But you?” he asked, “Who looked after you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve looked after myself mostly,” she laughed. +“I’ve had splendid friends. I do like people! That’s the +trouble. What would you do if you liked two people, both of them tremendously, +and you couldn’t tell which most?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should go on liking them—I should wait and see. Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“But one has to make up one’s mind,” said Evelyn. “Or +are you one of the people who doesn’t believe in marriages and all that? +Look here—this isn’t fair, I do all the telling, and you tell +nothing. Perhaps you’re the same as your friend”—she looked +at him suspiciously; “perhaps you don’t like me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know you,” said Hewet. +</p> + +<p> +“I know when I like a person directly I see them! I knew I liked you the +very first night at dinner. Oh dear,” she continued impatiently, +“what a lot of bother would be saved if only people would say the things +they think straight out! I’m made like that. I can’t help +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t you find it leads to difficulties?” Hewet asked. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s men’s fault,” she answered. “They always +drag it in—love, I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so you’ve gone on having one proposal after another,” +said Hewet. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose I’ve had more proposals than most +women,” said Evelyn, but she spoke without conviction. +</p> + +<p> +“Five, six, ten?” Hewet ventured. +</p> + +<p> +Evelyn seemed to intimate that perhaps ten was the right figure, but that it +really was not a high one. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you’re thinking me a heartless flirt,” she +protested. “But I don’t care if you are. I don’t care what +any one thinks of me. Just because one’s interested and likes to be +friends with men, and talk to them as one talks to women, one’s called a +flirt.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Miss Murgatroyd—” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you’d call me Evelyn,” she interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“After ten proposals do you honestly think that men are the same as +women?” +</p> + +<p> +“Honestly, honestly,—how I hate that word! It’s always used +by prigs,” cried Evelyn. “Honestly I think they ought to be. +That’s what’s so disappointing. Every time one thinks it’s +not going to happen, and every time it does.” +</p> + +<p> +“The pursuit of Friendship,” said Hewet. “The title of a +comedy.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re horrid,” she cried. “You don’t care a bit +really. You might be Mr. Hirst.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Hewet, “let’s consider. Let us +consider—” He paused, because for the moment he could not remember +what it was that they had to consider. He was far more interested in her than +in her story, for as she went on speaking his numbness had disappeared, and he +was conscious of a mixture of liking, pity, and distrust. “You’ve +promised to marry both Oliver and Perrott?” he concluded. +</p> + +<p> +“Not exactly promised,” said Evelyn. “I can’t make up +my mind which I really like best. Oh how I detest modern life!” she flung +off. “It must have been so much easier for the Elizabethans! I thought +the other day on that mountain how I’d have liked to be one of those +colonists, to cut down trees and make laws and all that, instead of fooling +about with all these people who think one’s just a pretty young lady. +Though I’m not. I really might <i>do</i> something.” She reflected +in silence for a minute. Then she said: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid right down in my heart that Alfred Perrot +<i>won’t</i> do. He’s not strong, is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps he couldn’t cut down a tree,” said Hewet. +“Have you never cared for anybody?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve cared for heaps of people, but not to marry them,” she +said. “I suppose I’m too fastidious. All my life I’ve wanted +somebody I could look up to, somebody great and big and splendid. Most men are +so small.” +</p> + +<p> +“What d’you mean by splendid?” Hewet asked. “People +are—nothing more.” +</p> + +<p> +Evelyn was puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t care for people because of their qualities,” he +tried to explain. “It’s just them that we care for,”—he +struck a match—“just that,” he said, pointing to the flames. +</p> + +<p> +“I see what you mean,” she said, “but I don’t agree. I +do know why I care for people, and I think I’m hardly ever wrong. I see +at once what they’ve got in them. Now I think you must be rather +splendid; but not Mr. Hirst.” +</p> + +<p> +Hewlet shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s not nearly so unselfish, or so sympathetic, or so big, or so +understanding,” Evelyn continued. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet sat silent, smoking his cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“I should hate cutting down trees,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not trying to flirt with you, though I suppose you think I +am!” Evelyn shot out. “I’d never have come to you if +I’d thought you’d merely think odious things of me!” The +tears came into her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you never flirt?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I don’t,” she protested. “Haven’t I +told you? I want friendship; I want to care for some one greater and nobler +than I am, and if they fall in love with me it isn’t my fault; I +don’t want it; I positively hate it.” +</p> + +<p> +Hewet could see that there was very little use in going on with the +conversation, for it was obvious that Evelyn did not wish to say anything in +particular, but to impress upon him an image of herself, being, for some reason +which she would not reveal, unhappy, or insecure. He was very tired, and a pale +waiter kept walking ostentatiously into the middle of the room and looking at +them meaningly. +</p> + +<p> +“They want to shut up,” he said. “My advice is that you +should tell Oliver and Perrott to-morrow that you’ve made up your mind +that you don’t mean to marry either of them. I’m certain you +don’t. If you change your mind you can always tell them so. They’re +both sensible men; they’ll understand. And then all this bother will be +over.” He got up. +</p> + +<p> +But Evelyn did not move. She sat looking up at him with her bright eager eyes, +in the depths of which he thought he detected some disappointment, or +dissatisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“There are heaps of things I want to say to you still,” she said. +“And I’m going to, some time. I suppose you must go to bed +now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Hewet. “I’m half asleep.” He left her +still sitting by herself in the empty hall. +</p> + +<p> +“Why is it that they <i>won’t</i> be honest?” he muttered to +himself as he went upstairs. Why was it that relations between different people +were so unsatisfactory, so fragmentary, so hazardous, and words so dangerous +that the instinct to sympathise with another human being was an instinct to be +examined carefully and probably crushed? What had Evelyn really wished to say +to him? What was she feeling left alone in the empty hall? The mystery of life +and the unreality even of one’s own sensations overcame him as he walked +down the corridor which led to his room. It was dimly lighted, but sufficiently +for him to see a figure in a bright dressing-gown pass swiftly in front of him, +the figure of a woman crossing from one room to another. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<p> +Whether too slight or too vague the ties that bind people casually meeting in a +hotel at midnight, they possess one advantage at least over the bonds which +unite the elderly, who have lived together once and so must live for ever. +Slight they may be, but vivid and genuine, merely because the power to break +them is within the grasp of each, and there is no reason for continuance except +a true desire that continue they shall. When two people have been married for +years they seem to become unconscious of each other’s bodily presence so +that they move as if alone, speak aloud things which they do not expect to be +answered, and in general seem to experience all the comfort of solitude without +its loneliness. The joint lives of Ridley and Helen had arrived at this stage +of community, and it was often necessary for one or the other to recall with an +effort whether a thing had been said or only thought, shared or dreamt in +private. At four o’clock in the afternoon two or three days later Mrs. +Ambrose was standing brushing her hair, while her husband was in the +dressing-room which opened out of her room, and occasionally, through the +cascade of water—he was washing his face—she caught exclamations, +“So it goes on year after year; I wish, I wish, I wish I could make an +end of it,” to which she paid no attention. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s white? Or only brown?” Thus she herself murmured, +examining a hair which gleamed suspiciously among the brown. She pulled it out +and laid it on the dressing-table. She was criticising her own appearance, or +rather approving of it, standing a little way back from the glass and looking +at her own face with superb pride and melancholy, when her husband appeared in +the doorway in his shirt sleeves, his face half obscured by a towel. +</p> + +<p> +“You often tell me I don’t notice things,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me if this is a white hair, then?” she replied. She laid the +hair on his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s not a white hair on your head,” he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Ridley, I begin to doubt,” she sighed; and bowed her head +under his eyes so that he might judge, but the inspection produced only a kiss +where the line of parting ran, and husband and wife then proceeded to move +about the room, casually murmuring. +</p> + +<p> +“What was that you were saying?” Helen remarked, after an interval +of conversation which no third person could have understood. +</p> + +<p> +“Rachel—you ought to keep an eye upon Rachel,” he observed +significantly, and Helen, though she went on brushing her hair, looked at him. +His observations were apt to be true. +</p> + +<p> +“Young gentlemen don’t interest themselves in young women’s +education without a motive,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Hirst,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“Hirst and Hewet, they’re all the same to me—all covered with +spots,” he replied. “He advises her to read Gibbon. Did you know +that?” +</p> + +<p> +Helen did not know that, but she would not allow herself inferior to her +husband in powers of observation. She merely said: +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing would surprise me. Even that dreadful flying man we met at the +dance—even Mr. Dalloway—even—” +</p> + +<p> +“I advise you to be circumspect,” said Ridley. “There’s +Willoughby, remember—Willoughby”; he pointed at a letter. +</p> + +<p> +Helen looked with a sigh at an envelope which lay upon her dressing-table. Yes, +there lay Willoughby, curt, inexpressive, perpetually jocular, robbing a whole +continent of mystery, enquiring after his daughter’s manners and +morals—hoping she wasn’t a bore, and bidding them pack her off to +him on board the very next ship if she were—and then grateful and +affectionate with suppressed emotion, and then half a page about his own +triumphs over wretched little natives who went on strike and refused to load +his ships, until he roared English oaths at them, “popping my head out of +the window just as I was, in my shirt sleeves. The beggars had the sense to +scatter.” +</p> + +<p> +“If Theresa married Willoughby,” she remarked, turning the page +with a hairpin, “one doesn’t see what’s to prevent +Rachel—” +</p> + +<p> +But Ridley was now off on grievances of his own connected with the washing of +his shirts, which somehow led to the frequent visits of Hughling Elliot, who +was a bore, a pedant, a dry stick of a man, and yet Ridley couldn’t +simply point at the door and tell him to go. The truth of it was, they saw too +many people. And so on and so on, more conjugal talk pattering softly and +unintelligibly, until they were both ready to go down to tea. +</p> + +<p> +The first thing that caught Helen’s eye as she came downstairs was a +carriage at the door, filled with skirts and feathers nodding on the tops of +hats. She had only time to gain the drawing-room before two names were oddly +mispronounced by the Spanish maid, and Mrs. Thornbury came in slightly in +advance of Mrs. Wilfrid Flushing. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Wilfrid Flushing,” said Mrs. Thornbury, with a wave of her +hand. “A friend of our common friend Mrs. Raymond Parry.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Flushing shook hands energetically. She was a woman of forty perhaps, very +well set up and erect, splendidly robust, though not as tall as the upright +carriage of her body made her appear. +</p> + +<p> +She looked Helen straight in the face and said, “You have a +charmin’ house.” +</p> + +<p> +She had a strongly marked face, her eyes looked straight at you, and though +naturally she was imperious in her manner she was nervous at the same time. +Mrs. Thornbury acted as interpreter, making things smooth all round by a series +of charming commonplace remarks. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve taken it upon myself, Mr. Ambrose,” she said, “to +promise that you will be so kind as to give Mrs. Flushing the benefit of your +experience. I’m sure no one here knows the country as well as you do. No +one takes such wonderful long walks. No one, I’m sure, has your +encyclopaedic knowledge upon every subject. Mr. Wilfrid Flushing is a +collector. He has discovered really beautiful things already. I had no notion +that the peasants were so artistic—though of course in the +past—” +</p> + +<p> +“Not old things—new things,” interrupted Mrs. Flushing +curtly. “That is, if he takes my advice.” +</p> + +<p> +The Ambroses had not lived for many years in London without knowing something +of a good many people, by name at least, and Helen remembered hearing of the +Flushings. Mr. Flushing was a man who kept an old furniture shop; he had always +said he would not marry because most women have red cheeks, and would not take +a house because most houses have narrow staircases, and would not eat meat +because most animals bleed when they are killed; and then he had married an +eccentric aristocratic lady, who certainly was not pale, who looked as if she +ate meat, who had forced him to do all the things he most disliked—and +this then was the lady. Helen looked at her with interest. They had moved out +into the garden, where the tea was laid under a tree, and Mrs. Flushing was +helping herself to cherry jam. She had a peculiar jerking movement of the body +when she spoke, which caused the canary-coloured plume on her hat to jerk too. +Her small but finely-cut and vigorous features, together with the deep red of +lips and cheeks, pointed to many generations of well-trained and well-nourished +ancestors behind her. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothin’ that’s more than twenty years old interests +me,” she continued. “Mouldy old pictures, dirty old books, they +stick ’em in museums when they’re only fit for +burnin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“I quite agree,” Helen laughed. “But my husband spends his +life in digging up manuscripts which nobody wants.” She was amused by +Ridley’s expression of startled disapproval. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a clever man in London called John who paints ever so much +better than the old masters,” Mrs. Flushing continued. “His +pictures excite me—nothin’ that’s old excites me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But even his pictures will become old,” Mrs. Thornbury intervened. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll have ’em burnt, or I’ll put it in my +will,” said Mrs. Flushing. +</p> + +<p> +“And Mrs. Flushing lived in one of the most beautiful old houses in +England—Chillingley,” Mrs. Thornbury explained to the rest of them. +</p> + +<p> +“If I’d my way I’d burn that to-morrow,” Mrs. Flushing +laughed. She had a laugh like the cry of a jay, at once startling and joyless. +</p> + +<p> +“What does any sane person want with those great big houses?” she +demanded. “If you go downstairs after dark you’re covered with +black beetles, and the electric lights always goin’ out. What would you +do if spiders came out of the tap when you turned on the hot water?” she +demanded, fixing her eye on Helen. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Ambrose shrugged her shoulders with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“This is what I like,” said Mrs. Flushing. She jerked her head at +the Villa. “A little house in a garden. I had one once in Ireland. One +could lie in bed in the mornin’ and pick roses outside the window with +one’s toes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the gardeners, weren’t they surprised?” Mrs. Thornbury +enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“There were no gardeners,” Mrs. Flushing chuckled. “Nobody +but me and an old woman without any teeth. You know the poor in Ireland lose +their teeth after they’re twenty. But you wouldn’t expect a +politician to understand that—Arthur Balfour wouldn’t understand +that.” +</p> + +<p> +Ridley sighed that he never expected any one to understand anything, least of +all politicians. +</p> + +<p> +“However,” he concluded, “there’s one advantage I find +in extreme old age—nothing matters a hang except one’s food and +one’s digestion. All I ask is to be left alone to moulder away in +solitude. It’s obvious that the world’s going as fast as it can +to—the Nethermost Pit, and all I can do is to sit still and consume as +much of my own smoke as possible.” He groaned, and with a melancholy +glance laid the jam on his bread, for he felt the atmosphere of this abrupt +lady distinctly unsympathetic. +</p> + +<p> +“I always contradict my husband when he says that,” said Mrs. +Thornbury sweetly. “You men! Where would you be if it weren’t for +the women!” +</p> + +<p> +“Read the <i>Symposium</i>,” said Ridley grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Symposium</i>?” cried Mrs. Flushing. “That’s Latin +or Greek? Tell me, is there a good translation?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Ridley. “You will have to learn Greek.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Flushing cried, “Ah, ah, ah! I’d rather break stones in the +road. I always envy the men who break stones and sit on those nice little heaps +all day wearin’ spectacles. I’d infinitely rather break stones than +clean out poultry runs, or feed the cows, or—” +</p> + +<p> +Here Rachel came up from the lower garden with a book in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that book?” said Ridley, when she had shaken hands. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Gibbon,” said Rachel as she sat down. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire</i>?” said Mrs. +Thornbury. “A very wonderful book, I know. My dear father was always +quoting it at us, with the result that we resolved never to read a line.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gibbon the historian?” enquired Mrs. Flushing. “I connect +him with some of the happiest hours of my life. We used to lie in bed and read +Gibbon—about the massacres of the Christians, I remember—when we +were supposed to be asleep. It’s no joke, I can tell you, readin’ a +great big book, in double columns, by a night-light, and the light that comes +through a chink in the door. Then there were the moths—tiger moths, +yellow moths, and horrid cockchafers. Louisa, my sister, would have the window +open. I wanted it shut. We fought every night of our lives over that window. +Have you ever seen a moth dyin’ in a night-light?” she enquired. +</p> + +<p> +Again there was an interruption. Hewet and Hirst appeared at the drawing-room +window and came up to the tea-table. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel’s heart beat hard. She was conscious of an extraordinary intensity +in everything, as though their presence stripped some cover off the surface of +things; but the greetings were remarkably commonplace. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me,” said Hirst, rising from his chair directly he had sat +down. He went into the drawing-room, and returned with a cushion which he +placed carefully upon his seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Rheumatism,” he remarked, as he sat down for the second time. +</p> + +<p> +“The result of the dance?” Helen enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Whenever I get at all run down I tend to be rheumatic,” Hirst +stated. He bent his wrist back sharply. “I hear little pieces of chalk +grinding together!” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel looked at him. She was amused, and yet she was respectful; if such a +thing could be, the upper part of her face seemed to laugh, and the lower part +to check its laughter. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet picked up the book that lay on the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“You like this?” he asked in an undertone. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t like it,” she replied. She had indeed been +trying all the afternoon to read it, and for some reason the glory which she +had perceived at first had faded, and, read as she would, she could not grasp +the meaning with her mind. +</p> + +<p> +“It goes round, round, round, like a roll of oil-cloth,” she +hazarded. Evidently she meant Hewet alone to hear her words, but Hirst +demanded, “What d’you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +She was instantly ashamed of her figure of speech, for she could not explain it +in words of sober criticism. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely it’s the most perfect style, so far as style goes, +that’s ever been invented,” he continued. “Every sentence is +practically perfect, and the wit—” +</p> + +<p> +“Ugly in body, repulsive in mind,” she thought, instead of thinking +about Gibbon’s style. “Yes, but strong, searching, unyielding in +mind.” She looked at his big head, a disproportionate part of which was +occupied by the forehead, and at the direct, severe eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I give you up in despair,” he said. He meant it lightly, but she +took it seriously, and believed that her value as a human being was lessened +because she did not happen to admire the style of Gibbon. The others were +talking now in a group about the native villages which Mrs. Flushing ought to +visit. +</p> + +<p> +“I despair too,” she said impetuously. “How are you going to +judge people merely by their minds?” +</p> + +<p> +“You agree with my spinster Aunt, I expect,” said St. John in his +jaunty manner, which was always irritating because it made the person he talked +to appear unduly clumsy and in earnest. “‘Be good, sweet +maid’—I thought Mr. Kingsley and my Aunt were now obsolete.” +</p> + +<p> +“One can be very nice without having read a book,” she asserted. +Very silly and simple her words sounded, and laid her open to derision. +</p> + +<p> +“Did I ever deny it?” Hirst enquired, raising his eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +Most unexpectedly Mrs. Thornbury here intervened, either because it was her +mission to keep things smooth or because she had long wished to speak to Mr. +Hirst, feeling as she did that young men were her sons. +</p> + +<p> +“I have lived all my life with people like your Aunt, Mr. Hirst,” +she said, leaning forward in her chair. Her brown squirrel-like eyes became +even brighter than usual. “They have never heard of Gibbon. They only +care for their pheasants and their peasants. They are great big men who look so +fine on horseback, as people must have done, I think, in the days of the great +wars. Say what you like against them—they are animal, they are +unintellectual; they don’t read themselves, and they don’t want +others to read, but they are some of the finest and the kindest human beings on +the face of the earth! You would be surprised at some of the stories I could +tell. You have never guessed, perhaps, at all the romances that go on in the +heart of the country. There are the people, I feel, among whom Shakespeare will +be born if he is ever born again. In those old houses, up among the +Downs—” +</p> + +<p> +“My Aunt,” Hirst interrupted, “spends her life in East +Lambeth among the degraded poor. I only quoted my Aunt because she is inclined +to persecute people she calls ‘intellectual,’ which is what I +suspect Miss Vinrace of doing. It’s all the fashion now. If you’re +clever it’s always taken for granted that you’re completely without +sympathy, understanding, affection—all the things that really matter. Oh, +you Christians! You’re the most conceited, patronising, hypocritical set +of old humbugs in the kingdom! Of course,” he continued, “I’m +the first to allow your country gentlemen great merits. For one thing, +they’re probably quite frank about their passions, which we are not. My +father, who is a clergyman in Norfolk, says that there is hardly a squire in +the country who does not—” +</p> + +<p> +“But about Gibbon?” Hewet interrupted. The look of nervous tension +which had come over every face was relaxed by the interruption. +</p> + +<p> +“You find him monotonous, I suppose. But you know—” He opened +the book, and began searching for passages to read aloud, and in a little time +he found a good one which he considered suitable. But there was nothing in the +world that bored Ridley more than being read aloud to, and he was besides +scrupulously fastidious as to the dress and behaviour of ladies. In the space +of fifteen minutes he had decided against Mrs. Flushing on the ground that her +orange plume did not suit her complexion, that she spoke too loud, that she +crossed her legs, and finally, when he saw her accept a cigarette that Hewet +offered her, he jumped up, exclaiming something about “bar +parlours,” and left them. Mrs. Flushing was evidently relieved by his +departure. She puffed her cigarette, stuck her legs out, and examined Helen +closely as to the character and reputation of their common friend Mrs. Raymond +Parry. By a series of little strategems she drove her to define Mrs. Parry as +somewhat elderly, by no means beautiful, very much made up—an insolent +old harridan, in short, whose parties were amusing because one met odd people; +but Helen herself always pitied poor Mr. Parry, who was understood to be shut +up downstairs with cases full of gems, while his wife enjoyed herself in the +drawing-room. “Not that I believe what people say against +her—although she hints, of course—” Upon which Mrs. Flushing +cried out with delight: +</p> + +<p> +“She’s my first cousin! Go on—go on!” +</p> + +<p> +When Mrs. Flushing rose to go she was obviously delighted with her new +acquaintances. She made three or four different plans for meeting or going on +an expedition, or showing Helen the things they had bought, on her way to the +carriage. She included them all in a vague but magnificent invitation. +</p> + +<p> +As Helen returned to the garden again, Ridley’s words of warning came +into her head, and she hesitated a moment and looked at Rachel sitting between +Hirst and Hewet. But she could draw no conclusions, for Hewet was still reading +Gibbon aloud, and Rachel, for all the expression she had, might have been a +shell, and his words water rubbing against her ears, as water rubs a shell on +the edge of a rock. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet’s voice was very pleasant. When he reached the end of the period +Hewet stopped, and no one volunteered any criticism. +</p> + +<p> +“I do adore the aristocracy!” Hirst exclaimed after a +moment’s pause. “They’re so amazingly unscrupulous. None of +us would dare to behave as that woman behaves.” +</p> + +<p> +“What I like about them,” said Helen as she sat down, “is +that they’re so well put together. Naked, Mrs. Flushing would be superb. +Dressed as she dresses, it’s absurd, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Hirst. A shade of depression crossed his face. +“I’ve never weighed more than ten stone in my life,” he said, +“which is ridiculous, considering my height, and I’ve actually gone +down in weight since we came here. I daresay that accounts for the +rheumatism.” Again he jerked his wrist back sharply, so that Helen might +hear the grinding of the chalk stones. She could not help smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no laughing matter for me, I assure you,” he protested. +“My mother’s a chronic invalid, and I’m always expecting to +be told that I’ve got heart disease myself. Rheumatism always goes to the +heart in the end.” +</p> + +<p> +“For goodness’ sake, Hirst,” Hewet protested; “one +might think you were an old cripple of eighty. If it comes to that, I had an +aunt who died of cancer myself, but I put a bold face on it—” He +rose and began tilting his chair backwards and forwards on its hind legs. +“Is any one here inclined for a walk?” he said. +“There’s a magnificent walk, up behind the house. You come out on +to a cliff and look right down into the sea. The rocks are all red; you can see +them through the water. The other day I saw a sight that fairly took my breath +away—about twenty jelly-fish, semi-transparent, pink, with long +streamers, floating on the top of the waves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure they weren’t mermaids?” said Hirst. “It’s +much too hot to climb uphill.” He looked at Helen, who showed no signs of +moving. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it’s too hot,” Helen decided. +</p> + +<p> +There was a short silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to come,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“But she might have said that anyhow,” Helen thought to herself as +Hewet and Rachel went away together, and Helen was left alone with St. John, to +St. John’s obvious satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +He may have been satisfied, but his usual difficulty in deciding that one +subject was more deserving of notice than another prevented him from speaking +for some time. He sat staring intently at the head of a dead match, while Helen +considered—so it seemed from the expression of her eyes—something +not closely connected with the present moment. +</p> + +<p> +At last St. John exclaimed, “Damn! Damn everything! Damn +everybody!” he added. “At Cambridge there are people to talk +to.” +</p> + +<p> +“At Cambridge there are people to talk to,” Helen echoed him, +rhythmically and absent-mindedly. Then she woke up. “By the way, have you +settled what you’re going to do—is it to be Cambridge or the +Bar?” +</p> + +<p> +He pursed his lips, but made no immediate answer, for Helen was still slightly +inattentive. She had been thinking about Rachel and which of the two young men +she was likely to fall in love with, and now sitting opposite to Hirst she +thought, “He’s ugly. It’s a pity they’re so +ugly.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not include Hewet in this criticism; she was thinking of the clever, +honest, interesting young men she knew, of whom Hirst was a good example, and +wondering whether it was necessary that thought and scholarship should thus +maltreat their bodies, and should thus elevate their minds to a very high tower +from which the human race appeared to them like rats and mice squirming on the +flat. +</p> + +<p> +“And the future?” she reflected, vaguely envisaging a race of men +becoming more and more like Hirst, and a race of women becoming more and more +like Rachel. “Oh no,” she concluded, glancing at him, “one +wouldn’t marry you. Well, then, the future of the race is in the hands of +Susan and Arthur; no—that’s dreadful. Of farm labourers; +no—not of the English at all, but of Russians and Chinese.” This +train of thought did not satisfy her, and was interrupted by St. John, who +began again: +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you knew Bennett. He’s the greatest man in the +world.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bennett?” she enquired. Becoming more at ease, St. John dropped +the concentrated abruptness of his manner, and explained that Bennett was a man +who lived in an old windmill six miles out of Cambridge. He lived the perfect +life, according to St. John, very lonely, very simple, caring only for the +truth of things, always ready to talk, and extraordinarily modest, though his +mind was of the greatest. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think,” said St. John, when he had done describing +him, “that kind of thing makes this kind of thing rather flimsy? Did you +notice at tea how poor old Hewet had to change the conversation? How they were +all ready to pounce upon me because they thought I was going to say something +improper? It wasn’t anything, really. If Bennett had been there +he’d have said exactly what he meant to say, or he’d have got up +and gone. But there’s something rather bad for the character in +that—I mean if one hasn’t got Bennett’s character. It’s +inclined to make one bitter. Should you say that I was bitter?” +</p> + +<p> +Helen did not answer, and he continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I am, disgustingly bitter, and it’s a beastly thing to +be. But the worst of me is that I’m so envious. I envy every one. I +can’t endure people who do things better than I do—perfectly absurd +things too—waiters balancing piles of plates—even Arthur, because +Susan’s in love with him. I want people to like me, and they don’t. +It’s partly my appearance, I expect,” he continued, “though +it’s an absolute lie to say I’ve Jewish blood in me—as a +matter of fact we’ve been in Norfolk, Hirst of Hirstbourne Hall, for +three centuries at least. It must be awfully soothing to be like +you—every one liking one at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“I assure you they don’t,” Helen laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“They do,” said Hirst with conviction. “In the first place, +you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen; in the second, you +have an exceptionally nice nature.” +</p> + +<p> +If Hirst had looked at her instead of looking intently at his teacup he would +have seen Helen blush, partly with pleasure, partly with an impulse of +affection towards the young man who had seemed, and would seem again, so ugly +and so limited. She pitied him, for she suspected that he suffered, and she was +interested in him, for many of the things he said seemed to her true; she +admired the morality of youth, and yet she felt imprisoned. As if her instinct +were to escape to something brightly coloured and impersonal, which she could +hold in her hands, she went into the house and returned with her embroidery. +But he was not interested in her embroidery; he did not even look at it. +</p> + +<p> +“About Miss Vinrace,” he began,—“oh, look here, do +let’s be St. John and Helen, and Rachel and Terence—what’s +she like? Does she reason, does she feel, or is she merely a kind of +footstool?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no,” said Helen, with great decision. From her observations at +tea she was inclined to doubt whether Hirst was the person to educate Rachel. +She had gradually come to be interested in her niece, and fond of her; she +disliked some things about her very much, she was amused by others; but she +felt her, on the whole, a live if unformed human being, experimental, and not +always fortunate in her experiments, but with powers of some kind, and a +capacity for feeling. Somewhere in the depths of her, too, she was bound to +Rachel by the indestructible if inexplicable ties of sex. “She seems +vague, but she’s a will of her own,” she said, as if in the +interval she had run through her qualities. +</p> + +<p> +The embroidery, which was a matter for thought, the design being difficult and +the colours wanting consideration, brought lapses into the dialogue when she +seemed to be engrossed in her skeins of silk, or, with head a little drawn back +and eyes narrowed, considered the effect of the whole. Thus she merely said, +“Um-m-m” to St. John’s next remark, “I shall ask her to +go for a walk with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps he resented this division of attention. He sat silent watching Helen +closely. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re absolutely happy,” he proclaimed at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” Helen enquired, sticking in her needle. +</p> + +<p> +“Marriage, I suppose,” said St. John. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Helen, gently drawing her needle out. +</p> + +<p> +“Children?” St. John enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Helen, sticking her needle in again. “I +don’t know why I’m happy,” she suddenly laughed, looking him +full in the face. There was a considerable pause. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s an abyss between us,” said St. John. His voice +sounded as if it issued from the depths of a cavern in the rocks. +“You’re infinitely simpler than I am. Women always are, of course. +That’s the difficulty. One never knows how a woman gets there. Supposing +all the time you’re thinking, ‘Oh, what a morbid young +man!’” +</p> + +<p> +Helen sat and looked at him with her needle in her hand. From her position she +saw his head in front of the dark pyramid of a magnolia-tree. With one foot +raised on the rung of a chair, and her elbow out in the attitude for sewing, +her own figure possessed the sublimity of a woman’s of the early world, +spinning the thread of fate—the sublimity possessed by many women of the +present day who fall into the attitude required by scrubbing or sewing. St. +John looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you’ve never paid any a compliment in the course of your +life,” he said irrelevantly. +</p> + +<p> +“I spoil Ridley rather,” Helen considered. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to ask you point blank—do you like me?” +</p> + +<p> +After a certain pause, she replied, “Yes, certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God!” he exclaimed. “That’s one mercy. You +see,” he continued with emotion, “I’d rather you liked me +than any one I’ve ever met.” +</p> + +<p> +“What about the five philosophers?” said Helen, with a laugh, +stitching firmly and swiftly at her canvas. “I wish you’d describe +them.” +</p> + +<p> +Hirst had no particular wish to describe them, but when he began to consider +them he found himself soothed and strengthened. Far away on the other side of +the world as they were, in smoky rooms, and grey medieval courts, they appeared +remarkable figures, free-spoken men with whom one could be at ease; +incomparably more subtle in emotion than the people here. They gave him, +certainly, what no woman could give him, not Helen even. Warming at the thought +of them, he went on to lay his case before Mrs. Ambrose. Should he stay on at +Cambridge or should he go to the Bar? One day he thought one thing, another day +another. Helen listened attentively. At last, without any preface, she +pronounced her decision. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave Cambridge and go to the Bar,” she said. He pressed her for +her reasons. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you’d enjoy London more,” she said. It did not seem +a very subtle reason, but she appeared to think it sufficient. She looked at +him against the background of flowering magnolia. There was something curious +in the sight. Perhaps it was that the heavy wax-like flowers were so smooth and +inarticulate, and his face—he had thrown his hat away, his hair was +rumpled, he held his eye-glasses in his hand, so that a red mark appeared on +either side of his nose—was so worried and garrulous. It was a beautiful +bush, spreading very widely, and all the time she had sat there talking she had +been noticing the patches of shade and the shape of the leaves, and the way the +great white flowers sat in the midst of the green. She had noticed it +half-consciously, nevertheless the pattern had become part of their talk. She +laid down her sewing, and began to walk up and down the garden, and Hirst rose +too and paced by her side. He was rather disturbed, uncomfortable, and full of +thought. Neither of them spoke. +</p> + +<p> +The sun was beginning to go down, and a change had come over the mountains, as +if they were robbed of their earthly substance, and composed merely of intense +blue mist. Long thin clouds of flamingo red, with edges like the edges of +curled ostrich feathers, lay up and down the sky at different altitudes. The +roofs of the town seemed to have sunk lower than usual; the cypresses appeared +very black between the roofs, and the roofs themselves were brown and white. As +usual in the evening, single cries and single bells became audible rising from +beneath. +</p> + +<p> +St. John stopped suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you must take the responsibility,” he said. +“I’ve made up my mind; I shall go to the Bar.” +</p> + +<p> +His words were very serious, almost emotional; they recalled Helen after a +second’s hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure you’re right,” she said warmly, and shook the +hand he held out. “You’ll be a great man, I’m certain.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as if to make him look at the scene, she swept her hand round the immense +circumference of the view. From the sea, over the roofs of the town, across the +crests of the mountains, over the river and the plain, and again across the +crests of the mountains it swept until it reached the villa, the garden, the +magnolia-tree, and the figures of Hirst and herself standing together, when it +dropped to her side. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<p> +Hewet and Rachel had long ago reached the particular place on the edge of the +cliff where, looking down into the sea, you might chance on jelly-fish and +dolphins. Looking the other way, the vast expanse of land gave them a sensation +which is given by no view, however extended, in England; the villages and the +hills there having names, and the farthest horizon of hills as often as not +dipping and showing a line of mist which is the sea; here the view was one of +infinite sun-dried earth, earth pointed in pinnacles, heaped in vast barriers, +earth widening and spreading away and away like the immense floor of the sea, +earth chequered by day and by night, and partitioned into different lands, +where famous cities were founded, and the races of men changed from dark +savages to white civilised men, and back to dark savages again. Perhaps their +English blood made this prospect uncomfortably impersonal and hostile to them, +for having once turned their faces that way they next turned them to the sea, +and for the rest of the time sat looking at the sea. The sea, though it was a +thin and sparkling water here, which seemed incapable of surge or anger, +eventually narrowed itself, clouded its pure tint with grey, and swirled +through narrow channels and dashed in a shiver of broken waters against massive +granite rocks. It was this sea that flowed up to the mouth of the Thames; and +the Thames washed the roots of the city of London. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet’s thoughts had followed some such course as this, for the first +thing he said as they stood on the edge of the cliff was— +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to be in England!” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel lay down on her elbow, and parted the tall grasses which grew on the +edge, so that she might have a clear view. The water was very calm; rocking up +and down at the base of the cliff, and so clear that one could see the red of +the stones at the bottom of it. So it had been at the birth of the world, and +so it had remained ever since. Probably no human being had ever broken that +water with boat or with body. Obeying some impulse, she determined to mar that +eternity of peace, and threw the largest pebble she could find. It struck the +water, and the ripples spread out and out. Hewet looked down too. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s wonderful,” he said, as they widened and ceased. The +freshness and the newness seemed to him wonderful. He threw a pebble next. +There was scarcely any sound. +</p> + +<p> +“But England,” Rachel murmured in the absorbed tone of one whose +eyes are concentrated upon some sight. “What d’you want with +England?” +</p> + +<p> +“My friends chiefly,” he said, “and all the things one +does.” +</p> + +<p> +He could look at Rachel without her noticing it. She was still absorbed in the +water and the exquisitely pleasant sensations which a little depth of the sea +washing over rocks suggests. He noticed that she was wearing a dress of deep +blue colour, made of a soft thin cotton stuff, which clung to the shape of her +body. It was a body with the angles and hollows of a young woman’s body +not yet developed, but in no way distorted, and thus interesting and even +lovable. Raising his eyes Hewet observed her head; she had taken her hat off, +and the face rested on her hand. As she looked down into the sea, her lips were +slightly parted. The expression was one of childlike intentness, as if she were +watching for a fish to swim past over the clear red rocks. Nevertheless her +twenty-four years of life had given her a look of reserve. Her hand, which lay +on the ground, the fingers curling slightly in, was well shaped and competent; +the square-tipped and nervous fingers were the fingers of a musician. With +something like anguish Hewet realised that, far from being unattractive, her +body was very attractive to him. She looked up suddenly. Her eyes were full of +eagerness and interest. +</p> + +<p> +“You write novels?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +For the moment he could not think what he was saying. He was overcome with the +desire to hold her in his arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes,” he said. “That is, I want to write them.” +</p> + +<p> +She would not take her large grey eyes off his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Novels,” she repeated. “Why do you write novels? You ought +to write music. Music, you see”—she shifted her eyes, and became +less desirable as her brain began to work, inflicting a certain change upon her +face—“music goes straight for things. It says all there is to say +at once. With writing it seems to me there’s so much”—she +paused for an expression, and rubbed her fingers in the +earth—“scratching on the matchbox. Most of the time when I was +reading Gibbon this afternoon I was horribly, oh infernally, damnably +bored!” She gave a shake of laughter, looking at Hewet, who laughed too. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> shan’t lend you books,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Why is it,” Rachel continued, “that I can laugh at Mr. Hirst +to you, but not to his face? At tea I was completely overwhelmed, not by his +ugliness—by his mind.” She enclosed a circle in the air with her +hands. She realised with a great sense of comfort how easily she could talk to +Hewet, those thorns or ragged corners which tear the surface of some +relationships being smoothed away. +</p> + +<p> +“So I observed,” said Hewet. “That’s a thing that never +ceases to amaze me.” He had recovered his composure to such an extent +that he could light and smoke a cigarette, and feeling her ease, became happy +and easy himself. +</p> + +<p> +“The respect that women, even well-educated, very able women, have for +men,” he went on. “I believe we must have the sort of power over +you that we’re said to have over horses. They see us three times as big +as we are or they’d never obey us. For that very reason, I’m +inclined to doubt that you’ll ever do anything even when you have the +vote.” He looked at her reflectively. She appeared very smooth and +sensitive and young. “It’ll take at least six generations before +you’re sufficiently thick-skinned to go into law courts and business +offices. Consider what a bully the ordinary man is,” he continued, +“the ordinary hard-working, rather ambitious solicitor or man of business +with a family to bring up and a certain position to maintain. And then, of +course, the daughters have to give way to the sons; the sons have to be +educated; they have to bully and shove for their wives and families, and so it +all comes over again. And meanwhile there are the women in the background. . . +. Do you really think that the vote will do you any good?” +</p> + +<p> +“The vote?” Rachel repeated. She had to visualise it as a little +bit of paper which she dropped into a box before she understood his question, +and looking at each other they smiled at something absurd in the question. +</p> + +<p> +“Not to me,” she said. “But I play the piano. . . . Are men +really like that?” she asked, returning to the question that interested +her. “I’m not afraid of you.” She looked at him easily. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m different,” Hewet replied. “I’ve got +between six and seven hundred a year of my own. And then no one takes a +novelist seriously, thank heavens. There’s no doubt it helps to make up +for the drudgery of a profession if a man’s taken very, very seriously by +every one—if he gets appointments, and has offices and a title, and lots +of letters after his name, and bits of ribbon and degrees. I don’t grudge +it ’em, though sometimes it comes over me—what an amazing +concoction! What a miracle the masculine conception of life is—judges, +civil servants, army, navy, Houses of Parliament, lord mayors—what a +world we’ve made of it! Look at Hirst now. I assure you,” he said, +“not a day’s passed since we came here without a discussion as to +whether he’s to stay on at Cambridge or to go to the Bar. It’s his +career—his sacred career. And if I’ve heard it twenty times, +I’m sure his mother and sister have heard it five hundred times. +Can’t you imagine the family conclaves, and the sister told to run out +and feed the rabbits because St. John must have the school-room to +himself—‘St. John’s working,’ ‘St. John wants his +tea brought to him.’ Don’t you know the kind of thing? No wonder +that St. John thinks it a matter of considerable importance. It is too. He has +to earn his living. But St. John’s sister—” Hewet puffed in +silence. “No one takes her seriously, poor dear. She feeds the +rabbits.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Rachel. “I’ve fed rabbits for twenty-four +years; it seems odd now.” She looked meditative, and Hewet, who had been +talking much at random and instinctively adopting the feminine point of view, +saw that she would now talk about herself, which was what he wanted, for so +they might come to know each other. +</p> + +<p> +She looked back meditatively upon her past life. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you spend your day?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +She meditated still. When she thought of their day it seemed to her it was cut +into four pieces by their meals. These divisions were absolutely rigid, the +contents of the day having to accommodate themselves within the four rigid +bars. Looking back at her life, that was what she saw. +</p> + +<p> +“Breakfast nine; luncheon one; tea five; dinner eight,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Hewet, “what d’you do in the +morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“I need to play the piano for hours and hours.” +</p> + +<p> +“And after luncheon?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I went shopping with one of my aunts. Or we went to see some one, +or we took a message; or we did something that had to be done—the taps +might be leaking. They visit the poor a good deal—old char-women with bad +legs, women who want tickets for hospitals. Or I used to walk in the park by +myself. And after tea people sometimes called; or in summer we sat in the +garden or played croquet; in winter I read aloud, while they worked; after +dinner I played the piano and they wrote letters. If father was at home we had +friends of his to dinner, and about once a month we went up to the play. Every +now and then we dined out; sometimes I went to a dance in London, but that was +difficult because of getting back. The people we saw were old family friends, +and relations, but we didn’t see many people. There was the clergyman, +Mr. Pepper, and the Hunts. Father generally wanted to be quiet when he came +home, because he works very hard at Hull. Also my aunts aren’t very +strong. A house takes up a lot of time if you do it properly. Our servants were +always bad, and so Aunt Lucy used to do a good deal in the kitchen, and Aunt +Clara, I think, spent most of the morning dusting the drawing-room and going +through the linen and silver. Then there were the dogs. They had to be +exercised, besides being washed and brushed. Now Sandy’s dead, but Aunt +Clara has a very old cockatoo that came from India. Everything in our +house,” she exclaimed, “comes from somewhere! It’s full of +old furniture, not really old, Victorian, things mother’s family had or +father’s family had, which they didn’t like to get rid of, I +suppose, though we’ve really no room for them. It’s rather a nice +house,” she continued, “except that it’s a little +dingy—dull I should say.” She called up before her eyes a vision of +the drawing-room at home; it was a large oblong room, with a square window +opening on the garden. Green plush chairs stood against the wall; there was a +heavy carved book-case, with glass doors, and a general impression of faded +sofa covers, large spaces of pale green, and baskets with pieces of wool-work +dropping out of them. Photographs from old Italian masterpieces hung on the +walls, and views of Venetian bridges and Swedish waterfalls which members of +the family had seen years ago. There were also one or two portraits of fathers +and grandmothers, and an engraving of John Stuart Mill, after the picture by +Watts. It was a room without definite character, being neither typically and +openly hideous, nor strenuously artistic, nor really comfortable. Rachel roused +herself from the contemplation of this familiar picture. +</p> + +<p> +“But this isn’t very interesting for you,” she said, looking +up. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” Hewet exclaimed. “I’ve never been so much +interested in my life.” She then realised that while she had been +thinking of Richmond, his eyes had never left her face. The knowledge of this +excited her. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, please go on,” he urged. “Let’s imagine +it’s a Wednesday. You’re all at luncheon. You sit there, and Aunt +Lucy there, and Aunt Clara here”; he arranged three pebbles on the grass +between them. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Clara carves the neck of lamb,” Rachel continued. She fixed +her gaze upon the pebbles. “There’s a very ugly yellow china stand +in front of me, called a dumb waiter, on which are three dishes, one for +biscuits, one for butter, and one for cheese. There’s a pot of ferns. +Then there’s Blanche the maid, who snuffles because of her nose. We +talk—oh yes, it’s Aunt Lucy’s afternoon at Walworth, so +we’re rather quick over luncheon. She goes off. She has a purple bag, and +a black notebook. Aunt Clara has what they call a G.F.S. meeting in the +drawing-room on Wednesday, so I take the dogs out. I go up Richmond Hill, along +the terrace, into the park. It’s the 18th of April—the same day as +it is here. It’s spring in England. The ground is rather damp. However, I +cross the road and get on to the grass and we walk along, and I sing as I +always do when I’m alone, until we come to the open place where you can +see the whole of London beneath you on a clear day. Hampstead Church spire +there, Westminster Cathedral over there, and factory chimneys about here. +There’s generally a haze over the low parts of London; but it’s +often blue over the park when London’s in a mist. It’s the open +place that the balloons cross going over to Hurlingham. They’re pale +yellow. Well, then, it smells very good, particularly if they happen to be +burning wood in the keeper’s lodge which is there. I could tell you now +how to get from place to place, and exactly what trees you’d pass, and +where you’d cross the roads. You see, I played there when I was small. +Spring is good, but it’s best in the autumn when the deer are barking; +then it gets dusky, and I go back through the streets, and you can’t see +people properly; they come past very quick, you just see their faces and then +they’re gone—that’s what I like—and no one knows in the +least what you’re doing—” +</p> + +<p> +“But you have to be back for tea, I suppose?” Hewet checked her. +</p> + +<p> +“Tea? Oh yes. Five o’clock. Then I say what I’ve done, and my +aunts say what they’ve done, and perhaps some one comes in: Mrs. Hunt, +let’s suppose. She’s an old lady with a lame leg. She has or she +once had eight children; so we ask after them. They’re all over the +world; so we ask where they are, and sometimes they’re ill, or +they’re stationed in a cholera district, or in some place where it only +rains once in five months. Mrs. Hunt,” she said with a smile, “had +a son who was hugged to death by a bear.” +</p> + +<p> +Here she stopped and looked at Hewet to see whether he was amused by the same +things that amused her. She was reassured. But she thought it necessary to +apologise again; she had been talking too much. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t conceive how it interests me,” he said. Indeed, +his cigarette had gone out, and he had to light another. +</p> + +<p> +“Why does it interest you?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Partly because you’re a woman,” he replied. When he said +this, Rachel, who had become oblivious of anything, and had reverted to a +childlike state of interest and pleasure, lost her freedom and became +self-conscious. She felt herself at once singular and under observation, as she +felt with St. John Hirst. She was about to launch into an argument which would +have made them both feel bitterly against each other, and to define sensations +which had no such importance as words were bound to give them when Hewet led +her thoughts in a different direction. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve often walked along the streets where people live all in a +row, and one house is exactly like another house, and wondered what on earth +the women were doing inside,” he said. “Just consider: it’s +the beginning of the twentieth century, and until a few years ago no woman had +ever come out by herself and said things at all. There it was going on in the +background, for all those thousands of years, this curious silent unrepresented +life. Of course we’re always writing about women—abusing them, or +jeering at them, or worshipping them; but it’s never come from women +themselves. I believe we still don’t know in the least how they live, or +what they feel, or what they do precisely. If one’s a man, the only +confidences one gets are from young women about their love affairs. But the +lives of women of forty, of unmarried women, of working women, of women who +keep shops and bring up children, of women like your aunts or Mrs. Thornbury or +Miss Allan—one knows nothing whatever about them. They won’t tell +you. Either they’re afraid, or they’ve got a way of treating men. +It’s the man’s view that’s represented, you see. Think of a +railway train: fifteen carriages for men who want to smoke. Doesn’t it +make your blood boil? If I were a woman I’d blow some one’s brains +out. Don’t you laugh at us a great deal? Don’t you think it all a +great humbug? You, I mean—how does it all strike you?” +</p> + +<p> +His determination to know, while it gave meaning to their talk, hampered her; +he seemed to press further and further, and made it appear so important. She +took some time to answer, and during that time she went over and over the +course of her twenty-four years, lighting now on one point, now on +another—on her aunts, her mother, her father, and at last her mind fixed +upon her aunts and her father, and she tried to describe them as at this +distance they appeared to her. +</p> + +<p> +They were very much afraid of her father. He was a great dim force in the +house, by means of which they held on to the great world which is represented +every morning in the <i>Times</i>. But the real life of the house was something +quite different from this. It went on independently of Mr. Vinrace, and tended +to hide itself from him. He was good-humoured towards them, but contemptuous. +She had always taken it for granted that his point of view was just, and +founded upon an ideal scale of things where the life of one person was +absolutely more important than the life of another, and that in that scale they +were of much less importance than he was. But did she really believe that? +Hewet’s words made her think. She always submitted to her father, just as +they did, but it was her aunts who influenced her really; her aunts who built +up the fine, closely woven substance of their life at home. They were less +splendid but more natural than her father was. All her rages had been against +them; it was their world with its four meals, its punctuality, and servants on +the stairs at half-past ten, that she examined so closely and wanted so +vehemently to smash to atoms. Following these thoughts she looked up and said: +</p> + +<p> +“And there’s a sort of beauty in it—there they are at +Richmond at this very moment building things up. They’re all wrong, +perhaps, but there’s a sort of beauty in it,” she repeated. +“It’s so unconscious, so modest. And yet they feel things. They do +mind if people die. Old spinsters are always doing things. I don’t quite +know what they do. Only that was what I felt when I lived with them. It was +very real.” +</p> + +<p> +She reviewed their little journeys to and fro, to Walworth, to charwomen with +bad legs, to meetings for this and that, their minute acts of charity and +unselfishness which flowered punctually from a definite view of what they ought +to do, their friendships, their tastes and habits; she saw all these things +like grains of sand falling, falling through innumerable days, making an +atmosphere and building up a solid mass, a background. Hewet observed her as +she considered this. +</p> + +<p> +“Were you happy?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +Again she had become absorbed in something else, and he called her back to an +unusually vivid consciousness of herself. +</p> + +<p> +“I was both,” she replied. “I was happy and I was miserable. +You’ve no conception what it’s like—to be a young +woman.” She looked straight at him. “There are terrors and +agonies,” she said, keeping her eye on him as if to detect the slightest +hint of laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“I can believe it,” he said. He returned her look with perfect +sincerity. +</p> + +<p> +“Women one sees in the streets,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Prostitutes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Men kissing one.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded his head. +</p> + +<p> +“You were never told?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“And then,” she began and stopped. Here came in the great space of +life into which no one had ever penetrated. All that she had been saying about +her father and her aunts and walks in Richmond Park, and what they did from +hour to hour, was merely on the surface. Hewet was watching her. Did he demand +that she should describe that also? Why did he sit so near and keep his eye on +her? Why did they not have done with this searching and agony? Why did they not +kiss each other simply? She wished to kiss him. But all the time she went on +spinning out words. +</p> + +<p> +“A girl is more lonely than a boy. No one cares in the least what she +does. Nothing’s expected of her. Unless one’s very pretty people +don’t listen to what you say. . . . And that is what I like,” she +added energetically, as if the memory were very happy. “I like walking in +Richmond Park and singing to myself and knowing it doesn’t matter a damn +to anybody. I like seeing things go on—as we saw you that night when you +didn’t see us—I love the freedom of it—it’s like being +the wind or the sea.” She turned with a curious fling of her hands and +looked at the sea. It was still very blue, dancing away as far as the eye could +reach, but the light on it was yellower, and the clouds were turning flamingo +red. +</p> + +<p> +A feeling of intense depression crossed Hewet’s mind as she spoke. It +seemed plain that she would never care for one person rather than another; she +was evidently quite indifferent to him; they seemed to come very near, and then +they were as far apart as ever again; and her gesture as she turned away had +been oddly beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense,” he said abruptly. “You like people. You like +admiration. Your real grudge against Hirst is that he doesn’t admire +you.” +</p> + +<p> +She made no answer for some time. Then she said: +</p> + +<p> +“That’s probably true. Of course I like people—I like almost +every one I’ve ever met.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned her back on the sea and regarded Hewet with friendly if critical +eyes. He was good-looking in the sense that he had always had a sufficiency of +beef to eat and fresh air to breathe. His head was big; the eyes were also +large; though generally vague they could be forcible; and the lips were +sensitive. One might account him a man of considerable passion and fitful +energy, likely to be at the mercy of moods which had little relation to facts; +at once tolerant and fastidious. The breadth of his forehead showed capacity +for thought. The interest with which Rachel looked at him was heard in her +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“What novels do you write?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to write a novel about Silence,” he said; “the things +people don’t say. But the difficulty is immense.” He sighed. +“However, you don’t care,” he continued. He looked at her +almost severely. “Nobody cares. All you read a novel for is to see what +sort of person the writer is, and, if you know him, which of his friends +he’s put in. As for the novel itself, the whole conception, the way +one’s seen the thing, felt about it, make it stand in relation to other +things, not one in a million cares for that. And yet I sometimes wonder whether +there’s anything else in the whole world worth doing. These other +people,” he indicated the hotel, “are always wanting something they +can’t get. But there’s an extraordinary satisfaction in writing, +even in the attempt to write. What you said just now is true: one doesn’t +want to be things; one wants merely to be allowed to see them.” +</p> + +<p> +Some of the satisfaction of which he spoke came into his face as he gazed out +to sea. +</p> + +<p> +It was Rachel’s turn now to feel depressed. As he talked of writing he +had become suddenly impersonal. He might never care for any one; all that +desire to know her and get at her, which she had felt pressing on her almost +painfully, had completely vanished. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you a good writer?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said. “I’m not first-rate, of course; +I’m good second-rate; about as good as Thackeray, I should say.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel was amazed. For one thing it amazed her to hear Thackeray called +second-rate; and then she could not widen her point of view to believe that +there could be great writers in existence at the present day, or if there were, +that any one she knew could be a great writer, and his self-confidence +astounded her, and he became more and more remote. +</p> + +<p> +“My other novel,” Hewet continued, “is about a young man who +is obsessed by an idea—the idea of being a gentleman. He manages to exist +at Cambridge on a hundred pounds a year. He has a coat; it was once a very good +coat. But the trousers—they’re not so good. Well, he goes up to +London, gets into good society, owing to an early-morning adventure on the +banks of the Serpentine. He is led into telling lies—my idea, you see, is +to show the gradual corruption of the soul—calls himself the son of some +great landed proprietor in Devonshire. Meanwhile the coat becomes older and +older, and he hardly dares to wear the trousers. Can’t you imagine the +wretched man, after some splendid evening of debauchery, contemplating these +garments—hanging them over the end of the bed, arranging them now in full +light, now in shade, and wondering whether they will survive him, or he will +survive them? Thoughts of suicide cross his mind. He has a friend, too, a man +who somehow subsists upon selling small birds, for which he sets traps in the +fields near Uxbridge. They’re scholars, both of them. I know one or two +wretched starving creatures like that who quote Aristotle at you over a fried +herring and a pint of porter. Fashionable life, too, I have to represent at +some length, in order to show my hero under all circumstances. Lady Theo +Bingham Bingley, whose bay mare he had the good fortune to stop, is the +daughter of a very fine old Tory peer. I’m going to describe the kind of +parties I once went to—the fashionable intellectuals, you know, who like +to have the latest book on their tables. They give parties, river parties, +parties where you play games. There’s no difficulty in conceiving +incidents; the difficulty is to put them into shape—not to get run away +with, as Lady Theo was. It ended disastrously for her, poor woman, for the +book, as I planned it, was going to end in profound and sordid respectability. +Disowned by her father, she marries my hero, and they live in a snug little +villa outside Croydon, in which town he is set up as a house agent. He never +succeeds in becoming a real gentleman after all. That’s the interesting +part of it. Does it seem to you the kind of book you’d like to +read?” he enquired; “or perhaps you’d like my Stuart tragedy +better,” he continued, without waiting for her to answer him. “My +idea is that there’s a certain quality of beauty in the past, which the +ordinary historical novelist completely ruins by his absurd conventions. The +moon becomes the Regent of the Skies. People clap spurs to their horses, and so +on. I’m going to treat people as though they were exactly the same as we +are. The advantage is that, detached from modern conditions, one can make them +more intense and more abstract than people who live as we do.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel had listened to all this with attention, but with a certain amount of +bewilderment. They both sat thinking their own thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not like Hirst,” said Hewet, after a pause; he spoke +meditatively; “I don’t see circles of chalk between people’s +feet. I sometimes wish I did. It seems to me so tremendously complicated and +confused. One can’t come to any decision at all; one’s less and +less capable of making judgments. D’you find that? And then one never +knows what any one feels. We’re all in the dark. We try to find out, but +can you imagine anything more ludicrous than one person’s opinion of +another person? One goes along thinking one knows; but one really doesn’t +know.” +</p> + +<p> +As he said this he was leaning on his elbow arranging and rearranging in the +grass the stones which had represented Rachel and her aunts at luncheon. He was +speaking as much to himself as to Rachel. He was reasoning against the desire, +which had returned with intensity, to take her in his arms; to have done with +indirectness; to explain exactly what he felt. What he said was against his +belief; all the things that were important about her he knew; he felt them in +the air around them; but he said nothing; he went on arranging the stones. +</p> + +<p> +“I like you; d’you like me?” Rachel suddenly observed. +</p> + +<p> +“I like you immensely,” Hewet replied, speaking with the relief of +a person who is unexpectedly given an opportunity of saying what he wants to +say. He stopped moving the pebbles. +</p> + +<p> +“Mightn’t we call each other Rachel and Terence?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Terence,” Rachel repeated. “Terence—that’s like +the cry of an owl.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked up with a sudden rush of delight, and in looking at Terence with +eyes widened by pleasure she was struck by the change that had come over the +sky behind them. The substantial blue day had faded to a paler and more +ethereal blue; the clouds were pink, far away and closely packed together; and +the peace of evening had replaced the heat of the southern afternoon, in which +they had started on their walk. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be late!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly eight o’clock. +</p> + +<p> +“But eight o’clock doesn’t count here, does it?” +Terence asked, as they got up and turned inland again. They began to walk +rather quickly down the hill on a little path between the olive trees. +</p> + +<p> +They felt more intimate because they shared the knowledge of what eight +o’clock in Richmond meant. Terence walked in front, for there was not +room for them side by side. +</p> + +<p> +“What I want to do in writing novels is very much what you want to do +when you play the piano, I expect,” he began, turning and speaking over +his shoulder. “We want to find out what’s behind things, +don’t we?—Look at the lights down there,” he continued, +“scattered about anyhow. Things I feel come to me like lights. . . . I +want to combine them. . . . Have you ever seen fireworks that make figures? . . +. I want to make figures. . . . Is that what you want to do?” +</p> + +<p> +Now they were out on the road and could walk side by side. +</p> + +<p> +“When I play the piano? Music is different. . . . But I see what you +mean.” They tried to invent theories and to make their theories agree. As +Hewet had no knowledge of music, Rachel took his stick and drew figures in the +thin white dust to explain how Bach wrote his fugues. +</p> + +<p> +“My musical gift was ruined,” he explained, as they walked on after +one of these demonstrations, “by the village organist at home, who had +invented a system of notation which he tried to teach me, with the result that +I never got to the tune-playing at all. My mother thought music wasn’t +manly for boys; she wanted me to kill rats and birds—that’s the +worst of living in the country. We live in Devonshire. It’s the loveliest +place in the world. Only—it’s always difficult at home when +one’s grown up. I’d like you to know one of my sisters. . . . Oh, +here’s your gate—” He pushed it open. They paused for a +moment. She could not ask him to come in. She could not say that she hoped they +would meet again; there was nothing to be said, and so without a word she went +through the gate, and was soon invisible. Directly Hewet lost sight of her, he +felt the old discomfort return, even more strongly than before. Their talk had +been interrupted in the middle, just as he was beginning to say the things he +wanted to say. After all, what had they been able to say? He ran his mind over +the things they had said, the random, unnecessary things which had eddied round +and round and used up all the time, and drawn them so close together and flung +them so far apart, and left him in the end unsatisfied, ignorant still of what +she felt and of what she was like. What was the use of talking, talking, merely +talking? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<p> +It was now the height of the season, and every ship that came from England left +a few people on the shores of Santa Marina who drove up to the hotel. The fact +that the Ambroses had a house where one could escape momentarily from the +slightly inhuman atmosphere of an hotel was a source of genuine pleasure not +only to Hirst and Hewet, but to the Elliots, the Thornburys, the Flushings, +Miss Allan, Evelyn M., together with other people whose identity was so little +developed that the Ambroses did not discover that they possessed names. By +degrees there was established a kind of correspondence between the two houses, +the big and the small, so that at most hours of the day one house could guess +what was going on in the other, and the words “the villa” and +“the hotel” called up the idea of two separate systems of life. +Acquaintances showed signs of developing into friends, for that one tie to Mrs. +Parry’s drawing-room had inevitably split into many other ties attached +to different parts of England, and sometimes these alliances seemed cynically +fragile, and sometimes painfully acute, lacking as they did the supporting +background of organised English life. One night when the moon was round between +the trees, Evelyn M. told Helen the story of her life, and claimed her +everlasting friendship; on another occasion, merely because of a sigh, or a +pause, or a word thoughtlessly dropped, poor Mrs. Elliot left the villa half in +tears, vowing never again to meet the cold and scornful woman who had insulted +her, and in truth, meet again they never did. It did not seem worth while to +piece together so slight a friendship. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet, indeed, might have found excellent material at this time up at the villa +for some chapters in the novel which was to be called “Silence, or the +Things People don’t say.” Helen and Rachel had become very silent. +Having detected, as she thought, a secret, and judging that Rachel meant to +keep it from her, Mrs. Ambrose respected it carefully, but from that cause, +though unintentionally, a curious atmosphere of reserve grew up between them. +Instead of sharing their views upon all subjects, and plunging after an idea +wherever it might lead, they spoke chiefly in comment upon the people they saw, +and the secret between them made itself felt in what they said even of +Thornburys and Elliots. Always calm and unemotional in her judgments, Mrs. +Ambrose was now inclined to be definitely pessimistic. She was not severe upon +individuals so much as incredulous of the kindness of destiny, fate, what +happens in the long run, and apt to insist that this was generally adverse to +people in proportion as they deserved well. Even this theory she was ready to +discard in favour of one which made chaos triumphant, things happening for no +reason at all, and every one groping about in illusion and ignorance. With a +certain pleasure she developed these views to her niece, taking a letter from +home as her test: which gave good news, but might just as well have given bad. +How did she know that at this very moment both her children were not lying +dead, crushed by motor omnibuses? “It’s happening to somebody: why +shouldn’t it happen to me?” she would argue, her face taking on the +stoical expression of anticipated sorrow. However sincere these views may have +been, they were undoubtedly called forth by the irrational state of her +niece’s mind. It was so fluctuating, and went so quickly from joy to +despair, that it seemed necessary to confront it with some stable opinion which +naturally became dark as well as stable. Perhaps Mrs. Ambrose had some idea +that in leading the talk into these quarters she might discover what was in +Rachel’s mind, but it was difficult to judge, for sometimes she would +agree with the gloomiest thing that was said, at other times she refused to +listen, and rammed Helen’s theories down her throat with laughter, +chatter, ridicule of the wildest, and fierce bursts of anger even at what she +called the “croaking of a raven in the mud.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s hard enough without that,” she asserted. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s hard?” Helen demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Life,” she replied, and then they both became silent. +</p> + +<p> +Helen might draw her own conclusions as to why life was hard, as to why an hour +later, perhaps, life was something so wonderful and vivid that the eyes of +Rachel beholding it were positively exhilarating to a spectator. True to her +creed, she did not attempt to interfere, although there were enough of those +weak moments of depression to make it perfectly easy for a less scrupulous +person to press through and know all, and perhaps Rachel was sorry that she did +not choose. All these moods ran themselves into one general effect, which Helen +compared to the sliding of a river, quick, quicker, quicker still, as it races +to a waterfall. Her instinct was to cry out Stop! but even had there been any +use in crying Stop! she would have refrained, thinking it best that things +should take their way, the water racing because the earth was shaped to make it +race. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed that Rachel herself had no suspicion that she was watched, or that +there was anything in her manner likely to draw attention to her. What had +happened to her she did not know. Her mind was very much in the condition of +the racing water to which Helen compared it. She wanted to see Terence; she was +perpetually wishing to see him when he was not there; it was an agony to miss +seeing him; agonies were strewn all about her day on account of him, but she +never asked herself what this force driving through her life arose from. She +thought of no result any more than a tree perpetually pressed downwards by the +wind considers the result of being pressed downwards by the wind. +</p> + +<p> +During the two or three weeks which had passed since their walk, half a dozen +notes from him had accumulated in her drawer. She would read them, and spend +the whole morning in a daze of happiness; the sunny land outside the window +being no less capable of analysing its own colour and heat than she was of +analysing hers. In these moods she found it impossible to read or play the +piano, even to move being beyond her inclination. The time passed without her +noticing it. When it was dark she was drawn to the window by the lights of the +hotel. A light that went in and out was the light in Terence’s window: +there he sat, reading perhaps, or now he was walking up and down pulling out +one book after another; and now he was seated in his chair again, and she tried +to imagine what he was thinking about. The steady lights marked the rooms where +Terence sat with people moving round him. Every one who stayed in the hotel had +a peculiar romance and interest about them. They were not ordinary people. She +would attribute wisdom to Mrs. Elliot, beauty to Susan Warrington, a splendid +vitality to Evelyn M., because Terence spoke to them. As unreflecting and +pervasive were the moods of depression. Her mind was as the landscape outside +when dark beneath clouds and straitly lashed by wind and hail. Again she would +sit passive in her chair exposed to pain, and Helen’s fantastical or +gloomy words were like so many darts goading her to cry out against the +hardness of life. Best of all were the moods when for no reason again this +stress of feeling slackened, and life went on as usual, only with a joy and +colour in its events that was unknown before; they had a significance like that +which she had seen in the tree: the nights were black bars separating her from +the days; she would have liked to run all the days into one long continuity of +sensation. Although these moods were directly or indirectly caused by the +presence of Terence or the thought of him, she never said to herself that she +was in love with him, or considered what was to happen if she continued to feel +such things, so that Helen’s image of the river sliding on to the +waterfall had a great likeness to the facts, and the alarm which Helen +sometimes felt was justified. +</p> + +<p> +In her curious condition of unanalysed sensations she was incapable of making a +plan which should have any effect upon her state of mind. She abandoned herself +to the mercy of accidents, missing Terence one day, meeting him the next, +receiving his letters always with a start of surprise. Any woman experienced in +the progress of courtship would have come by certain opinions from all this +which would have given her at least a theory to go upon; but no one had ever +been in love with Rachel, and she had never been in love with any one. +Moreover, none of the books she read, from <i>Wuthering Heights</i> to <i>Man +and Superman</i>, and the plays of Ibsen, suggested from their analysis of love +that what their heroines felt was what she was feeling now. It seemed to her +that her sensations had no name. +</p> + +<p> +She met Terence frequently. When they did not meet, he was apt to send a note +with a book or about a book, for he had not been able after all to neglect that +approach to intimacy. But sometimes he did not come or did not write for +several days at a time. Again when they met their meeting might be one of +inspiriting joy or of harassing despair. Over all their partings hung the sense +of interruption, leaving them both unsatisfied, though ignorant that the other +shared the feeling. +</p> + +<p> +If Rachel was ignorant of her own feelings, she was even more completely +ignorant of his. At first he moved as a god; as she came to know him better he +was still the centre of light, but combined with this beauty a wonderful power +of making her daring and confident of herself. She was conscious of emotions +and powers which she had never suspected in herself, and of a depth in the +world hitherto unknown. When she thought of their relationship she saw rather +than reasoned, representing her view of what Terence felt by a picture of him +drawn across the room to stand by her side. This passage across the room +amounted to a physical sensation, but what it meant she did not know. +</p> + +<p> +Thus the time went on, wearing a calm, bright look upon its surface. Letters +came from England, letters came from Willoughby, and the days accumulated their +small events which shaped the year. Superficially, three odes of Pindar were +mended, Helen covered about five inches of her embroidery, and St. John +completed the first two acts of a play. He and Rachel being now very good +friends, he read them aloud to her, and she was so genuinely impressed by the +skill of his rhythms and the variety of his adjectives, as well as by the fact +that he was Terence’s friend, that he began to wonder whether he was not +intended for literature rather than for law. It was a time of profound thought +and sudden revelations for more than one couple, and several single people. +</p> + +<p> +A Sunday came, which no one in the villa with the exception of Rachel and the +Spanish maid proposed to recognise. Rachel still went to church, because she +had never, according to Helen, taken the trouble to think about it. Since they +had celebrated the service at the hotel she went there expecting to get some +pleasure from her passage across the garden and through the hall of the hotel, +although it was very doubtful whether she would see Terence, or at any rate +have the chance of speaking to him. +</p> + +<p> +As the greater number of visitors at the hotel were English, there was almost +as much difference between Sunday and Wednesday as there is in England, and +Sunday appeared here as there, the mute black ghost or penitent spirit of the +busy weekday. The English could not pale the sunshine, but they could in some +miraculous way slow down the hours, dull the incidents, lengthen the meals, and +make even the servants and page-boys wear a look of boredom and propriety. The +best clothes which every one put on helped the general effect; it seemed that +no lady could sit down without bending a clean starched petticoat, and no +gentleman could breathe without a sudden crackle from a stiff shirt-front. As +the hands of the clock neared eleven, on this particular Sunday, various people +tended to draw together in the hall, clasping little red-leaved books in their +hands. The clock marked a few minutes to the hour when a stout black figure +passed through the hall with a preoccupied expression, as though he would +rather not recognise salutations, although aware of them, and disappeared down +the corridor which led from it. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bax,” Mrs. Thornbury whispered. +</p> + +<p> +The little group of people then began to move off in the same direction as the +stout black figure. Looked at in an odd way by people who made no effort to +join them, they moved with one exception slowly and consciously towards the +stairs. Mrs. Flushing was the exception. She came running downstairs, strode +across the hall, joined the procession much out of breath, demanding of Mrs. +Thornbury in an agitated whisper, “Where, where?” +</p> + +<p> +“We are all going,” said Mrs. Thornbury gently, and soon they were +descending the stairs two by two. Rachel was among the first to descend. She +did not see that Terence and Hirst came in at the rear possessed of no black +volume, but of one thin book bound in light-blue cloth, which St. John carried +under his arm. +</p> + +<p> +The chapel was the old chapel of the monks. It was a profound cool place where +they had said Mass for hundreds of years, and done penance in the cold +moonlight, and worshipped old brown pictures and carved saints which stood with +upraised hands of blessing in the hollows in the walls. The transition from +Catholic to Protestant worship had been bridged by a time of disuse, when there +were no services, and the place was used for storing jars of oil, liqueur, and +deck-chairs; the hotel flourishing, some religious body had taken the place in +hand, and it was now fitted out with a number of glazed yellow benches, +claret-coloured footstools; it had a small pulpit, and a brass eagle carrying +the Bible on its back, while the piety of different women had supplied ugly +squares of carpet, and long strips of embroidery heavily wrought with monograms +in gold. +</p> + +<p> +As the congregation entered they were met by mild sweet chords issuing from a +harmonium, where Miss Willett, concealed from view by a baize curtain, struck +emphatic chords with uncertain fingers. The sound spread through the chapel as +the rings of water spread from a fallen stone. The twenty or twenty-five people +who composed the congregation first bowed their heads and then sat up and +looked about them. It was very quiet, and the light down here seemed paler than +the light above. The usual bows and smiles were dispensed with, but they +recognised each other. The Lord’s Prayer was read over them. As the +childlike battle of voices rose, the congregation, many of whom had only met on +the staircase, felt themselves pathetically united and well-disposed towards +each other. As if the prayer were a torch applied to fuel, a smoke seemed to +rise automatically and fill the place with the ghosts of innumerable services +on innumerable Sunday mornings at home. Susan Warrington in particular was +conscious of the sweetest sense of sisterhood, as she covered her face with her +hands and saw slips of bent backs through the chinks between her fingers. Her +emotions rose calmly and evenly, approving of herself and of life at the same +time. It was all so quiet and so good. But having created this peaceful +atmosphere Mr. Bax suddenly turned the page and read a psalm. Though he read it +with no change of voice the mood was broken. +</p> + +<p> +“Be merciful unto me, O God,” he read, “for man goeth about +to devour me: he is daily fighting and troubling me. . . . They daily mistake +my words: all that they imagine is to do me evil. They hold all together and +keep themselves close. . . . Break their teeth, O God, in their mouths; smite +the jaw-bones of the lions, O Lord: let them fall away like water that runneth +apace; and when they shoot their arrows let them be rooted out.” +</p> + +<p> +Nothing in Susan’s experience at all corresponded with this, and as she +had no love of language she had long ceased to attend to such remarks, although +she followed them with the same kind of mechanical respect with which she heard +many of Lear’s speeches read aloud. Her mind was still serene and really +occupied with praise of her own nature and praise of God, that is of the solemn +and satisfactory order of the world. +</p> + +<p> +But it could be seen from a glance at their faces that most of the others, the +men in particular, felt the inconvenience of the sudden intrusion of this old +savage. They looked more secular and critical as they listened to the ravings +of the old black man with a cloth round his loins cursing with vehement gesture +by a camp-fire in the desert. After that there was a general sound of pages +being turned as if they were in class, and then they read a little bit of the +Old Testament about making a well, very much as school boys translate an easy +passage from the <i>Anabasis</i> when they have shut up their French grammar. +Then they returned to the New Testament and the sad and beautiful figure of +Christ. While Christ spoke they made another effort to fit his interpretation +of life upon the lives they lived, but as they were all very different, some +practical, some ambitious, some stupid, some wild and experimental, some in +love, and others long past any feeling except a feeling of comfort, they did +very different things with the words of Christ. +</p> + +<p> +From their faces it seemed that for the most part they made no effort at all, +and, recumbent as it were, accepted the ideas the words gave as representing +goodness, in the same way, no doubt, as one of those industrious needlewomen +had accepted the bright ugly pattern on her mat as beauty. +</p> + +<p> +Whatever the reason might be, for the first time in her life, instead of +slipping at once into some curious pleasant cloud of emotion, too familiar to +be considered, Rachel listened critically to what was being said. By the time +they had swung in an irregular way from prayer to psalm, from psalm to history, +from history to poetry, and Mr. Bax was giving out his text, she was in a state +of acute discomfort. Such was the discomfort she felt when forced to sit +through an unsatisfactory piece of music badly played. Tantalised, enraged by +the clumsy insensitiveness of the conductor, who put the stress on the wrong +places, and annoyed by the vast flock of the audience tamely praising and +acquiescing without knowing or caring, so she was now tantalised and enraged, +only here, with eyes half-shut and lips pursed together, the atmosphere of +forced solemnity increased her anger. All round her were people pretending to +feel what they did not feel, while somewhere above her floated the idea which +they could none of them grasp, which they pretended to grasp, always escaping +out of reach, a beautiful idea, an idea like a butterfly. One after another, +vast and hard and cold, appeared to her the churches all over the world where +this blundering effort and misunderstanding were perpetually going on, great +buildings, filled with innumerable men and women, not seeing clearly, who +finally gave up the effort to see, and relapsed tamely into praise and +acquiescence, half-shutting their eyes and pursing up their lips. The thought +had the same sort of physical discomfort as is caused by a film of mist always +coming between the eyes and the printed page. She did her best to brush away +the film and to conceive something to be worshipped as the service went on, but +failed, always misled by the voice of Mr. Bax saying things which +misrepresented the idea, and by the patter of baaing inexpressive human voices +falling round her like damp leaves. The effort was tiring and dispiriting. She +ceased to listen, and fixed her eyes on the face of a woman near her, a +hospital nurse, whose expression of devout attention seemed to prove that she +was at any rate receiving satisfaction. But looking at her carefully she came +to the conclusion that the hospital nurse was only slavishly acquiescent, and +that the look of satisfaction was produced by no splendid conception of God +within her. How, indeed, could she conceive anything far outside her own +experience, a woman with a commonplace face like hers, a little round red face, +upon which trivial duties and trivial spites had drawn lines, whose weak blue +eyes saw without intensity or individuality, whose features were blurred, +insensitive, and callous? She was adoring something shallow and smug, clinging +to it, so the obstinate mouth witnessed, with the assiduity of a limpet; +nothing would tear her from her demure belief in her own virtue and the virtues +of her religion. She was a limpet, with the sensitive side of her stuck to a +rock, for ever dead to the rush of fresh and beautiful things past her. The +face of this single worshipper became printed on Rachel’s mind with an +impression of keen horror, and she had it suddenly revealed to her what Helen +meant and St. John meant when they proclaimed their hatred of Christianity. +With the violence that now marked her feelings, she rejected all that she had +implicitly believed. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Mr. Bax was half-way through the second lesson. She looked at him. He +was a man of the world with supple lips and an agreeable manner, he was indeed +a man of much kindliness and simplicity, though by no means clever, but she was +not in the mood to give any one credit for such qualities, and examined him as +though he were an epitome of all the vices of his service. +</p> + +<p> +Right at the back of the chapel Mrs. Flushing, Hirst, and Hewet sat in a row in +a very different frame of mind. Hewet was staring at the roof with his legs +stuck out in front of him, for as he had never tried to make the service fit +any feeling or idea of his, he was able to enjoy the beauty of the language +without hindrance. His mind was occupied first with accidental things, such as +the women’s hair in front of him, the light on the faces, then with the +words which seemed to him magnificent, and then more vaguely with the +characters of the other worshippers. But when he suddenly perceived Rachel, all +these thoughts were driven out of his head, and he thought only of her. The +psalms, the prayers, the Litany, and the sermon were all reduced to one +chanting sound which paused, and then renewed itself, a little higher or a +little lower. He stared alternately at Rachel and at the ceiling, but his +expression was now produced not by what he saw but by something in his mind. He +was almost as painfully disturbed by his thoughts as she was by hers. +</p> + +<p> +Early in the service Mrs. Flushing had discovered that she had taken up a Bible +instead of a prayer-book, and, as she was sitting next to Hirst, she stole a +glance over his shoulder. He was reading steadily in the thin pale-blue volume. +Unable to understand, she peered closer, upon which Hirst politely laid the +book before her, pointing to the first line of a Greek poem and then to the +translation opposite. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” she whispered inquisitively. +</p> + +<p> +“Sappho,” he replied. “The one Swinburne did—the best +thing that’s ever been written.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Flushing could not resist such an opportunity. She gulped down the Ode to +Aphrodite during the Litany, keeping herself with difficulty from asking when +Sappho lived, and what else she wrote worth reading, and contriving to come in +punctually at the end with “the forgiveness of sins, the Resurrection of +the body, and the life everlastin’. Amen.” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Hirst took out an envelope and began scribbling on the back of it. +When Mr. Bax mounted the pulpit he shut up Sappho with his envelope between the +pages, settled his spectacles, and fixed his gaze intently upon the clergyman. +Standing in the pulpit he looked very large and fat; the light coming through +the greenish unstained window-glass made his face appear smooth and white like +a very large egg. +</p> + +<p> +He looked round at all the faces looking mildly up at him, although some of +them were the faces of men and women old enough to be his grandparents, and +gave out his text with weighty significance. The argument of the sermon was +that visitors to this beautiful land, although they were on a holiday, owed a +duty to the natives. It did not, in truth, differ very much from a leading +article upon topics of general interest in the weekly newspapers. It rambled +with a kind of amiable verbosity from one heading to another, suggesting that +all human beings are very much the same under their skins, illustrating this by +the resemblance of the games which little Spanish boys play to the games little +boys in London streets play, observing that very small things do influence +people, particularly natives; in fact, a very dear friend of Mr. Bax’s +had told him that the success of our rule in India, that vast country, largely +depended upon the strict code of politeness which the English adopted towards +the natives, which led to the remark that small things were not necessarily +small, and that somehow to the virtue of sympathy, which was a virtue never +more needed than to-day, when we lived in a time of experiment and +upheaval—witness the aeroplane and wireless telegraph, and there were +other problems which hardly presented themselves to our fathers, but which no +man who called himself a man could leave unsettled. Here Mr. Bax became more +definitely clerical, if it were possible, he seemed to speak with a certain +innocent craftiness, as he pointed out that all this laid a special duty upon +earnest Christians. What men were inclined to say now was, “Oh, that +fellow—he’s a parson.” What we want them to say is, +“He’s a good fellow”—in other words, “He is my +brother.” He exhorted them to keep in touch with men of the modern type; +they must sympathise with their multifarious interests in order to keep before +their eyes that whatever discoveries were made there was one discovery which +could not be superseded, which was indeed as much of a necessity to the most +successful and most brilliant of them all as it had been to their fathers. The +humblest could help; the least important things had an influence (here his +manner became definitely priestly and his remarks seemed to be directed to +women, for indeed Mr. Bax’s congregations were mainly composed of women, +and he was used to assigning them their duties in his innocent clerical +campaigns). Leaving more definite instruction, he passed on, and his theme +broadened into a peroration for which he drew a long breath and stood very +upright,—“As a drop of water, detached, alone, separate from +others, falling from the cloud and entering the great ocean, alters, so +scientists tell us, not only the immediate spot in the ocean where it falls, +but all the myriad drops which together compose the great universe of waters, +and by this means alters the configuration of the globe and the lives of +millions of sea creatures, and finally the lives of the men and women who seek +their living upon the shores—as all this is within the compass of a +single drop of water, such as any rain shower sends in millions to lose +themselves in the earth, to lose themselves we say, but we know very well that +the fruits of the earth could not flourish without them—so is a marvel +comparable to this within the reach of each one of us, who dropping a little +word or a little deed into the great universe alters it; yea, it is a solemn +thought, <i>alters</i> it, for good or for evil, not for one instant, or in one +vicinity, but throughout the entire race, and for all eternity.” Whipping +round as though to avoid applause, he continued with the same breath, but in a +different tone of voice,—“And now to God the Father . . .” +</p> + +<p> +He gave his blessing, and then, while the solemn chords again issued from the +harmonium behind the curtain, the different people began scraping and fumbling +and moving very awkwardly and consciously towards the door. Half-way upstairs, +at a point where the light and sounds of the upper world conflicted with the +dimness and the dying hymn-tune of the under, Rachel felt a hand drop upon her +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Vinrace,” Mrs. Flushing whispered peremptorily, “stay +to luncheon. It’s such a dismal day. They don’t even give one beef +for luncheon. Please stay.” +</p> + +<p> +Here they came out into the hall, where once more the little band was greeted +with curious respectful glances by the people who had not gone to church, +although their clothing made it clear that they approved of Sunday to the very +verge of going to church. Rachel felt unable to stand any more of this +particular atmosphere, and was about to say she must go back, when Terence +passed them, drawn along in talk with Evelyn M. Rachel thereupon contented +herself with saying that the people looked very respectable, which negative +remark Mrs. Flushing interpreted to mean that she would stay. +</p> + +<p> +“English people abroad!” she returned with a vivid flash of malice. +“Ain’t they awful! But we won’t stay here,” she +continued, plucking at Rachel’s arm. “Come up to my room.” +</p> + +<p> +She bore her past Hewet and Evelyn and the Thornburys and the Elliots. Hewet +stepped forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Luncheon—” he began. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Vinrace has promised to lunch with me,” said Mrs. Flushing, +and began to pound energetically up the staircase, as though the middle classes +of England were in pursuit. She did not stop until she had slammed her bedroom +door behind them. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what did you think of it?” she demanded, panting slightly. +</p> + +<p> +All the disgust and horror which Rachel had been accumulating burst forth +beyond her control. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought it the most loathsome exhibition I’d ever seen!” +she broke out. “How can they—how dare they—what do you mean +by it—Mr. Bax, hospital nurses, old men, prostitutes, +disgusting—” +</p> + +<p> +She hit off the points she remembered as fast as she could, but she was too +indignant to stop to analyse her feelings. Mrs. Flushing watched her with keen +gusto as she stood ejaculating with emphatic movements of her head and hands in +the middle of the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, go on, do go on,” she laughed, clapping her hands. +“It’s delightful to hear you!” +</p> + +<p> +“But why do you go?” Rachel demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been every Sunday of my life ever since I can +remember,” Mrs. Flushing chuckled, as though that were a reason by +itself. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel turned abruptly to the window. She did not know what it was that had put +her into such a passion; the sight of Terence in the hall had confused her +thoughts, leaving her merely indignant. She looked straight at their own villa, +half-way up the side of the mountain. The most familiar view seen framed +through glass has a certain unfamiliar distinction, and she grew calm as she +gazed. Then she remembered that she was in the presence of some one she did not +know well, and she turned and looked at Mrs. Flushing. Mrs. Flushing was still +sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up, with her lips parted, so that her +strong white teeth showed in two rows. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me,” she said, “which d’you like best, Mr. Hewet +or Mr. Hirst?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Hewet,” Rachel replied, but her voice did not sound natural. +</p> + +<p> +“Which is the one who reads Greek in church?” Mrs. Flushing +demanded. +</p> + +<p> +It might have been either of them and while Mrs. Flushing proceeded to describe +them both, and to say that both frightened her, but one frightened her more +than the other, Rachel looked for a chair. The room, of course, was one of the +largest and most luxurious in the hotel. There were a great many arm-chairs and +settees covered in brown holland, but each of these was occupied by a large +square piece of yellow cardboard, and all the pieces of cardboard were dotted +or lined with spots or dashes of bright oil paint. +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re not to look at those,” said Mrs. Flushing as she +saw Rachel’s eye wander. She jumped up, and turned as many as she could, +face downwards, upon the floor. Rachel, however, managed to possess herself of +one of them, and, with the vanity of an artist, Mrs. Flushing demanded +anxiously, “Well, well?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a hill,” Rachel replied. There could be no doubt that +Mrs. Flushing had represented the vigorous and abrupt fling of the earth up +into the air; you could almost see the clods flying as it whirled. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel passed from one to another. They were all marked by something of the +jerk and decision of their maker; they were all perfectly untrained onslaughts +of the brush upon some half-realised idea suggested by hill or tree; and they +were all in some way characteristic of Mrs. Flushing. +</p> + +<p> +“I see things movin’,” Mrs. Flushing explained. +“So”—she swept her hand through a yard of the air. She then +took up one of the cardboards which Rachel had laid aside, seated herself on a +stool, and began to flourish a stump of charcoal. While she occupied herself in +strokes which seemed to serve her as speech serves others, Rachel, who was very +restless, looked about her. +</p> + +<p> +“Open the wardrobe,” said Mrs. Flushing after a pause, speaking +indistinctly because of a paint-brush in her mouth, “and look at the +things.” +</p> + +<p> +As Rachel hesitated, Mrs. Flushing came forward, still with a paint-brush in +her mouth, flung open the wings of her wardrobe, and tossed a quantity of +shawls, stuffs, cloaks, embroideries, on to the bed. Rachel began to finger +them. Mrs. Flushing came up once more, and dropped a quantity of beads, +brooches, earrings, bracelets, tassels, and combs among the draperies. Then she +went back to her stool and began to paint in silence. The stuffs were coloured +and dark and pale; they made a curious swarm of lines and colours upon the +counterpane, with the reddish lumps of stone and peacocks’ feathers and +clear pale tortoise-shell combs lying among them. +</p> + +<p> +“The women wore them hundreds of years ago, they wear ’em +still,” Mrs. Flushing remarked. “My husband rides about and finds +’em; they don’t know what they’re worth, so we get ’em +cheap. And we shall sell ’em to smart women in London,” she +chuckled, as though the thought of these ladies and their absurd appearance +amused her. After painting for some minutes, she suddenly laid down her brush +and fixed her eyes upon Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you what I want to do,” she said. “I want to go up +there and see things for myself. It’s silly stayin’ here with a +pack of old maids as though we were at the seaside in England. I want to go up +the river and see the natives in their camps. It’s only a matter of ten +days under canvas. My husband’s done it. One would lie out under the +trees at night and be towed down the river by day, and if we saw anythin’ +nice we’d shout out and tell ’em to stop.” She rose and began +piercing the bed again and again with a long golden pin, as she watched to see +what effect her suggestion had upon Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“We must make up a party,” she went on. “Ten people could +hire a launch. Now you’ll come, and Mrs. Ambrose’ll come, and will +Mr. Hirst and t’other gentleman come? Where’s a pencil?” +</p> + +<p> +She became more and more determined and excited as she evolved her plan. She +sat on the edge of the bed and wrote down a list of surnames, which she +invariably spelt wrong. Rachel was enthusiastic, for indeed the idea was +immeasurably delightful to her. She had always had a great desire to see the +river, and the name of Terence threw a lustre over the prospect, which made it +almost too good to come true. She did what she could to help Mrs. Flushing by +suggesting names, helping her to spell them, and counting up the days of the +week upon her fingers. As Mrs. Flushing wanted to know all she could tell her +about the birth and pursuits of every person she suggested, and threw in wild +stories of her own as to the temperaments and habits of artists, and people of +the same name who used to come to Chillingley in the old days, but were +doubtless not the same, though they too were very clever men interested in +Egyptology, the business took some time. +</p> + +<p> +At last Mrs. Flushing sought her diary for help, the method of reckoning dates +on the fingers proving unsatisfactory. She opened and shut every drawer in her +writing-table, and then cried furiously, “Yarmouth! Yarmouth! Drat the +woman! She’s always out of the way when she’s wanted!” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment the luncheon gong began to work itself into its midday frenzy. +Mrs. Flushing rang her bell violently. The door was opened by a handsome maid +who was almost as upright as her mistress. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Yarmouth,” said Mrs. Flushing, “just find my diary and +see where ten days from now would bring us to, and ask the hall porter how many +men ’ud be wanted to row eight people up the river for a week, and what +it ’ud cost, and put it on a slip of paper and leave it on my +dressing-table. Now—” she pointed at the door with a superb +forefinger so that Rachel had to lead the way. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, and Yarmouth,” Mrs. Flushing called back over her shoulder. +“Put those things away and hang ’em in their right places, +there’s a good girl, or it fusses Mr. Flushin’.” +</p> + +<p> +To all of which Yarmouth merely replied, “Yes, ma’am.” +</p> + +<p> +As they entered the long dining-room it was obvious that the day was still +Sunday, although the mood was slightly abating. The Flushings’ table was +set by the side in the window, so that Mrs. Flushing could scrutinise each +figure as it entered, and her curiosity seemed to be intense. +</p> + +<p> +“Old Mrs. Paley,” she whispered as the wheeled chair slowly made +its way through the door, Arthur pushing behind. “Thornburys” came +next. “That nice woman,” she nudged Rachel to look at Miss Allan. +“What’s her name?” The painted lady who always came in late, +tripping into the room with a prepared smile as though she came out upon a +stage, might well have quailed before Mrs. Flushing’s stare, which +expressed her steely hostility to the whole tribe of painted ladies. Next came +the two young men whom Mrs. Flushing called collectively the Hirsts. They sat +down opposite, across the gangway. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Flushing treated his wife with a mixture of admiration and indulgence, +making up by the suavity and fluency of his speech for the abruptness of hers. +While she darted and ejaculated he gave Rachel a sketch of the history of South +American art. He would deal with one of his wife’s exclamations, and then +return as smoothly as ever to his theme. He knew very well how to make a +luncheon pass agreeably, without being dull or intimate. He had formed the +opinion, so he told Rachel, that wonderful treasures lay hid in the depths of +the land; the things Rachel had seen were merely trifles picked up in the +course of one short journey. He thought there might be giant gods hewn out of +stone in the mountain-side; and colossal figures standing by themselves in the +middle of vast green pasture lands, where none but natives had ever trod. +Before the dawn of European art he believed that the primitive huntsmen and +priests had built temples of massive stone slabs, had formed out of the dark +rocks and the great cedar trees majestic figures of gods and of beasts, and +symbols of the great forces, water, air, and forest among which they lived. +There might be prehistoric towns, like those in Greece and Asia, standing in +open places among the trees, filled with the works of this early race. Nobody +had been there; scarcely anything was known. Thus talking and displaying the +most picturesque of his theories, Rachel’s attention was fixed upon him. +</p> + +<p> +She did not see that Hewet kept looking at her across the gangway, between the +figures of waiters hurrying past with plates. He was inattentive, and Hirst was +finding him also very cross and disagreeable. They had touched upon all the +usual topics—upon politics and literature, gossip and Christianity. They +had quarrelled over the service, which was every bit as fine as Sappho, +according to Hewet; so that Hirst’s paganism was mere ostentation. Why go +to church, he demanded, merely in order to read Sappho? Hirst observed that he +had listened to every word of the sermon, as he could prove if Hewet would like +a repetition of it; and he went to church in order to realise the nature of his +Creator, which he had done very vividly that morning, thanks to Mr. Bax, who +had inspired him to write three of the most superb lines in English literature, +an invocation to the Deity. +</p> + +<p> +“I wrote ’em on the back of the envelope of my aunt’s last +letter,” he said, and pulled it from between the pages of Sappho. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, let’s hear them,” said Hewet, slightly mollified by +the prospect of a literary discussion. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Hewet, do you wish us both to be flung out of the hotel by an +enraged mob of Thornburys and Elliots?” Hirst enquired. “The merest +whisper would be sufficient to incriminate me for ever. God!” he broke +out, “what’s the use of attempting to write when the world’s +peopled by such damned fools? Seriously, Hewet, I advise you to give up +literature. What’s the good of it? There’s your audience.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded his head at the tables where a very miscellaneous collection of +Europeans were now engaged in eating, in some cases in gnawing, the stringy +foreign fowls. Hewet looked, and grew more out of temper than ever. Hirst +looked too. His eyes fell upon Rachel, and he bowed to her. +</p> + +<p> +“I rather think Rachel’s in love with me,” he remarked, as +his eyes returned to his plate. “That’s the worst of friendships +with young women—they tend to fall in love with one.” +</p> + +<p> +To that Hewet made no answer whatever, and sat singularly still. Hirst did not +seem to mind getting no answer, for he returned to Mr. Bax again, quoting the +peroration about the drop of water; and when Hewet scarcely replied to these +remarks either, he merely pursed his lips, chose a fig, and relapsed quite +contentedly into his own thoughts, of which he always had a very large supply. +When luncheon was over they separated, taking their cups of coffee to different +parts of the hall. +</p> + +<p> +From his chair beneath the palm-tree Hewet saw Rachel come out of the +dining-room with the Flushings; he saw them look round for chairs, and choose +three in a corner where they could go on talking in private. Mr. Flushing was +now in the full tide of his discourse. He produced a sheet of paper upon which +he made drawings as he went on with his talk. He saw Rachel lean over and look, +pointing to this and that with her finger. Hewet unkindly compared Mr. +Flushing, who was extremely well dressed for a hot climate, and rather +elaborate in his manner, to a very persuasive shop-keeper. Meanwhile, as he sat +looking at them, he was entangled in the Thornburys and Miss Allan, who, after +hovering about for a minute or two, settled in chairs round him, holding their +cups in their hands. They wanted to know whether he could tell them anything +about Mr. Bax. Mr. Thornbury as usual sat saying nothing, looking vaguely ahead +of him, occasionally raising his eye-glasses, as if to put them on, but always +thinking better of it at the last moment, and letting them fall again. After +some discussion, the ladies put it beyond a doubt that Mr. Bax was not the son +of Mr. William Bax. There was a pause. Then Mrs. Thornbury remarked that she +was still in the habit of saying Queen instead of King in the National Anthem. +There was another pause. Then Miss Allan observed reflectively that going to +church abroad always made her feel as if she had been to a sailor’s +funeral. +</p> + +<p> +There was then a very long pause, which threatened to be final, when, +mercifully, a bird about the size of a magpie, but of a metallic blue colour, +appeared on the section of the terrace that could be seen from where they sat. +Mrs. Thornbury was led to enquire whether we should like it if all our rooks +were blue—“What do <i>you</i> think, William?” she asked, +touching her husband on the knee. +</p> + +<p> +“If all our rooks were blue,” he said,—he raised his glasses; +he actually placed them on his nose—“they would not live long in +Wiltshire,” he concluded; he dropped his glasses to his side again. The +three elderly people now gazed meditatively at the bird, which was so obliging +as to stay in the middle of the view for a considerable space of time, thus +making it unnecessary for them to speak again. Hewet began to wonder whether he +might not cross over to the Flushings’ corner, when Hirst appeared from +the background, slipped into a chair by Rachel’s side, and began to talk +to her with every appearance of familiarity. Hewet could stand it no longer. He +rose, took his hat and dashed out of doors. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<p> +Everything he saw was distasteful to him. He hated the blue and white, the +intensity and definiteness, the hum and heat of the south; the landscape seemed +to him as hard and as romantic as a cardboard background on the stage, and the +mountain but a wooden screen against a sheet painted blue. He walked fast in +spite of the heat of the sun. +</p> + +<p> +Two roads led out of the town on the eastern side; one branched off towards the +Ambroses’ villa, the other struck into the country, eventually reaching a +village on the plain, but many footpaths, which had been stamped in the earth +when it was wet, led off from it, across great dry fields, to scattered +farm-houses, and the villas of rich natives. Hewet stepped off the road on to +one of these, in order to avoid the hardness and heat of the main road, the +dust of which was always being raised in small clouds by carts and ramshackle +flies which carried parties of festive peasants, or turkeys swelling unevenly +like a bundle of air balls beneath a net, or the brass bedstead and black +wooden boxes of some newly wedded pair. +</p> + +<p> +The exercise indeed served to clear away the superficial irritations of the +morning, but he remained miserable. It seemed proved beyond a doubt that Rachel +was indifferent to him, for she had scarcely looked at him, and she had talked +to Mr. Flushing with just the same interest with which she talked to him. +Finally, Hirst’s odious words flicked his mind like a whip, and he +remembered that he had left her talking to Hirst. She was at this moment +talking to him, and it might be true, as he said, that she was in love with +him. He went over all the evidence for this supposition—her sudden +interest in Hirst’s writing, her way of quoting his opinions +respectfully, or with only half a laugh; her very nickname for him, “the +great Man,” might have some serious meaning in it. Supposing that there +were an understanding between them, what would it mean to him? +</p> + +<p> +“Damn it all!” he demanded, “am I in love with her?” To +that he could only return himself one answer. He certainly was in love with +her, if he knew what love meant. Ever since he had first seen her he had been +interested and attracted, more and more interested and attracted, until he was +scarcely able to think of anything except Rachel. But just as he was sliding +into one of the long feasts of meditation about them both, he checked himself +by asking whether he wanted to marry her? That was the real problem, for these +miseries and agonies could not be endured, and it was necessary that he should +make up his mind. He instantly decided that he did not want to marry any one. +Partly because he was irritated by Rachel the idea of marriage irritated him. +It immediately suggested the picture of two people sitting alone over the fire; +the man was reading, the woman sewing. There was a second picture. He saw a man +jump up, say good-night, leave the company and hasten away with the quiet +secret look of one who is stealing to certain happiness. Both these pictures +were very unpleasant, and even more so was a third picture, of husband and wife +and friend; and the married people glancing at each other as though they were +content to let something pass unquestioned, being themselves possessed of the +deeper truth. Other pictures—he was walking very fast in his irritation, +and they came before him without any conscious effort, like pictures on a +sheet—succeeded these. Here were the worn husband and wife sitting with +their children round them, very patient, tolerant, and wise. But that too, was +an unpleasant picture. He tried all sorts of pictures, taking them from the +lives of friends of his, for he knew many different married couples; but he saw +them always, walled up in a warm firelit room. When, on the other hand, he +began to think of unmarried people, he saw them active in an unlimited world; +above all, standing on the same ground as the rest, without shelter or +advantage. All the most individual and humane of his friends were bachelors and +spinsters; indeed he was surprised to find that the women he most admired and +knew best were unmarried women. Marriage seemed to be worse for them than it +was for men. Leaving these general pictures he considered the people whom he +had been observing lately at the hotel. He had often revolved these questions +in his mind, as he watched Susan and Arthur, or Mr. and Mrs. Thornbury, or Mr. +and Mrs. Elliot. He had observed how the shy happiness and surprise of the +engaged couple had gradually been replaced by a comfortable, tolerant state of +mind, as if they had already done with the adventure of intimacy and were +taking up their parts. Susan used to pursue Arthur about with a sweater, +because he had one day let slip that a brother of his had died of pneumonia. +The sight amused him, but was not pleasant if you substituted Terence and +Rachel for Arthur and Susan; and Arthur was far less eager to get you in a +corner and talk about flying and the mechanics of aeroplanes. They would settle +down. He then looked at the couples who had been married for several years. It +was true that Mrs. Thornbury had a husband, and that for the most part she was +wonderfully successful in bringing him into the conversation, but one could not +imagine what they said to each other when they were alone. There was the same +difficulty with regard to the Elliots, except that they probably bickered +openly in private. They sometimes bickered in public, though these +disagreements were painfully covered over by little insincerities on the part +of the wife, who was afraid of public opinion, because she was much stupider +than her husband, and had to make efforts to keep hold of him. There could be +no doubt, he decided, that it would have been far better for the world if these +couples had separated. Even the Ambroses, whom he admired and respected +profoundly—in spite of all the love between them, was not their marriage +too a compromise? She gave way to him; she spoilt him; she arranged things for +him; she who was all truth to others was not true to her husband, was not true +to her friends if they came in conflict with her husband. It was a strange and +piteous flaw in her nature. Perhaps Rachel had been right, then, when she said +that night in the garden, “We bring out what’s worst in each +other—we should live separate.” +</p> + +<p> +No, Rachel had been utterly wrong! Every argument seemed to be against +undertaking the burden of marriage until he came to Rachel’s argument, +which was manifestly absurd. From having been the pursued, he turned and became +the pursuer. Allowing the case against marriage to lapse, he began to consider +the peculiarities of character which had led to her saying that. Had she meant +it? Surely one ought to know the character of the person with whom one might +spend all one’s life; being a novelist, let him try to discover what sort +of person she was. When he was with her he could not analyse her qualities, +because he seemed to know them instinctively, but when he was away from her it +sometimes seemed to him that he did not know her at all. She was young, but she +was also old; she had little self-confidence, and yet she was a good judge of +people. She was happy; but what made her happy? If they were alone and the +excitement had worn off, and they had to deal with the ordinary facts of the +day, what would happen? Casting his eye upon his own character, two things +appeared to him: that he was very unpunctual, and that he disliked answering +notes. As far as he knew Rachel was inclined to be punctual, but he could not +remember that he had ever seen her with a pen in her hand. Let him next imagine +a dinner-party, say at the Crooms, and Wilson, who had taken her down, talking +about the state of the Liberal party. She would say—of course she was +absolutely ignorant of politics. Nevertheless she was intelligent certainly, +and honest too. Her temper was uncertain—that he had noticed—and +she was not domestic, and she was not easy, and she was not quiet, or +beautiful, except in some dresses in some lights. But the great gift she had +was that she understood what was said to her; there had never been any one like +her for talking to. You could say anything—you could say everything, and +yet she was never servile. Here he pulled himself up, for it seemed to him +suddenly that he knew less about her than about any one. All these thoughts had +occurred to him many times already; often had he tried to argue and reason; and +again he had reached the old state of doubt. He did not know her, and he did +not know what she felt, or whether they could live together, or whether he +wanted to marry her, and yet he was in love with her. +</p> + +<p> +Supposing he went to her and said (he slackened his pace and began to speak +aloud, as if he were speaking to Rachel): +</p> + +<p> +“I worship you, but I loathe marriage, I hate its smugness, its safety, +its compromise, and the thought of you interfering in my work, hindering me; +what would you answer?” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped, leant against the trunk of a tree, and gazed without seeing them at +some stones scattered on the bank of the dry river-bed. He saw Rachel’s +face distinctly, the grey eyes, the hair, the mouth; the face that could look +so many things—plain, vacant, almost insignificant, or wild, passionate, +almost beautiful, yet in his eyes was always the same because of the +extraordinary freedom with which she looked at him, and spoke as she felt. What +would she answer? What did she feel? Did she love him, or did she feel nothing +at all for him or for any other man, being, as she had said that afternoon, +free, like the wind or the sea? +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you’re free!” he exclaimed, in exultation at the thought +of her, “and I’d keep you free. We’d be free together. +We’d share everything together. No happiness would be like ours. No lives +would compare with ours.” He opened his arms wide as if to hold her and +the world in one embrace. +</p> + +<p> +No longer able to consider marriage, or to weigh coolly what her nature was, or +how it would be if they lived together, he dropped to the ground and sat +absorbed in the thought of her, and soon tormented by the desire to be in her +presence again. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<p> +But Hewet need not have increased his torments by imagining that Hirst was +still talking to Rachel. The party very soon broke up, the Flushings going in +one direction, Hirst in another, and Rachel remaining in the hall, pulling the +illustrated papers about, turning from one to another, her movements expressing +the unformed restless desire in her mind. She did not know whether to go or to +stay, though Mrs. Flushing had commanded her to appear at tea. The hall was +empty, save for Miss Willett who was playing scales with her fingers upon a +sheet of sacred music, and the Carters, an opulent couple who disliked the +girl, because her shoe laces were untied, and she did not look sufficiently +cheery, which by some indirect process of thought led them to think that she +would not like them. Rachel certainly would not have liked them, if she had +seen them, for the excellent reason that Mr. Carter waxed his moustache, and +Mrs. Carter wore bracelets, and they were evidently the kind of people who +would not like her; but she was too much absorbed by her own restlessness to +think or to look. +</p> + +<p> +She was turning over the slippery pages of an American magazine, when the hall +door swung, a wedge of light fell upon the floor, and a small white figure upon +whom the light seemed focussed, made straight across the room to her. +</p> + +<p> +“What! You here?” Evelyn exclaimed. “Just caught a glimpse of +you at lunch; but you wouldn’t condescend to look at <i>me</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +It was part of Evelyn’s character that in spite of many snubs which she +received or imagined, she never gave up the pursuit of people she wanted to +know, and in the long run generally succeeded in knowing them and even in +making them like her. +</p> + +<p> +She looked round her. “I hate this place. I hate these people,” she +said. “I wish you’d come up to my room with me. I do want to talk +to you.” +</p> + +<p> +As Rachel had no wish to go or to stay, Evelyn took her by the wrist and drew +her out of the hall and up the stairs. As they went upstairs two steps at a +time, Evelyn, who still kept hold of Rachel’s hand, ejaculated broken +sentences about not caring a hang what people said. “Why should one, if +one knows one’s right? And let ’em all go to blazes! Them’s +my opinions!” +</p> + +<p> +She was in a state of great excitement, and the muscles of her arms were +twitching nervously. It was evident that she was only waiting for the door to +shut to tell Rachel all about it. Indeed, directly they were inside her room, +she sat on the end of the bed and said, “I suppose you think I’m +mad?” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel was not in the mood to think clearly about any one’s state of +mind. She was however in the mood to say straight out whatever occurred to her +without fear of the consequences. +</p> + +<p> +“Somebody’s proposed to you,” she remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“How on earth did you guess that?” Evelyn exclaimed, some pleasure +mingling with her surprise. “Do as I look as if I’d just had a +proposal?” +</p> + +<p> +“You look as if you had them every day,” Rachel replied. +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t suppose I’ve had more than you’ve +had,” Evelyn laughed rather insincerely. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never had one.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you will—lots—it’s the easiest thing in the +world—But that’s not what’s happened this afternoon exactly. +It’s—Oh, it’s a muddle, a detestable, horrible, disgusting +muddle!” +</p> + +<p> +She went to the wash-stand and began sponging her cheeks with cold water; for +they were burning hot. Still sponging them and trembling slightly she turned +and explained in the high pitched voice of nervous excitement: “Alfred +Perrott says I’ve promised to marry him, and I say I never did. Sinclair +says he’ll shoot himself if I don’t marry him, and I say, +‘Well, shoot yourself!’ But of course he doesn’t—they +never do. And Sinclair got hold of me this afternoon and began bothering me to +give an answer, and accusing me of flirting with Alfred Perrott, and told me +I’d no heart, and was merely a Siren, oh, and quantities of pleasant +things like that. So at last I said to him, ‘Well, Sinclair, you’ve +said enough now. You can just let me go.’ And then he caught me and +kissed me—the disgusting brute—I can still feel his nasty hairy +face just there—as if he’d any right to, after what he’d +said!” +</p> + +<p> +She sponged a spot on her left cheek energetically. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never met a man that was fit to compare with a woman!” +she cried; “they’ve no dignity, they’ve no courage, +they’ve nothing but their beastly passions and their brute strength! +Would any woman have behaved like that—if a man had said he didn’t +want her? We’ve too much self-respect; we’re infinitely finer than +they are.” +</p> + +<p> +She walked about the room, dabbing her wet cheeks with a towel. Tears were now +running down with the drops of cold water. +</p> + +<p> +“It makes me angry,” she explained, drying her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel sat watching her. She did not think of Evelyn’s position; she only +thought that the world was full of people in torment. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s only one man here I really like,” Evelyn continued; +“Terence Hewet. One feels as if one could trust him.” +</p> + +<p> +At these words Rachel suffered an indescribable chill; her heart seemed to be +pressed together by cold hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she asked. “Why can you trust him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Evelyn. “Don’t you have +feelings about people? Feelings you’re absolutely certain are right? I +had a long talk with Terence the other night. I felt we were really friends +after that. There’s something of a woman in him—” She paused +as though she were thinking of very intimate things that Terence had told her, +so at least Rachel interpreted her gaze. +</p> + +<p> +She tried to force herself to say, “Has he proposed to you?” but +the question was too tremendous, and in another moment Evelyn was saying that +the finest men were like women, and women were nobler than men—for +example, one couldn’t imagine a woman like Lillah Harrison thinking a +mean thing or having anything base about her. +</p> + +<p> +“How I’d like you to know her!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +She was becoming much calmer, and her cheeks were now quite dry. Her eyes had +regained their usual expression of keen vitality, and she seemed to have +forgotten Alfred and Sinclair and her emotion. “Lillah runs a home for +inebriate women in the Deptford Road,” she continued. “She started +it, managed it, did everything off her own bat, and it’s now the biggest +of its kind in England. You can’t think what those women are +like—and their homes. But she goes among them at all hours of the day and +night. I’ve often been with her. . . . That’s what’s the +matter with us. . . . We don’t <i>do</i> things. What do you +<i>do</i>?” she demanded, looking at Rachel with a slightly ironical +smile. Rachel had scarcely listened to any of this, and her expression was +vacant and unhappy. She had conceived an equal dislike for Lillah Harrison and +her work in the Deptford Road, and for Evelyn M. and her profusion of love +affairs. +</p> + +<p> +“I play,” she said with an affection of stolid composure. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s about it!” Evelyn laughed. “We none of us do +anything but play. And that’s why women like Lillah Harrison, who’s +worth twenty of you and me, have to work themselves to the bone. But I’m +tired of playing,” she went on, lying flat on the bed, and raising her +arms above her head. Thus stretched out, she looked more diminutive than ever. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to do something. I’ve got a splendid idea. Look +here, you must join. I’m sure you’ve got any amount of stuff in +you, though you look—well, as if you’d lived all your life in a +garden.” She sat up, and began to explain with animation. “I belong +to a club in London. It meets every Saturday, so it’s called the Saturday +Club. We’re supposed to talk about art, but I’m sick of talking +about art—what’s the good of it? With all kinds of real things +going on round one? It isn’t as if they’d got anything to say about +art, either. So what I’m going to tell ’em is that we’ve +talked enough about art, and we’d better talk about life for a change. +Questions that really matter to people’s lives, the White Slave Traffic, +Women Suffrage, the Insurance Bill, and so on. And when we’ve made up our +mind what we want to do we could form ourselves into a society for doing it. . +. . I’m certain that if people like ourselves were to take things in hand +instead of leaving it to policemen and magistrates, we could put a stop +to—prostitution”—she lowered her voice at the ugly +word—“in six months. My idea is that men and women ought to join in +these matters. We ought to go into Piccadilly and stop one of these poor +wretches and say: ‘Now, look here, I’m no better than you are, and +I don’t pretend to be any better, but you’re doing what you know to +be beastly, and I won’t have you doing beastly things, because +we’re all the same under our skins, and if you do a beastly thing it does +matter to me.’ That’s what Mr. Bax was saying this morning, and +it’s true, though you clever people—you’re clever too, +aren’t you?—don’t believe it.” +</p> + +<p> +When Evelyn began talking—it was a fact she often regretted—her +thoughts came so quickly that she never had any time to listen to other +people’s thoughts. She continued without more pause than was needed for +taking breath. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see why the Saturday club people shouldn’t do a +really great work in that way,” she went on. “Of course it would +want organisation, some one to give their life to it, but I’m ready to do +that. My notion’s to think of the human beings first and let the abstract +ideas take care of themselves. What’s wrong with Lillah—if there is +anything wrong—is that she thinks of Temperance first and the women +afterwards. Now there’s one thing I’ll say to my credit,” she +continued; “I’m not intellectual or artistic or anything of that +sort, but I’m jolly human.” She slipped off the bed and sat on the +floor, looking up at Rachel. She searched up into her face as if she were +trying to read what kind of character was concealed behind the face. She put +her hand on Rachel’s knee. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>is</i> being human that counts, isn’t it?” she +continued. “Being real, whatever Mr. Hirst may say. Are you real?” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel felt much as Terence had felt that Evelyn was too close to her, and that +there was something exciting in this closeness, although it was also +disagreeable. She was spared the need of finding an answer to the question, for +Evelyn proceeded, “Do you <i>believe</i> in anything?” +</p> + +<p> +In order to put an end to the scrutiny of these bright blue eyes, and to +relieve her own physical restlessness, Rachel pushed back her chair and +exclaimed, “In everything!” and began to finger different objects, +the books on the table, the photographs, the freshly leaved plant with the +stiff bristles, which stood in a large earthenware pot in the window. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe in the bed, in the photographs, in the pot, in the balcony, in +the sun, in Mrs. Flushing,” she remarked, still speaking recklessly, with +something at the back of her mind forcing her to say the things that one +usually does not say. “But I don’t believe in God, I don’t +believe in Mr. Bax, I don’t believe in the hospital nurse. I don’t +believe—” She took up a photograph and, looking at it, did not +finish her sentence. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my mother,” said Evelyn, who remained sitting on the +floor binding her knees together with her arms, and watching Rachel curiously. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel considered the portrait. “Well, I don’t much believe in +her,” she remarked after a time in a low tone of voice. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Murgatroyd looked indeed as if the life had been crushed out of her; she +knelt on a chair, gazing piteously from behind the body of a Pomeranian dog +which she clasped to her cheek, as if for protection. +</p> + +<p> +“And that’s my dad,” said Evelyn, for there were two +photographs in one frame. The second photograph represented a handsome soldier +with high regular features and a heavy black moustache; his hand rested on the +hilt of his sword; there was a decided likeness between him and Evelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“And it’s because of them,” said Evelyn, “that +I’m going to help the other women. You’ve heard about me, I +suppose? They weren’t married, you see; I’m not anybody in +particular. I’m not a bit ashamed of it. They loved each other anyhow, +and that’s more than most people can say of their parents.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel sat down on the bed, with the two pictures in her hands, and compared +them—the man and the woman who had, so Evelyn said, loved each other. +That fact interested her more than the campaign on behalf of unfortunate women +which Evelyn was once more beginning to describe. She looked again from one to +the other. +</p> + +<p> +“What d’you think it’s like,” she asked, as Evelyn +paused for a minute, “being in love?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you never been in love?” Evelyn asked. “Oh +no—one’s only got to look at you to see that,” she added. She +considered. “I really was in love once,” she said. She fell into +reflection, her eyes losing their bright vitality and approaching something +like an expression of tenderness. “It was heavenly!—while it +lasted. The worst of it is it don’t last, not with me. That’s the +bother.” +</p> + +<p> +She went on to consider the difficulty with Alfred and Sinclair about which she +had pretended to ask Rachel’s advice. But she did not want advice; she +wanted intimacy. When she looked at Rachel, who was still looking at the +photographs on the bed, she could not help seeing that Rachel was not thinking +about her. What was she thinking about, then? Evelyn was tormented by the +little spark of life in her which was always trying to work through to other +people, and was always being rebuffed. Falling silent she looked at her +visitor, her shoes, her stockings, the combs in her hair, all the details of +her dress in short, as though by seizing every detail she might get closer to +the life within. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel at last put down the photographs, walked to the window and remarked, +“It’s odd. People talk as much about love as they do about +religion.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you’d sit down and talk,” said Evelyn impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +Instead Rachel opened the window, which was made in two long panes, and looked +down into the garden below. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s where we got lost the first night,” she said. +“It must have been in those bushes.” +</p> + +<p> +“They kill hens down there,” said Evelyn. “They cut their +heads off with a knife—disgusting! But tell me—what—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to explore the hotel,” Rachel interrupted. She drew +her head in and looked at Evelyn, who still sat on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s just like other hotels,” said Evelyn. +</p> + +<p> +That might be, although every room and passage and chair in the place had a +character of its own in Rachel’s eyes; but she could not bring herself to +stay in one place any longer. She moved slowly towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it you want?” said Evelyn. “You make me feel as if +you were always thinking of something you don’t say. . . . Do say +it!” +</p> + +<p> +But Rachel made no response to this invitation either. She stopped with her +fingers on the handle of the door, as if she remembered that some sort of +pronouncement was due from her. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you’ll marry one of them,” she said, and then +turned the handle and shut the door behind her. She walked slowly down the +passage, running her hand along the wall beside her. She did not think which +way she was going, and therefore walked down a passage which only led to a +window and a balcony. She looked down at the kitchen premises, the wrong side +of the hotel life, which was cut off from the right side by a maze of small +bushes. The ground was bare, old tins were scattered about, and the bushes wore +towels and aprons upon their heads to dry. Every now and then a waiter came out +in a white apron and threw rubbish on to a heap. Two large women in cotton +dresses were sitting on a bench with blood-smeared tin trays in front of them +and yellow bodies across their knees. They were plucking the birds, and talking +as they plucked. Suddenly a chicken came floundering, half flying, half running +into the space, pursued by a third woman whose age could hardly be under +eighty. Although wizened and unsteady on her legs she kept up the chase, egged +on by the laughter of the others; her face was expressive of furious rage, and +as she ran she swore in Spanish. Frightened by hand-clapping here, a napkin +there, the bird ran this way and that in sharp angles, and finally fluttered +straight at the old woman, who opened her scanty grey skirts to enclose it, +dropped upon it in a bundle, and then holding it out cut its head off with an +expression of vindictive energy and triumph combined. The blood and the ugly +wriggling fascinated Rachel, so that although she knew that some one had come +up behind and was standing beside her, she did not turn round until the old +woman had settled down on the bench beside the others. Then she looked up +sharply, because of the ugliness of what she had seen. It was Miss Allan who +stood beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a pretty sight,” said Miss Allan, “although I daresay +it’s really more humane than our method. . . . I don’t believe +you’ve ever been in my room,” she added, and turned away as if she +meant Rachel to follow her. Rachel followed, for it seemed possible that each +new person might remove the mystery which burdened her. +</p> + +<p> +The bedrooms at the hotel were all on the same pattern, save that some were +larger and some smaller; they had a floor of dark red tiles; they had a high +bed, draped in mosquito curtains; they had each a writing-table and a +dressing-table, and a couple of arm-chairs. But directly a box was unpacked the +rooms became very different, so that Miss Allan’s room was very unlike +Evelyn’s room. There were no variously coloured hatpins on her +dressing-table; no scent-bottles; no narrow curved pairs of scissors; no great +variety of shoes and boots; no silk petticoats lying on the chairs. The room +was extremely neat. There seemed to be two pairs of everything. The +writing-table, however, was piled with manuscript, and a table was drawn out to +stand by the arm-chair on which were two separate heaps of dark library books, +in which there were many slips of paper sticking out at different degrees of +thickness. Miss Allan had asked Rachel to come in out of kindness, thinking +that she was waiting about with nothing to do. Moreover, she liked young women, +for she had taught many of them, and having received so much hospitality from +the Ambroses she was glad to be able to repay a minute part of it. She looked +about accordingly for something to show her. The room did not provide much +entertainment. She touched her manuscript. “Age of Chaucer; Age of +Elizabeth; Age of Dryden,” she reflected; “I’m glad there +aren’t many more ages. I’m still in the middle of the eighteenth +century. Won’t you sit down, Miss Vinrace? The chair, though small, is +firm. . . . Euphues. The germ of the English novel,” she continued, +glancing at another page. “Is that the kind of thing that interests +you?” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at Rachel with great kindness and simplicity, as though she would do +her utmost to provide anything she wished to have. This expression had a +remarkable charm in a face otherwise much lined with care and thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, it’s music with you, isn’t it?” she continued, +recollecting, “and I generally find that they don’t go together. +Sometimes of course we have prodigies—” She was looking about her +for something and now saw a jar on the mantelpiece which she reached down and +gave to Rachel. “If you put your finger into this jar you may be able to +extract a piece of preserved ginger. Are you a prodigy?” +</p> + +<p> +But the ginger was deep and could not be reached. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t bother,” she said, as Miss Allan looked about for some +other implement. “I daresay I shouldn’t like preserved +ginger.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve never tried?” enquired Miss Allan. “Then I +consider that it is your duty to try now. Why, you may add a new pleasure to +life, and as you are still young—” She wondered whether a +button-hook would do. “I make it a rule to try everything,” she +said. “Don’t you think it would be very annoying if you tasted +ginger for the first time on your death-bed, and found you never liked anything +so much? I should be so exceedingly annoyed that I think I should get well on +that account alone.” +</p> + +<p> +She was now successful, and a lump of ginger emerged on the end of the +button-hook. While she went to wipe the button-hook, Rachel bit the ginger and +at once cried, “I must spit it out!” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure you have really tasted it?” Miss Allan demanded. +</p> + +<p> +For answer Rachel threw it out of the window. +</p> + +<p> +“An experience anyhow,” said Miss Allan calmly. “Let me +see—I have nothing else to offer you, unless you would like to taste +this.” A small cupboard hung above her bed, and she took out of it a slim +elegant jar filled with a bright green fluid. +</p> + +<p> +“Crême de Menthe,” she said. “Liqueur, you know. It looks as +if I drank, doesn’t it? As a matter of fact it goes to prove what an +exceptionally abstemious person I am. I’ve had that jar for +six-and-twenty years,” she added, looking at it with pride, as she tipped +it over, and from the height of the liquid it could be seen that the bottle was +still untouched. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-six years?” Rachel exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Allan was gratified, for she had meant Rachel to be surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“When I went to Dresden six-and-twenty years ago,” she said, +“a certain friend of mine announced her intention of making me a present. +She thought that in the event of shipwreck or accident a stimulant might be +useful. However, as I had no occasion for it, I gave it back on my return. On +the eve of any foreign journey the same bottle always makes its appearance, +with the same note; on my return in safety it is always handed back. I consider +it a kind of charm against accidents. Though I was once detained twenty-four +hours by an accident to the train in front of me, I have never met with any +accident myself. Yes,” she continued, now addressing the bottle, +“we have seen many climes and cupboards together, have we not? I intend +one of these days to have a silver label made with an inscription. It is a +gentleman, as you may observe, and his name is Oliver. . . . I do not think I +could forgive you, Miss Vinrace, if you broke my Oliver,” she said, +firmly taking the bottle out of Rachel’s hands and replacing it in the +cupboard. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel was swinging the bottle by the neck. She was interested by Miss Allan to +the point of forgetting the bottle. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she exclaimed, “I do think that odd; to have had a +friend for twenty-six years, and a bottle, and—to have made all those +journeys.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all; I call it the reverse of odd,” Miss Allan replied. +“I always consider myself the most ordinary person I know. It’s +rather distinguished to be as ordinary as I am. I forget—are you a +prodigy, or did you say you were not a prodigy?” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled at Rachel very kindly. She seemed to have known and experienced so +much, as she moved cumbrously about the room, that surely there must be balm +for all anguish in her words, could one induce her to have recourse to them. +But Miss Allan, who was now locking the cupboard door, showed no signs of +breaking the reticence which had snowed her under for years. An uncomfortable +sensation kept Rachel silent; on the one hand, she wished to whirl high and +strike a spark out of the cool pink flesh; on the other she perceived there was +nothing to be done but to drift past each other in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not a prodigy. I find it very difficult to say what I +mean—” she observed at length. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a matter of temperament, I believe,” Miss Allan helped +her. “There are some people who have no difficulty; for myself I find +there are a great many things I simply cannot say. But then I consider myself +very slow. One of my colleagues now, knows whether she likes you or +not—let me see, how does she do it?—by the way you say good-morning +at breakfast. It is sometimes a matter of years before I can make up my mind. +But most young people seem to find it easy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no,” said Rachel. “It’s hard!” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Allan looked at Rachel quietly, saying nothing; she suspected that there +were difficulties of some kind. Then she put her hand to the back of her head, +and discovered that one of the grey coils of hair had come loose. +</p> + +<p> +“I must ask you to be so kind as to excuse me,” she said, rising, +“if I do my hair. I have never yet found a satisfactory type of hairpin. +I must change my dress, too, for the matter of that; and I should be +particularly glad of your assistance, because there is a tiresome set of hooks +which I <i>can</i> fasten for myself, but it takes from ten to fifteen minutes; +whereas with your help—” +</p> + +<p> +She slipped off her coat and skirt and blouse, and stood doing her hair before +the glass, a massive homely figure, her petticoat being so short that she stood +on a pair of thick slate-grey legs. +</p> + +<p> +“People say youth is pleasant; I myself find middle age far +pleasanter,” she remarked, removing hair pins and combs, and taking up +her brush. When it fell loose her hair only came down to her neck. +</p> + +<p> +“When one was young,” she continued, “things could seem so +very serious if one was made that way. . . . And now my dress.” +</p> + +<p> +In a wonderfully short space of time her hair had been reformed in its usual +loops. The upper half of her body now became dark green with black stripes on +it; the skirt, however, needed hooking at various angles, and Rachel had to +kneel on the floor, fitting the eyes to the hooks. +</p> + +<p> +“Our Miss Johnson used to find life very unsatisfactory, I +remember,” Miss Allan continued. She turned her back to the light. +“And then she took to breeding guinea-pigs for their spots, and became +absorbed in that. I have just heard that the yellow guinea-pig has had a black +baby. We had a bet of sixpence on about it. She will be very triumphant.” +</p> + +<p> +The skirt was fastened. She looked at herself in the glass with the curious +stiffening of her face generally caused by looking in the glass. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I in a fit state to encounter my fellow-beings?” she asked. +“I forget which way it is—but they find black animals very rarely +have coloured babies—it may be the other way round. I have had it so +often explained to me that it is very stupid of me to have forgotten +again.” +</p> + +<p> +She moved about the room acquiring small objects with quiet force, and fixing +them about her—a locket, a watch and chain, a heavy gold bracelet, and +the parti-coloured button of a suffrage society. Finally, completely equipped +for Sunday tea, she stood before Rachel, and smiled at her kindly. She was not +an impulsive woman, and her life had schooled her to restrain her tongue. At +the same time, she was possessed of an amount of good-will towards others, and +in particular towards the young, which often made her regret that speech was so +difficult. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we descend?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +She put one hand upon Rachel’s shoulder, and stooping, picked up a pair +of walking-shoes with the other, and placed them neatly side by side outside +her door. As they walked down the passage they passed many pairs of boots and +shoes, some black and some brown, all side by side, and all different, even to +the way in which they lay together. +</p> + +<p> +“I always think that people are so like their boots,” said Miss +Allan. “That is Mrs. Paley’s—” but as she spoke the +door opened, and Mrs. Paley rolled out in her chair, equipped also for tea. +</p> + +<p> +She greeted Miss Allan and Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“I was just saying that people are so like their boots,” said Miss +Allan. Mrs. Paley did not hear. She repeated it more loudly still. Mrs. Paley +did not hear. She repeated it a third time. Mrs. Paley heard, but she did not +understand. She was apparently about to repeat it for the fourth time, when +Rachel suddenly said something inarticulate, and disappeared down the corridor. +This misunderstanding, which involved a complete block in the passage, seemed +to her unbearable. She walked quickly and blindly in the opposite direction, +and found herself at the end of a <i>cul de sac</i>. There was a window, and a +table and a chair in the window, and upon the table stood a rusty inkstand, an +ashtray, an old copy of a French newspaper, and a pen with a broken nib. Rachel +sat down, as if to study the French newspaper, but a tear fell on the blurred +French print, raising a soft blot. She lifted her head sharply, exclaiming +aloud, “It’s intolerable!” Looking out of the window with +eyes that would have seen nothing even had they not been dazed by tears, she +indulged herself at last in violent abuse of the entire day. It had been +miserable from start to finish; first, the service in the chapel; then +luncheon; then Evelyn; then Miss Allan; then old Mrs. Paley blocking up the +passage. All day long she had been tantalized and put off. She had now reached +one of those eminences, the result of some crisis, from which the world is +finally displayed in its true proportions. She disliked the look of it +immensely—churches, politicians, misfits, and huge impostures—men +like Mr. Dalloway, men like Mr. Bax, Evelyn and her chatter, Mrs. Paley +blocking up the passage. Meanwhile the steady beat of her own pulse represented +the hot current of feeling that ran down beneath; beating, struggling, +fretting. For the time, her own body was the source of all the life in the +world, which tried to burst forth here—there—and was repressed now +by Mr. Bax, now by Evelyn, now by the imposition of ponderous stupidity, the +weight of the entire world. Thus tormented, she would twist her hands together, +for all things were wrong, all people stupid. Vaguely seeing that there were +people down in the garden beneath she represented them as aimless masses of +matter, floating hither and thither, without aim except to impede her. What +were they doing, those other people in the world? +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody knows,” she said. The force of her rage was beginning to +spend itself, and the vision of the world which had been so vivid became dim. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a dream,” she murmured. She considered the rusty +inkstand, the pen, the ash-tray, and the old French newspaper. These small and +worthless objects seemed to her to represent human lives. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re asleep and dreaming,” she repeated. But the +possibility which now suggested itself that one of the shapes might be the +shape of Terence roused her from her melancholy lethargy. She became as +restless as she had been before she sat down. She was no longer able to see the +world as a town laid out beneath her. It was covered instead by a haze of +feverish red mist. She had returned to the state in which she had been all day. +Thinking was no escape. Physical movement was the only refuge, in and out of +rooms, in and out of people’s minds, seeking she knew not what. Therefore +she rose, pushed back the table, and went downstairs. She went out of the hall +door, and, turning the corner of the hotel, found herself among the people whom +she had seen from the window. But owing to the broad sunshine after shaded +passages, and to the substance of living people after dreams, the group +appeared with startling intensity, as though the dusty surface had been peeled +off everything, leaving only the reality and the instant. It had the look of a +vision printed on the dark at night. White and grey and purple figures were +scattered on the green, round wicker tables, in the middle the flame of the +tea-urn made the air waver like a faulty sheet of glass, a massive green tree +stood over them as if it were a moving force held at rest. As she approached, +she could hear Evelyn’s voice repeating monotonously, “Here +then—here—good doggie, come here”; for a moment nothing +seemed to happen; it all stood still, and then she realised that one of the +figures was Helen Ambrose; and the dust again began to settle. +</p> + +<p> +The group indeed had come together in a miscellaneous way; one tea-table +joining to another tea-table, and deck-chairs serving to connect two groups. +But even at a distance it could be seen that Mrs. Flushing, upright and +imperious, dominated the party. She was talking vehemently to Helen across the +table. +</p> + +<p> +“Ten days under canvas,” she was saying. “No comforts. If you +want comforts, don’t come. But I may tell you, if you don’t come +you’ll regret it all your life. You say yes?” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment Mrs. Flushing caught sight of Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, there’s your niece. She’s promised. You’re coming, +aren’t you?” Having adopted the plan, she pursued it with the +energy of a child. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel took her part with eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I’m coming. So are you, Helen. And Mr. Pepper +too.” As she sat she realised that she was surrounded by people she knew, +but that Terence was not among them. From various angles people began saying +what they thought of the proposed expedition. According to some it would be +hot, but the nights would be cold; according to others, the difficulties would +lie rather in getting a boat, and in speaking the language. Mrs. Flushing +disposed of all objections, whether due to man or due to nature, by announcing +that her husband would settle all that. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Mr. Flushing quietly explained to Helen that the expedition was +really a simple matter; it took five days at the outside; and the place—a +native village—was certainly well worth seeing before she returned to +England. Helen murmured ambiguously, and did not commit herself to one answer +rather than to another. +</p> + +<p> +The tea-party, however, included too many different kinds of people for general +conversation to flourish; and from Rachel’s point of view possessed the +great advantage that it was quite unnecessary for her to talk. Over there Susan +and Arthur were explaining to Mrs. Paley that an expedition had been proposed; +and Mrs. Paley having grasped the fact, gave the advice of an old traveller +that they should take nice canned vegetables, fur cloaks, and insect powder. +She leant over to Mrs. Flushing and whispered something which from the twinkle +in her eyes probably had reference to bugs. Then Helen was reciting “Toll +for the Brave” to St. John Hirst, in order apparently to win a sixpence +which lay upon the table; while Mr. Hughling Elliot imposed silence upon his +section of the audience by his fascinating anecdote of Lord Curzon and the +undergraduate’s bicycle. Mrs. Thornbury was trying to remember the name +of a man who might have been another Garibaldi, and had written a book which +they ought to read; and Mr. Thornbury recollected that he had a pair of +binoculars at anybody’s service. Miss Allan meanwhile murmured with the +curious intimacy which a spinster often achieves with dogs, to the fox-terrier +which Evelyn had at last induced to come over to them. Little particles of dust +or blossom fell on the plates now and then when the branches sighed above. +Rachel seemed to see and hear a little of everything, much as a river feels the +twigs that fall into it and sees the sky above, but her eyes were too vague for +Evelyn’s liking. She came across, and sat on the ground at Rachel’s +feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” she asked suddenly. “What are you thinking +about?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Warrington,” Rachel replied rashly, because she had to say +something. She did indeed see Susan murmuring to Mrs. Elliot, while Arthur +stared at her with complete confidence in his own love. Both Rachel and Evelyn +then began to listen to what Susan was saying. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s the ordering and the dogs and the garden, and the children +coming to be taught,” her voice proceeded rhythmically as if checking the +list, “and my tennis, and the village, and letters to write for father, +and a thousand little things that don’t sound much; but I never have a +moment to myself, and when I go to bed, I’m so sleepy I’m off +before my head touches the pillow. Besides I like to be a great deal with my +Aunts—I’m a great bore, aren’t I, Aunt Emma?” (she +smiled at old Mrs. Paley, who with head slightly drooped was regarding the cake +with speculative affection), “and father has to be very careful about +chills in winter which means a great deal of running about, because he +won’t look after himself, any more than you will, Arthur! So it all +mounts up!” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice mounted too, in a mild ecstasy of satisfaction with her life and her +own nature. Rachel suddenly took a violent dislike to Susan, ignoring all that +was kindly, modest, and even pathetic about her. She appeared insincere and +cruel; she saw her grown stout and prolific, the kind blue eyes now shallow and +watery, the bloom of the cheeks congealed to a network of dry red canals. +</p> + +<p> +Helen turned to her. “Did you go to church?” she asked. She had won +her sixpence and seemed making ready to go. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Rachel. “For the last time,” she added. +</p> + +<p> +In preparing to put on her gloves, Helen dropped one. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not going?” Evelyn asked, taking hold of one glove as +if to keep them. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s high time we went,” said Helen. “Don’t you +see how silent every one’s getting—?” +</p> + +<p> +A silence had fallen upon them all, caused partly by one of the accidents of +talk, and partly because they saw some one approaching. Helen could not see who +it was, but keeping her eyes fixed upon Rachel observed something which made +her say to herself, “So it’s Hewet.” She drew on her gloves +with a curious sense of the significance of the moment. Then she rose, for Mrs. +Flushing had seen Hewet too, and was demanding information about rivers and +boats which showed that the whole conversation would now come over again. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel followed her, and they walked in silence down the avenue. In spite of +what Helen had seen and understood, the feeling that was uppermost in her mind +was now curiously perverse; if she went on this expedition, she would not be +able to have a bath, the effort appeared to her to be great and disagreeable. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s so unpleasant, being cooped up with people one hardly +knows,” she remarked. “People who mind being seen naked.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to go?” Rachel asked. +</p> + +<p> +The intensity with which this was spoken irritated Mrs. Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mean to go, and I don’t mean not to go,” she +replied. She became more and more casual and indifferent. +</p> + +<p> +“After all, I daresay we’ve seen all there is to be seen; and +there’s the bother of getting there, and whatever they may say it’s +bound to be vilely uncomfortable.” +</p> + +<p> +For some time Rachel made no reply; but every sentence Helen spoke increased +her bitterness. At last she broke out— +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God, Helen, I’m not like you! I sometimes think you +don’t think or feel or care to do anything but exist! You’re like +Mr. Hirst. You see that things are bad, and you pride yourself on saying so. +It’s what you call being honest; as a matter of fact it’s being +lazy, being dull, being nothing. You don’t help; you put an end to +things.” +</p> + +<p> +Helen smiled as if she rather enjoyed the attack. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” she enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me bad—that’s all,” Rachel replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite likely,” said Helen. +</p> + +<p> +At any other time Rachel would probably have been silenced by her Aunt’s +candour; but this afternoon she was not in the mood to be silenced by any one. +A quarrel would be welcome. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re only half alive,” she continued. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that because I didn’t accept Mr. Flushing’s +invitation?” Helen asked, “or do you always think that?” +</p> + +<p> +At the moment it appeared to Rachel that she had always seen the same faults in +Helen, from the very first night on board the <i>Euphrosyne</i>, in spite of +her beauty, in spite of her magnanimity and their love. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s only what’s the matter with every one!” she +exclaimed. “No one feels—no one does anything but hurt. I tell you, +Helen, the world’s bad. It’s an agony, living, +wanting—” +</p> + +<p> +Here she tore a handful of leaves from a bush and crushed them to control +herself. +</p> + +<p> +“The lives of these people,” she tried to explain, “the +aimlessness, the way they live. One goes from one to another, and it’s +all the same. One never gets what one wants out of any of them.” +</p> + +<p> +Her emotional state and her confusion would have made her an easy prey if Helen +had wished to argue or had wished to draw confidences. But instead of talking +she fell into a profound silence as they walked on. Aimless, trivial, +meaningless, oh no—what she had seen at tea made it impossible for her to +believe that. The little jokes, the chatter, the inanities of the afternoon had +shrivelled up before her eyes. Underneath the likings and spites, the comings +together and partings, great things were happening—terrible things, +because they were so great. Her sense of safety was shaken, as if beneath twigs +and dead leaves she had seen the movement of a snake. It seemed to her that a +moment’s respite was allowed, a moment’s make-believe, and then +again the profound and reasonless law asserted itself, moulding them all to its +liking, making and destroying. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at Rachel walking beside her, still crushing the leaves in her +fingers and absorbed in her own thoughts. She was in love, and she pitied her +profoundly. But she roused herself from these thoughts and apologised. +“I’m very sorry,” she said, “but if I’m dull, +it’s my nature, and it can’t be helped.” If it was a natural +defect, however, she found an easy remedy, for she went on to say that she +thought Mr. Flushing’s scheme a very good one, only needing a little +consideration, which it appeared she had given it by the time they reached +home. By that time they had settled that if anything more was said, they would +accept the invitation. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<p> +When considered in detail by Mr. Flushing and Mrs. Ambrose the expedition +proved neither dangerous nor difficult. They found also that it was not even +unusual. Every year at this season English people made parties which steamed a +short way up the river, landed, and looked at the native village, bought a +certain number of things from the natives, and returned again without damage +done to mind or body. When it was discovered that six people really wished the +same thing the arrangements were soon carried out. +</p> + +<p> +Since the time of Elizabeth very few people had seen the river, and nothing has +been done to change its appearance from what it was to the eyes of the +Elizabethan voyagers. The time of Elizabeth was only distant from the present +time by a moment of space compared with the ages which had passed since the +water had run between those banks, and the green thickets swarmed there, and +the small trees had grown to huge wrinkled trees in solitude. Changing only +with the change of the sun and the clouds, the waving green mass had stood +there for century after century, and the water had run between its banks +ceaselessly, sometimes washing away earth and sometimes the branches of trees, +while in other parts of the world one town had risen upon the ruins of another +town, and the men in the towns had become more and more articulate and unlike +each other. A few miles of this river were visible from the top of the mountain +where some weeks before the party from the hotel had picnicked. Susan and +Arthur had seen it as they kissed each other, and Terence and Rachel as they +sat talking about Richmond, and Evelyn and Perrott as they strolled about, +imagining that they were great captains sent to colonise the world. They had +seen the broad blue mark across the sand where it flowed into the sea, and the +green cloud of trees mass themselves about it farther up, and finally hide its +waters altogether from sight. At intervals for the first twenty miles or so +houses were scattered on the bank; by degrees the houses became huts, and, +later still, there was neither hut nor house, but trees and grass, which were +seen only by hunters, explorers, or merchants, marching or sailing, but making +no settlement. +</p> + +<p> +By leaving Santa Marina early in the morning, driving twenty miles and riding +eight, the party, which was composed finally of six English people, reached the +river-side as the night fell. They came cantering through the trees—Mr. +and Mrs. Flushing, Helen Ambrose, Rachel, Terence, and St. John. The tired +little horses then stopped automatically, and the English dismounted. Mrs. +Flushing strode to the river-bank in high spirits. The day had been long and +hot, but she had enjoyed the speed and the open air; she had left the hotel +which she hated, and she found the company to her liking. The river was +swirling past in the darkness; they could just distinguish the smooth moving +surface of the water, and the air was full of the sound of it. They stood in an +empty space in the midst of great tree-trunks, and out there a little green +light moving slightly up and down showed them where the steamer lay in which +they were to embark. +</p> + +<p> +When they all stood upon its deck they found that it was a very small boat +which throbbed gently beneath them for a few minutes, and then shoved smoothly +through the water. They seemed to be driving into the heart of the night, for +the trees closed in front of them, and they could hear all round them the +rustling of leaves. The great darkness had the usual effect of taking away all +desire for communication by making their words sound thin and small; and, after +walking round the deck three or four times, they clustered together, yawning +deeply, and looking at the same spot of deep gloom on the banks. Murmuring very +low in the rhythmical tone of one oppressed by the air, Mrs. Flushing began to +wonder where they were to sleep, for they could not sleep downstairs, they +could not sleep in a doghole smelling of oil, they could not sleep on deck, +they could not sleep—She yawned profoundly. It was as Helen had foreseen; +the question of nakedness had risen already, although they were half asleep, +and almost invisible to each other. With St. John’s help she stretched an +awning, and persuaded Mrs. Flushing that she could take off her clothes behind +this, and that no one would notice if by chance some part of her which had been +concealed for forty-five years was laid bare to the human eye. Mattresses were +thrown down, rugs provided, and the three women lay near each other in the soft +open air. +</p> + +<p> +The gentlemen, having smoked a certain number of cigarettes, dropped the +glowing ends into the river, and looked for a time at the ripples wrinkling the +black water beneath them, undressed too, and lay down at the other end of the +boat. They were very tired, and curtained from each other by the darkness. The +light from one lantern fell upon a few ropes, a few planks of the deck, and the +rail of the boat, but beyond that there was unbroken darkness, no light reached +their faces, or the trees which were massed on the sides of the river. +</p> + +<p> +Soon Wilfrid Flushing slept, and Hirst slept. Hewet alone lay awake looking +straight up into the sky. The gentle motion and the black shapes that were +drawn ceaselessly across his eyes had the effect of making it impossible for +him to think. Rachel’s presence so near him lulled thought asleep. Being +so near him, only a few paces off at the other end of the boat, she made it as +impossible for him to think about her as it would have been impossible to see +her if she had stood quite close to him, her forehead against his forehead. In +some strange way the boat became identified with himself, and just as it would +have been useless for him to get up and steer the boat, so was it useless for +him to struggle any longer with the irresistible force of his own feelings. He +was drawn on and on away from all he knew, slipping over barriers and past +landmarks into unknown waters as the boat glided over the smooth surface of the +river. In profound peace, enveloped in deeper unconsciousness than had been his +for many nights, he lay on deck watching the tree-tops change their position +slightly against the sky, and arch themselves, and sink and tower huge, until +he passed from seeing them into dreams where he lay beneath the shadow of the +vast trees, looking up into the sky. +</p> + +<p> +When they woke next morning they had gone a considerable way up the river; on +the right was a high yellow bank of sand tufted with trees, on the left a swamp +quivering with long reeds and tall bamboos on the top of which, swaying +slightly, perched vivid green and yellow birds. The morning was hot and still. +After breakfast they drew chairs together and sat in an irregular semicircle in +the bow. An awning above their heads protected them from the heat of the sun, +and the breeze which the boat made aired them softly. Mrs. Flushing was already +dotting and striping her canvas, her head jerking this way and that with the +action of a bird nervously picking up grain; the others had books or pieces of +paper or embroidery on their knees, at which they looked fitfully and again +looked at the river ahead. At one point Hewet read part of a poem aloud, but +the number of moving things entirely vanquished his words. He ceased to read, +and no one spoke. They moved on under the shelter of the trees. There was now a +covey of red birds feeding on one of the little islets to the left, or again a +blue-green parrot flew shrieking from tree to tree. As they moved on the +country grew wilder and wilder. The trees and the undergrowth seemed to be +strangling each other near the ground in a multitudinous wrestle; while here +and there a splendid tree towered high above the swarm, shaking its thin green +umbrellas lightly in the upper air. Hewet looked at his books again. The +morning was peaceful as the night had been, only it was very strange because he +could see it was light, and he could see Rachel and hear her voice and be near +to her. He felt as if he were waiting, as if somehow he were stationary among +things that passed over him and around him, voices, people’s bodies, +birds, only Rachel too was waiting with him. He looked at her sometimes as if +she must know that they were waiting together, and being drawn on together, +without being able to offer any resistance. Again he read from his book: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Whoever you are holding me now in your hand,<br /> +Without one thing all will be useless. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +A bird gave a wild laugh, a monkey chuckled a malicious question, and, as fire +fades in the hot sunshine, his words flickered and went out. +</p> + +<p> +By degrees as the river narrowed, and the high sandbanks fell to level ground +thickly grown with trees, the sounds of the forest could be heard. It echoed +like a hall. There were sudden cries; and then long spaces of silence, such as +there are in a cathedral when a boy’s voice has ceased and the echo of it +still seems to haunt about the remote places of the roof. Once Mr. Flushing +rose and spoke to a sailor, and even announced that some time after luncheon +the steamer would stop, and they could walk a little way through the forest. +</p> + +<p> +“There are tracks all through the trees there,” he explained. +“We’re no distance from civilisation yet.” +</p> + +<p> +He scrutinised his wife’s painting. Too polite to praise it openly, he +contented himself with cutting off one half of the picture with one hand, and +giving a flourish in the air with the other. +</p> + +<p> +“God!” Hirst exclaimed, staring straight ahead. “Don’t +you think it’s amazingly beautiful?” +</p> + +<p> +“Beautiful?” Helen enquired. It seemed a strange little word, and +Hirst and herself both so small that she forgot to answer him. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet felt that he must speak. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s where the Elizabethans got their style,” he mused, +staring into the profusion of leaves and blossoms and prodigious fruits. +</p> + +<p> +“Shakespeare? I hate Shakespeare!” Mrs. Flushing exclaimed; and +Wilfrid returned admiringly, “I believe you’re the only person who +dares to say that, Alice.” But Mrs. Flushing went on painting. She did +not appear to attach much value to her husband’s compliment, and painted +steadily, sometimes muttering a half-audible word or groan. +</p> + +<p> +The morning was now very hot. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at Hirst!” Mr. Flushing whispered. His sheet of paper had +slipped on to the deck, his head lay back, and he drew a long snoring breath. +</p> + +<p> +Terence picked up the sheet of paper and spread it out before Rachel. It was a +continuation of the poem on God which he had begun in the chapel, and it was so +indecent that Rachel did not understand half of it although she saw that it was +indecent. Hewet began to fill in words where Hirst had left spaces, but he soon +ceased; his pencil rolled on deck. Gradually they approached nearer and nearer +to the bank on the right-hand side, so that the light which covered them became +definitely green, falling through a shade of green leaves, and Mrs. Flushing +set aside her sketch and stared ahead of her in silence. Hirst woke up; they +were then called to luncheon, and while they ate it, the steamer came to a +standstill a little way out from the bank. The boat which was towed behind them +was brought to the side, and the ladies were helped into it. +</p> + +<p> +For protection against boredom, Helen put a book of memoirs beneath her arm, +and Mrs. Flushing her paint-box, and, thus equipped, they allowed themselves to +be set on shore on the verge of the forest. +</p> + +<p> +They had not strolled more than a few hundred yards along the track which ran +parallel with the river before Helen professed to find it was unbearably hot. +The river breeze had ceased, and a hot steamy atmosphere, thick with scents, +came from the forest. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall sit down here,” she announced, pointing to the trunk of a +tree which had fallen long ago and was now laced across and across by creepers +and thong-like brambles. She seated herself, opened her parasol, and looked at +the river which was barred by the stems of trees. She turned her back to the +trees which disappeared in black shadow behind her. +</p> + +<p> +“I quite agree,” said Mrs. Flushing, and proceeded to undo her +paint-box. Her husband strolled about to select an interesting point of view +for her. Hirst cleared a space on the ground by Helen’s side, and seated +himself with great deliberation, as if he did not mean to move until he had +talked to her for a long time. Terence and Rachel were left standing by +themselves without occupation. Terence saw that the time had come as it was +fated to come, but although he realised this he was completely calm and master +of himself. He chose to stand for a few moments talking to Helen, and +persuading her to leave her seat. Rachel joined him too in advising her to come +with them. +</p> + +<p> +“Of all the people I’ve ever met,” he said, +“you’re the least adventurous. You might be sitting on green chairs +in Hyde Park. Are you going to sit there the whole afternoon? Aren’t you +going to walk?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said Helen, “one’s only got to use +one’s eye. There’s everything here—everything,” she +repeated in a drowsy tone of voice. “What will you gain by +walking?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be hot and disagreeable by tea-time, we shall be cool and +sweet,” put in Hirst. Into his eyes as he looked up at them had come +yellow and green reflections from the sky and the branches, robbing them of +their intentness, and he seemed to think what he did not say. It was thus taken +for granted by them both that Terence and Rachel proposed to walk into the +woods together; with one look at each other they turned away. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye!” cried Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-by. Beware of snakes,” Hirst replied. He settled himself +still more comfortably under the shade of the fallen tree and Helen’s +figure. As they went, Mr. Flushing called after them, “We must start in +an hour. Hewet, please remember that. An hour.” +</p> + +<p> +Whether made by man, or for some reason preserved by nature, there was a wide +pathway striking through the forest at right angles to the river. It resembled +a drive in an English forest, save that tropical bushes with their sword-like +leaves grew at the side, and the ground was covered with an unmarked springy +moss instead of grass, starred with little yellow flowers. As they passed into +the depths of the forest the light grew dimmer, and the noises of the ordinary +world were replaced by those creaking and sighing sounds which suggest to the +traveller in a forest that he is walking at the bottom of the sea. The path +narrowed and turned; it was hedged in by dense creepers which knotted tree to +tree, and burst here and there into star-shaped crimson blossoms. The sighing +and creaking up above were broken every now and then by the jarring cry of some +startled animal. The atmosphere was close and the air came at them in languid +puffs of scent. The vast green light was broken here and there by a round of +pure yellow sunlight which fell through some gap in the immense umbrella of +green above, and in these yellow spaces crimson and black butterflies were +circling and settling. Terence and Rachel hardly spoke. +</p> + +<p> +Not only did the silence weigh upon them, but they were both unable to frame +any thoughts. There was something between them which had to be spoken of. One +of them had to begin, but which of them was it to be? Then Hewet picked up a +red fruit and threw it as high as he could. When it dropped, he would speak. +They heard the flapping of great wings; they heard the fruit go pattering +through the leaves and eventually fall with a thud. The silence was again +profound. +</p> + +<p> +“Does this frighten you?” Terence asked when the sound of the fruit +falling had completely died away. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she answered. “I like it.” +</p> + +<p> +She repeated “I like it.” She was walking fast, and holding herself +more erect than usual. There was another pause. +</p> + +<p> +“You like being with me?” Terence asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, with you,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +He was silent for a moment. Silence seemed to have fallen upon the world. +</p> + +<p> +“That is what I have felt ever since I knew you,” he replied. +“We are happy together.” He did not seem to be speaking, or she to +be hearing. +</p> + +<p> +“Very happy,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +They continued to walk for some time in silence. Their steps unconsciously +quickened. +</p> + +<p> +“We love each other,” Terence said. +</p> + +<p> +“We love each other,” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +The silence was then broken by their voices which joined in tones of strange +unfamiliar sound which formed no words. Faster and faster they walked; +simultaneously they stopped, clasped each other in their arms, then releasing +themselves, dropped to the earth. They sat side by side. Sounds stood out from +the background making a bridge across their silence; they heard the swish of +the trees and some beast croaking in a remote world. +</p> + +<p> +“We love each other,” Terence repeated, searching into her face. +Their faces were both very pale and quiet, and they said nothing. He was afraid +to kiss her again. By degrees she drew close to him, and rested against him. In +this position they sat for some time. She said “Terence” once; he +answered “Rachel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Terrible—terrible,” she murmured after another pause, but in +saying this she was thinking as much of the persistent churning of the water as +of her own feeling. On and on it went in the distance, the senseless and cruel +churning of the water. She observed that the tears were running down +Terence’s cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +The next movement was on his part. A very long time seemed to have passed. He +took out his watch. +</p> + +<p> +“Flushing said an hour. We’ve been gone more than half an +hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“And it takes that to get back,” said Rachel. She raised herself +very slowly. When she was standing up she stretched her arms and drew a deep +breath, half a sigh, half a yawn. She appeared to be very tired. Her cheeks +were white. “Which way?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“There,” said Terence. +</p> + +<p> +They began to walk back down the mossy path again. The sighing and creaking +continued far overhead, and the jarring cries of animals. The butterflies were +circling still in the patches of yellow sunlight. At first Terence was certain +of his way, but as they walked he became doubtful. They had to stop to +consider, and then to return and start once more, for although he was certain +of the direction of the river he was not certain of striking the point where +they had left the others. Rachel followed him, stopping where he stopped, +turning where he turned, ignorant of the way, ignorant why he stopped or why he +turned. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to be late,” he said, +“because—” He put a flower into her hand and her fingers +closed upon it quietly. “We’re so late—so late—so +horribly late,” he repeated as if he were talking in his sleep. +“Ah—this is right. We turn here.” +</p> + +<p> +They found themselves again in the broad path, like the drive in the English +forest, where they had started when they left the others. They walked on in +silence as people walking in their sleep, and were oddly conscious now and +again of the mass of their bodies. Then Rachel exclaimed suddenly, +“Helen!” +</p> + +<p> +In the sunny space at the edge of the forest they saw Helen still sitting on +the tree-trunk, her dress showing very white in the sun, with Hirst still +propped on his elbow by her side. They stopped instinctively. At the sight of +other people they could not go on. They stood hand in hand for a minute or two +in silence. They could not bear to face other people. +</p> + +<p> +“But we must go on,” Rachel insisted at last, in the curious dull +tone of voice in which they had both been speaking, and with a great effort +they forced themselves to cover the short distance which lay between them and +the pair sitting on the tree-trunk. +</p> + +<p> +As they approached, Helen turned round and looked at them. She looked at them +for some time without speaking, and when they were close to her she said +quietly: +</p> + +<p> +“Did you meet Mr. Flushing? He has gone to find you. He thought you must +be lost, though I told him you weren’t lost.” +</p> + +<p> +Hirst half turned round and threw his head back so that he looked at the +branches crossing themselves in the air above him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, was it worth the effort?” he enquired dreamily. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet sat down on the grass by his side and began to fan himself. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel had balanced herself near Helen on the end of the tree trunk. +</p> + +<p> +“Very hot,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“You look exhausted anyhow,” said Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s fearfully close in those trees,” Helen remarked, +picking up her book and shaking it free from the dried blades of grass which +had fallen between the leaves. Then they were all silent, looking at the river +swirling past in front of them between the trunks of the trees until Mr. +Flushing interrupted them. He broke out of the trees a hundred yards to the +left, exclaiming sharply: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, so you found the way after all. But it’s late—much later +than we arranged, Hewet.” +</p> + +<p> +He was slightly annoyed, and in his capacity as leader of the expedition, +inclined to be dictatorial. He spoke quickly, using curiously sharp, +meaningless words. +</p> + +<p> +“Being late wouldn’t matter normally, of course,” he said, +“but when it’s a question of keeping the men up to +time—” +</p> + +<p> +He gathered them together and made them come down to the river-bank, where the +boat was waiting to row them out to the steamer. +</p> + +<p> +The heat of the day was going down, and over their cups of tea the Flushings +tended to become communicative. It seemed to Terence as he listened to them +talking, that existence now went on in two different layers. Here were the +Flushings talking, talking somewhere high up in the air above him, and he and +Rachel had dropped to the bottom of the world together. But with something of a +child’s directness, Mrs. Flushing had also the instinct which leads a +child to suspect what its elders wish to keep hidden. She fixed Terence with +her vivid blue eyes and addressed herself to him in particular. What would he +do, she wanted to know, if the boat ran upon a rock and sank. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you care for anythin’ but savin’ yourself? Should I? +No, no,” she laughed, “not one scrap—don’t tell me. +There’s only two creatures the ordinary woman cares about,” she +continued, “her child and her dog; and I don’t believe it’s +even two with men. One reads a lot about love—that’s why +poetry’s so dull. But what happens in real life, eh? It ain’t +love!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +Terence murmured something unintelligible. Mr. Flushing, however, had recovered +his urbanity. He was smoking a cigarette, and he now answered his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“You must always remember, Alice,” he said, “that your +upbringing was very unnatural—unusual, I should say. They had no +mother,” he explained, dropping something of the formality of his tone; +“and a father—he was a very delightful man, I’ve no doubt, +but he cared only for racehorses and Greek statues. Tell them about the bath, +Alice.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the stable-yard,” said Mrs. Flushing. “Covered with ice +in winter. We had to get in; if we didn’t, we were whipped. The strong +ones lived—the others died. What you call survival of the fittest—a +most excellent plan, I daresay, if you’ve thirteen children!” +</p> + +<p> +“And all this going on in the heart of England, in the nineteenth +century!” Mr. Flushing exclaimed, turning to Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d treat my children just the same if I had any,” said Mrs. +Flushing. +</p> + +<p> +Every word sounded quite distinctly in Terence’s ears; but what were they +saying, and who were they talking to, and who were they, these fantastic +people, detached somewhere high up in the air? Now that they had drunk their +tea, they rose and leant over the bow of the boat. The sun was going down, and +the water was dark and crimson. The river had widened again, and they were +passing a little island set like a dark wedge in the middle of the stream. Two +great white birds with red lights on them stood there on stilt-like legs, and +the beach of the island was unmarked, save by the skeleton print of +birds’ feet. The branches of the trees on the bank looked more twisted +and angular than ever, and the green of the leaves was lurid and splashed with +gold. Then Hirst began to talk, leaning over the bow. +</p> + +<p> +“It makes one awfully queer, don’t you find?” he complained. +“These trees get on one’s nerves—it’s all so crazy. +God’s undoubtedly mad. What sane person could have conceived a wilderness +like this, and peopled it with apes and alligators? I should go mad if I lived +here—raving mad.” +</p> + +<p> +Terence attempted to answer him, but Mrs. Ambrose replied instead. She bade him +look at the way things massed themselves—look at the amazing colours, +look at the shapes of the trees. She seemed to be protecting Terence from the +approach of the others. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mr. Flushing. “And in my opinion,” he +continued, “the absence of population to which Hirst objects is precisely +the significant touch. You must admit, Hirst, that a little Italian town even +would vulgarise the whole scene, would detract from the vastness—the +sense of elemental grandeur.” He swept his hands towards the forest, and +paused for a moment, looking at the great green mass, which was now falling +silent. “I own it makes us seem pretty small—us, not them.” +He nodded his head at a sailor who leant over the side spitting into the river. +“And that, I think, is what my wife feels, the essential superiority of +the peasant—” Under cover of Mr. Flushing’s words, which +continued now gently reasoning with St. John and persuading him, Terence drew +Rachel to the side, pointing ostensibly to a great gnarled tree-trunk which had +fallen and lay half in the water. He wished, at any rate, to be near her, but +he found that he could say nothing. They could hear Mr. Flushing flowing on, +now about his wife, now about art, now about the future of the country, little +meaningless words floating high in air. As it was becoming cold he began to +pace the deck with Hirst. Fragments of their talk came out distinctly as they +passed—art, emotion, truth, reality. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it true, or is it a dream?” Rachel murmured, when they had +passed. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s true, it’s true,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +But the breeze freshened, and there was a general desire for movement. When the +party rearranged themselves under cover of rugs and cloaks, Terence and Rachel +were at opposite ends of the circle, and could not speak to each other. But as +the dark descended, the words of the others seemed to curl up and vanish as the +ashes of burnt paper, and left them sitting perfectly silent at the bottom of +the world. Occasional starts of exquisite joy ran through them, and then they +were peaceful again. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<p> +Thanks to Mr. Flushing’s discipline, the right stages of the river were +reached at the right hours, and when next morning after breakfast the chairs +were again drawn out in a semicircle in the bow, the launch was within a few +miles of the native camp which was the limit of the journey. Mr. Flushing, as +he sat down, advised them to keep their eyes fixed on the left bank, where they +would soon pass a clearing, and in that clearing, was a hut where Mackenzie, +the famous explorer, had died of fever some ten years ago, almost within reach +of civilisation—Mackenzie, he repeated, the man who went farther inland +than any one’s been yet. Their eyes turned that way obediently. The eyes +of Rachel saw nothing. Yellow and green shapes did, it is true, pass before +them, but she only knew that one was large and another small; she did not know +that they were trees. These directions to look here and there irritated her, as +interruptions irritate a person absorbed in thought, although she was not +thinking of anything. She was annoyed with all that was said, and with the +aimless movements of people’s bodies, because they seemed to interfere +with her and to prevent her from speaking to Terence. Very soon Helen saw her +staring moodily at a coil of rope, and making no effort to listen. Mr. Flushing +and St. John were engaged in more or less continuous conversation about the +future of the country from a political point of view, and the degree to which +it had been explored; the others, with their legs stretched out, or chins +poised on the hands, gazed in silence. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Ambrose looked and listened obediently enough, but inwardly she was prey +to an uneasy mood not readily to be ascribed to any one cause. Looking on shore +as Mr. Flushing bade her, she thought the country very beautiful, but also +sultry and alarming. She did not like to feel herself the victim of +unclassified emotions, and certainly as the launch slipped on and on, in the +hot morning sun, she felt herself unreasonably moved. Whether the unfamiliarity +of the forest was the cause of it, or something less definite, she could not +determine. Her mind left the scene and occupied itself with anxieties for +Ridley, for her children, for far-off things, such as old age and poverty and +death. Hirst, too, was depressed. He had been looking forward to this +expedition as to a holiday, for, once away from the hotel, surely wonderful +things would happen, instead of which nothing happened, and here they were as +uncomfortable, as restrained, as self-conscious as ever. That, of course, was +what came of looking forward to anything; one was always disappointed. He +blamed Wilfrid Flushing, who was so well dressed and so formal; he blamed Hewet +and Rachel. Why didn’t they talk? He looked at them sitting silent and +self-absorbed, and the sight annoyed him. He supposed that they were engaged, +or about to become engaged, but instead of being in the least romantic or +exciting, that was as dull as everything else; it annoyed him, too, to think +that they were in love. He drew close to Helen and began to tell her how +uncomfortable his night had been, lying on the deck, sometimes too hot, +sometimes too cold, and the stars so bright that he couldn’t get to +sleep. He had lain awake all night thinking, and when it was light enough to +see, he had written twenty lines of his poem on God, and the awful thing was +that he’d practically proved the fact that God did not exist. He did not +see that he was teasing her, and he went on to wonder what would happen if God +did exist—“an old gentleman in a beard and a long blue dressing +gown, extremely testy and disagreeable as he’s bound to be? Can you +suggest a rhyme? God, rod, sod—all used; any others?” +</p> + +<p> +Although he spoke much as usual, Helen could have seen, had she looked, that he +was also impatient and disturbed. But she was not called upon to answer, for +Mr. Flushing now exclaimed “There!” They looked at the hut on the +bank, a desolate place with a large rent in the roof, and the ground round it +yellow, scarred with fires and scattered with rusty open tins. +</p> + +<p> +“Did they find his dead body there?” Mrs. Flushing exclaimed, +leaning forward in her eagerness to see the spot where the explorer had died. +</p> + +<p> +“They found his body and his skins and a notebook,” her husband +replied. But the boat had soon carried them on and left the place behind. +</p> + +<p> +It was so hot that they scarcely moved, except now to change a foot, or, again, +to strike a match. Their eyes, concentrated upon the bank, were full of the +same green reflections, and their lips were slightly pressed together as though +the sights they were passing gave rise to thoughts, save that Hirst’s +lips moved intermittently as half consciously he sought rhymes for God. +Whatever the thoughts of the others, no one said anything for a considerable +space. They had grown so accustomed to the wall of trees on either side that +they looked up with a start when the light suddenly widened out and the trees +came to an end. +</p> + +<p> +“It almost reminds one of an English park,” said Mr. Flushing. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed no change could have been greater. On both banks of the river lay an +open lawn-like space, grass covered and planted, for the gentleness and order +of the place suggested human care, with graceful trees on the top of little +mounds. As far as they could gaze, this lawn rose and sank with the undulating +motion of an old English park. The change of scene naturally suggested a change +of position, grateful to most of them. They rose and leant over the rail. +</p> + +<p> +“It might be Arundel or Windsor,” Mr. Flushing continued, “if +you cut down that bush with the yellow flowers; and, by Jove, look!” +</p> + +<p> +Rows of brown backs paused for a moment and then leapt with a motion as if they +were springing over waves out of sight. For a moment no one of them could +believe that they had really seen live animals in the open—a herd of wild +deer, and the sight aroused a childlike excitement in them, dissipating their +gloom. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never in my life seen anything bigger than a hare!” +Hirst exclaimed with genuine excitement. “What an ass I was not to bring +my Kodak!” +</p> + +<p> +Soon afterwards the launch came gradually to a standstill, and the captain +explained to Mr. Flushing that it would be pleasant for the passengers if they +now went for a stroll on shore; if they chose to return within an hour, he +would take them on to the village; if they chose to walk—it was only a +mile or two farther on—he would meet them at the landing-place. +</p> + +<p> +The matter being settled, they were once more put on shore: the sailors, +producing raisins and tobacco, leant upon the rail and watched the six English, +whose coats and dresses looked so strange upon the green, wander off. A joke +that was by no means proper set them all laughing, and then they turned round +and lay at their ease upon the deck. +</p> + +<p> +Directly they landed, Terence and Rachel drew together slightly in advance of +the others. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God!” Terence exclaimed, drawing a long breath. “At +last we’re alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if we keep ahead we can talk,” said Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, although their position some yards in advance of the others made +it possible for them to say anything they chose, they were both silent. +</p> + +<p> +“You love me?” Terence asked at length, breaking the silence +painfully. To speak or to be silent was equally an effort, for when they were +silent they were keenly conscious of each other’s presence, and yet words +were either too trivial or too large. +</p> + +<p> +She murmured inarticulately, ending, “And you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” he replied; but there were so many things to be said, +and now that they were alone it seemed necessary to bring themselves still more +near, and to surmount a barrier which had grown up since they had last spoken. +It was difficult, frightening even, oddly embarrassing. At one moment he was +clear-sighted, and, at the next, confused. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I’m going to begin at the beginning,” he said +resolutely. “I’m going to tell you what I ought to have told you +before. In the first place, I’ve never been in love with other women, but +I’ve had other women. Then I’ve great faults. I’m very lazy, +I’m moody—” He persisted, in spite of her exclamation, +“You’ve got to know the worst of me. I’m lustful. I’m +overcome by a sense of futility—incompetence. I ought never to have asked +you to marry me, I expect. I’m a bit of a snob; I’m +ambitious—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, our faults!” she cried. “What do they matter?” +Then she demanded, “Am I in love—is this being in love—are we +to marry each other?” +</p> + +<p> +Overcome by the charm of her voice and her presence, he exclaimed, “Oh, +you’re free, Rachel. To you, time will make no difference, or marriage +or—” +</p> + +<p> +The voices of the others behind them kept floating, now farther, now nearer, +and Mrs. Flushing’s laugh rose clearly by itself. +</p> + +<p> +“Marriage?” Rachel repeated. +</p> + +<p> +The shouts were renewed behind, warning them that they were bearing too far to +the left. Improving their course, he continued, “Yes, marriage.” +The feeling that they could not be united until she knew all about him made him +again endeavour to explain. +</p> + +<p> +“All that’s been bad in me, the things I’ve put up +with—the second best—” +</p> + +<p> +She murmured, considered her own life, but could not describe how it looked to +her now. +</p> + +<p> +“And the loneliness!” he continued. A vision of walking with her +through the streets of London came before his eyes. “We will go for walks +together,” he said. The simplicity of the idea relieved them, and for the +first time they laughed. They would have liked had they dared to take each +other by the hand, but the consciousness of eyes fixed on them from behind had +not yet deserted them. +</p> + +<p> +“Books, people, sights—Mrs. Nutt, Greeley, Hutchinson,” Hewet +murmured. +</p> + +<p> +With every word the mist which had enveloped them, making them seem unreal to +each other, since the previous afternoon melted a little further, and their +contact became more and more natural. Up through the sultry southern landscape +they saw the world they knew appear clearer and more vividly than it had ever +appeared before. As upon that occasion at the hotel when she had sat in the +window, the world once more arranged itself beneath her gaze very vividly and +in its true proportions. She glanced curiously at Terence from time to time, +observing his grey coat and his purple tie; observing the man with whom she was +to spend the rest of her life. +</p> + +<p> +After one of these glances she murmured, “Yes, I’m in love. +There’s no doubt; I’m in love with you.” +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, they remained uncomfortably apart; drawn so close together, as +she spoke, that there seemed no division between them, and the next moment +separate and far away again. Feeling this painfully, she exclaimed, “It +will be a fight.” +</p> + +<p> +But as she looked at him she perceived from the shape of his eyes, the lines +about his mouth, and other peculiarities that he pleased her, and she added: +</p> + +<p> +“Where I want to fight, you have compassion. You’re finer than I +am; you’re much finer.” +</p> + +<p> +He returned her glance and smiled, perceiving, much as she had done, the very +small individual things about her which made her delightful to him. She was his +for ever. This barrier being surmounted, innumerable delights lay before them +both. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not finer,” he answered. “I’m only older, +lazier; a man, not a woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“A man,” she repeated, and a curious sense of possession coming +over her, it struck her that she might now touch him; she put out her hand and +lightly touched his cheek. His fingers followed where hers had been, and the +touch of his hand upon his face brought back the overpowering sense of +unreality. This body of his was unreal; the whole world was unreal. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s happened?” he began. “Why did I ask you to +marry me? How did it happen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ask me to marry you?” she wondered. They faded far away +from each other, and neither of them could remember what had been said. +</p> + +<p> +“We sat upon the ground,” he recollected. +</p> + +<p> +“We sat upon the ground,” she confirmed him. The recollection of +sitting upon the ground, such as it was, seemed to unite them again, and they +walked on in silence, their minds sometimes working with difficulty and +sometimes ceasing to work, their eyes alone perceiving the things round them. +Now he would attempt again to tell her his faults, and why he loved her; and +she would describe what she had felt at this time or at that time, and together +they would interpret her feeling. So beautiful was the sound of their voices +that by degrees they scarcely listened to the words they framed. Long silences +came between their words, which were no longer silences of struggle and +confusion but refreshing silences, in which trivial thoughts moved easily. They +began to speak naturally of ordinary things, of the flowers and the trees, how +they grew there so red, like garden flowers at home, and there bent and crooked +like the arm of a twisted old man. +</p> + +<p> +Very gently and quietly, almost as if it were the blood singing in her veins, +or the water of the stream running over stones, Rachel became conscious of a +new feeling within her. She wondered for a moment what it was, and then said to +herself, with a little surprise at recognising in her own person so famous a +thing: +</p> + +<p> +“This is happiness, I suppose.” And aloud to Terence she spoke, +“This is happiness.” +</p> + +<p> +On the heels of her words he answered, “This is happiness,” upon +which they guessed that the feeling had sprung in both of them the same time. +They began therefore to describe how this felt and that felt, how like it was +and yet how different; for they were very different. +</p> + +<p> +Voices crying behind them never reached through the waters in which they were +now sunk. The repetition of Hewet’s name in short, dissevered syllables +was to them the crack of a dry branch or the laughter of a bird. The grasses +and breezes sounding and murmuring all round them, they never noticed that the +swishing of the grasses grew louder and louder, and did not cease with the +lapse of the breeze. A hand dropped abrupt as iron on Rachel’s shoulder; +it might have been a bolt from heaven. She fell beneath it, and the grass +whipped across her eyes and filled her mouth and ears. Through the waving stems +she saw a figure, large and shapeless against the sky. Helen was upon her. +Rolled this way and that, now seeing only forests of green, and now the high +blue heaven; she was speechless and almost without sense. At last she lay +still, all the grasses shaken round her and before her by her panting. Over her +loomed two great heads, the heads of a man and woman, of Terence and Helen. +</p> + +<p> +Both were flushed, both laughing, and the lips were moving; they came together +and kissed in the air above her. Broken fragments of speech came down to her on +the ground. She thought she heard them speak of love and then of marriage. +Raising herself and sitting up, she too realised Helen’s soft body, the +strong and hospitable arms, and happiness swelling and breaking in one vast +wave. When this fell away, and the grasses once more lay low, and the sky +became horizontal, and the earth rolled out flat on each side, and the trees +stood upright, she was the first to perceive a little row of human figures +standing patiently in the distance. For the moment she could not remember who +they were. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are they?” she asked, and then recollected. +</p> + +<p> +Falling into line behind Mr. Flushing, they were careful to leave at least +three yards’ distance between the toe of his boot and the rim of her +skirt. +</p> + +<p> +He led them across a stretch of green by the river-bank and then through a +grove of trees, and bade them remark the signs of human habitation, the +blackened grass, the charred tree-stumps, and there, through the trees, strange +wooden nests, drawn together in an arch where the trees drew apart, the village +which was the goal of their journey. +</p> + +<p> +Stepping cautiously, they observed the women, who were squatting on the ground +in triangular shapes, moving their hands, either plaiting straw or in kneading +something in bowls. But when they had looked for a moment undiscovered, they +were seen, and Mr. Flushing, advancing into the centre of the clearing, was +engaged in talk with a lean majestic man, whose bones and hollows at once made +the shapes of the Englishman’s body appear ugly and unnatural. The women +took no notice of the strangers, except that their hands paused for a moment +and their long narrow eyes slid round and fixed upon them with the motionless +inexpressive gaze of those removed from each other far far beyond the plunge of +speech. Their hands moved again, but the stare continued. It followed them as +they walked, as they peered into the huts where they could distinguish guns +leaning in the corner, and bowls upon the floor, and stacks of rushes; in the +dusk the solemn eyes of babies regarded them, and old women stared out too. As +they sauntered about, the stare followed them, passing over their legs, their +bodies, their heads, curiously not without hostility, like the crawl of a +winter fly. As she drew apart her shawl and uncovered her breast to the lips of +her baby, the eyes of a woman never left their faces, although they moved +uneasily under her stare, and finally turned away, rather than stand there +looking at her any longer. When sweetmeats were offered them, they put out +great red hands to take them, and felt themselves treading cumbrously like +tight-coated soldiers among these soft instinctive people. But soon the life of +the village took no notice of them; they had become absorbed in it. The +women’s hands became busy again with the straw; their eyes dropped. If +they moved, it was to fetch something from the hut, or to catch a straying +child, or to cross the space with a jar balanced on their heads; if they spoke, +it was to cry some harsh unintelligible cry. Voices rose when a child was +beaten, and fell again; voices rose in song, which slid up a little way and +down a little way, and settled again upon the same low and melancholy note. +Seeking each other, Terence and Rachel drew together under a tree. Peaceful, +and even beautiful at first, the sight of the women, who had given up looking +at them, made them now feel very cold and melancholy. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” Terence sighed at length, “it makes us seem +insignificant, doesn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel agreed. So it would go on for ever and ever, she said, those women +sitting under the trees, the trees and the river. They turned away and began to +walk through the trees, leaning, without fear of discovery, upon each +other’s arms. They had not gone far before they began to assure each +other once more that they were in love, were happy, were content; but why was +it so painful being in love, why was there so much pain in happiness? +</p> + +<p> +The sight of the village indeed affected them all curiously though all +differently. St. John had left the others and was walking slowly down to the +river, absorbed in his own thoughts, which were bitter and unhappy, for he felt +himself alone; and Helen, standing by herself in the sunny space among the +native women, was exposed to presentiments of disaster. The cries of the +senseless beasts rang in her ears high and low in the air, as they ran from +tree-trunk to tree-top. How small the little figures looked wandering through +the trees! She became acutely conscious of the little limbs, the thin veins, +the delicate flesh of men and women, which breaks so easily and lets the life +escape compared with these great trees and deep waters. A falling branch, a +foot that slips, and the earth has crushed them or the water drowned them. Thus +thinking, she kept her eyes anxiously fixed upon the lovers, as if by doing so +she could protect them from their fate. Turning, she found the Flushings by her +side. +</p> + +<p> +They were talking about the things they had bought and arguing whether they +were really old, and whether there were not signs here and there of European +influence. Helen was appealed to. She was made to look at a brooch, and then at +a pair of ear-rings. But all the time she blamed them for having come on this +expedition, for having ventured too far and exposed themselves. Then she roused +herself and tried to talk, but in a few moments she caught herself seeing a +picture of a boat upset on the river in England, at midday. It was morbid, she +knew, to imagine such things; nevertheless she sought out the figures of the +others between the trees, and whenever she saw them she kept her eyes fixed on +them, so that she might be able to protect them from disaster. +</p> + +<p> +But when the sun went down and the steamer turned and began to steam back +towards civilisation, again her fears were calmed. In the semi-darkness the +chairs on deck and the people sitting in them were angular shapes, the mouth +being indicated by a tiny burning spot, and the arm by the same spot moving up +or down as the cigar or cigarette was lifted to and from the lips. Words +crossed the darkness, but, not knowing where they fell, seemed to lack energy +and substance. Deep sighs proceeded regularly, although with some attempt at +suppression, from the large white mound which represented the person of Mrs. +Flushing. The day had been long and very hot, and now that all the colours were +blotted out the cool night air seemed to press soft fingers upon the eyelids, +sealing them down. Some philosophical remark directed, apparently, at St. John +Hirst missed its aim, and hung so long suspended in the air until it was +engulfed by a yawn, that it was considered dead, and this gave the signal for +stirring of legs and murmurs about sleep. The white mound moved, finally +lengthened itself and disappeared, and after a few turns and paces St. John and +Mr. Flushing withdrew, leaving the three chairs still occupied by three silent +bodies. The light which came from a lamp high on the mast and a sky pale with +stars left them with shapes but without features; but even in this darkness the +withdrawal of the others made them feel each other very near, for they were all +thinking of the same thing. For some time no one spoke, then Helen said with a +sigh, “So you’re both very happy?” +</p> + +<p> +As if washed by the air her voice sounded more spiritual and softer than usual. +Voices at a little distance answered her, “Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Through the darkness she was looking at them both, and trying to distinguish +him. What was there for her to say? Rachel had passed beyond her guardianship. +A voice might reach her ears, but never again would it carry as far as it had +carried twenty-four hours ago. Nevertheless, speech seemed to be due from her +before she went to bed. She wished to speak, but she felt strangely old and +depressed. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you realise what you’re doing?” she demanded. +“She’s young, you’re both young; and marriage—” +Here she ceased. They begged her, however, to continue, with such earnestness +in their voices, as if they only craved advice, that she was led to add: +</p> + +<p> +“Marriage! well, it’s not easy.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what we want to know,” they answered, and she guessed +that now they were looking at each other. +</p> + +<p> +“It depends on both of you,” she stated. Her face was turned +towards Terence, and although he could hardly see her, he believed that her +words really covered a genuine desire to know more about him. He raised himself +from his semi-recumbent position and proceeded to tell her what she wanted to +know. He spoke as lightly as he could in order to take away her depression. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m twenty-seven, and I’ve about seven hundred a +year,” he began. “My temper is good on the whole, and health +excellent, though Hirst detects a gouty tendency. Well, then, I think I’m +very intelligent.” He paused as if for confirmation. +</p> + +<p> +Helen agreed. +</p> + +<p> +“Though, unfortunately, rather lazy. I intend to allow Rachel to be a +fool if she wants to, and—Do you find me on the whole satisfactory in +other respects?” he asked shyly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I like what I know of you,” Helen replied. “But +then—one knows so little.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall live in London,” he continued, “and—” +With one voice they suddenly enquired whether she did not think them the +happiest people that she had ever known. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush,” she checked them, “Mrs. Flushing, remember. +She’s behind us.” +</p> + +<p> +Then they fell silent, and Terence and Rachel felt instinctively that their +happiness had made her sad, and, while they were anxious to go on talking about +themselves, they did not like to. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve talked too much about ourselves,” Terence said. +“Tell us—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, tell us—” Rachel echoed. They were both in the mood to +believe that every one was capable of saying something very profound. +</p> + +<p> +“What can I tell you?” Helen reflected, speaking more to herself in +a rambling style than as a prophetess delivering a message. She forced herself +to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“After all, though I scold Rachel, I’m not much wiser myself. +I’m older, of course, I’m half-way through, and you’re just +beginning. It’s puzzling—sometimes, I think, disappointing; the +great things aren’t as great, perhaps, as one expects—but +it’s interesting—Oh, yes, you’re certain to find it +interesting—And so it goes on,” they became conscious here of the +procession of dark trees into which, as far as they could see, Helen was now +looking, “and there are pleasures where one doesn’t expect them +(you must write to your father), and you’ll be very happy, I’ve no +doubt. But I must go to bed, and if you are sensible you will follow in ten +minutes, and so,” she rose and stood before them, almost featureless and +very large, “Good-night.” She passed behind the curtain. +</p> + +<p> +After sitting in silence for the greater part of the ten minutes she allowed +them, they rose and hung over the rail. Beneath them the smooth black water +slipped away very fast and silently. The spark of a cigarette vanished behind +them. “A beautiful voice,” Terence murmured. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel assented. Helen had a beautiful voice. +</p> + +<p> +After a silence she asked, looking up into the sky, “Are we on the deck +of a steamer on a river in South America? Am I Rachel, are you Terence?” +</p> + +<p> +The great black world lay round them. As they were drawn smoothly along it +seemed possessed of immense thickness and endurance. They could discern pointed +tree-tops and blunt rounded tree-tops. Raising their eyes above the trees, they +fixed them on the stars and the pale border of sky above the trees. The little +points of frosty light infinitely far away drew their eyes and held them fixed, +so that it seemed as if they stayed a long time and fell a great distance when +once more they realised their hands grasping the rail and their separate bodies +standing side by side. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d forgotten completely about me,” Terence reproached +her, taking her arm and beginning to pace the deck, “and I never forget +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” she whispered, she had not forgotten, only the +stars—the night—the dark— +</p> + +<p> +“You’re like a bird half asleep in its nest, Rachel. You’re +asleep. You’re talking in your sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +Half asleep, and murmuring broken words, they stood in the angle made by the +bow of the boat. It slipped on down the river. Now a bell struck on the bridge, +and they heard the lapping of water as it rippled away on either side, and once +a bird startled in its sleep creaked, flew on to the next tree, and was silent +again. The darkness poured down profusely, and left them with scarcely any +feeling of life, except that they were standing there together in the darkness. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<p> +The darkness fell, but rose again, and as each day spread widely over the earth +and parted them from the strange day in the forest when they had been forced to +tell each other what they wanted, this wish of theirs was revealed to other +people, and in the process became slightly strange to themselves. Apparently it +was not anything unusual that had happened; it was that they had become engaged +to marry each other. The world, which consisted for the most part of the hotel +and the villa, expressed itself glad on the whole that two people should marry, +and allowed them to see that they were not expected to take part in the work +which has to be done in order that the world shall go on, but might absent +themselves for a time. They were accordingly left alone until they felt the +silence as if, playing in a vast church, the door had been shut on them. They +were driven to walk alone, and sit alone, to visit secret places where the +flowers had never been picked and the trees were solitary. In solitude they +could express those beautiful but too vast desires which were so oddly +uncomfortable to the ears of other men and women—desires for a world, +such as their own world which contained two people seemed to them to be, where +people knew each other intimately and thus judged each other by what was good, +and never quarrelled, because that was waste of time. +</p> + +<p> +They would talk of such questions among books, or out in the sun, or sitting in +the shade of a tree undisturbed. They were no longer embarrassed, or +half-choked with meaning which could not express itself; they were not afraid +of each other, or, like travellers down a twisting river, dazzled with sudden +beauties when the corner is turned; the unexpected happened, but even the +ordinary was lovable, and in many ways preferable to the ecstatic and +mysterious, for it was refreshingly solid, and called out effort, and effort +under such circumstances was not effort but delight. +</p> + +<p> +While Rachel played the piano, Terence sat near her, engaged, as far as the +occasional writing of a word in pencil testified, in shaping the world as it +appeared to him now that he and Rachel were going to be married. It was +different certainly. The book called <i>Silence</i> would not now be the same +book that it would have been. He would then put down his pencil and stare in +front of him, and wonder in what respects the world was different—it had, +perhaps, more solidity, more coherence, more importance, greater depth. Why, +even the earth sometimes seemed to him very deep; not carved into hills and +cities and fields, but heaped in great masses. He would look out of the window +for ten minutes at a time; but no, he did not care for the earth swept of human +beings. He liked human beings—he liked them, he suspected, better than +Rachel did. There she was, swaying enthusiastically over her music, quite +forgetful of him,—but he liked that quality in her. He liked the +impersonality which it produced in her. At last, having written down a series +of little sentences, with notes of interrogation attached to them, he observed +aloud, “‘Women—under the heading Women I’ve written: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Not really vainer than men. Lack of self-confidence at the base +of most serious faults. Dislike of own sex traditional, or founded on fact? +Every woman not so much a rake at heart, as an optimist, because they +don’t think.’ What do you say, Rachel?” He paused with his +pencil in his hand and a sheet of paper on his knee. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel said nothing. Up and up the steep spiral of a very late Beethoven sonata +she climbed, like a person ascending a ruined staircase, energetically at +first, then more laboriously advancing her feet with effort until she could go +no higher and returned with a run to begin at the very bottom again. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Again, it’s the fashion now to say that women are more +practical and less idealistic than men, also that they have considerable +organising ability but no sense of honour’—query, what is meant by +masculine term, honour?—what corresponds to it in your sex? Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Attacking her staircase once more, Rachel again neglected this opportunity of +revealing the secrets of her sex. She had, indeed, advanced so far in the +pursuit of wisdom that she allowed these secrets to rest undisturbed; it seemed +to be reserved for a later generation to discuss them philosophically. +</p> + +<p> +Crashing down a final chord with her left hand, she exclaimed at last, swinging +round upon him: +</p> + +<p> +“No, Terence, it’s no good; here am I, the best musician in South +America, not to speak of Europe and Asia, and I can’t play a note because +of you in the room interrupting me every other second.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t seem to realise that that’s what I’ve been +aiming at for the last half-hour,” he remarked. “I’ve no +objection to nice simple tunes—indeed, I find them very helpful to my +literary composition, but that kind of thing is merely like an unfortunate old +dog going round on its hind legs in the rain.” +</p> + +<p> +He began turning over the little sheets of note-paper which were scattered on +the table, conveying the congratulations of their friends. +</p> + +<p> +“‘—all possible wishes for all possible +happiness,’” he read; “correct, but not very vivid, are +they?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re sheer nonsense!” Rachel exclaimed. “Think of +words compared with sounds!” she continued. “Think of novels and +plays and histories—” Perched on the edge of the table, she stirred +the red and yellow volumes contemptuously. She seemed to herself to be in a +position where she could despise all human learning. Terence looked at them +too. +</p> + +<p> +“God, Rachel, you do read trash!” he exclaimed. “And +you’re behind the times too, my dear. No one dreams of reading this kind +of thing now—antiquated problem plays, harrowing descriptions of life in +the east end—oh, no, we’ve exploded all that. Read poetry, Rachel, +poetry, poetry, poetry!” +</p> + +<p> +Picking up one of the books, he began to read aloud, his intention being to +satirise the short sharp bark of the writer’s English; but she paid no +attention, and after an interval of meditation exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Does it ever seem to you, Terence, that the world is composed entirely +of vast blocks of matter, and that we’re nothing but patches of +light—” she looked at the soft spots of sun wavering over the +carpet and up the wall—“like that?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Terence, “I feel solid; immensely solid; the legs +of my chair might be rooted in the bowels of the earth. But at Cambridge, I can +remember, there were times when one fell into ridiculous states of semi-coma +about five o’clock in the morning. Hirst does now, I expect—oh, no, +Hirst wouldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel continued, “The day your note came, asking us to go on the picnic, +I was sitting where you’re sitting now, thinking that; I wonder if I +could think that again? I wonder if the world’s changed? and if so, when +it’ll stop changing, and which is the real world?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I first saw you,” he began, “I thought you were like a +creature who’d lived all its life among pearls and old bones. Your hands +were wet, d’you remember, and you never said a word until I gave you a +bit of bread, and then you said, ‘Human Beings!’” +</p> + +<p> +“And I thought you—a prig,” she recollected. “No; +that’s not quite it. There were the ants who stole the tongue, and I +thought you and St. John were like those ants—very big, very ugly, very +energetic, with all your virtues on your backs. However, when I talked to you I +liked you—” +</p> + +<p> +“You fell in love with me,” he corrected her. “You were in +love with me all the time, only you didn’t know it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I never fell in love with you,” she asserted. +</p> + +<p> +“Rachel—what a lie—didn’t you sit here looking at my +window—didn’t you wander about the hotel like an owl in the +sun—?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she repeated, “I never fell in love, if falling in love +is what people say it is, and it’s the world that tells the lies and I +tell the truth. Oh, what lies—what lies!” +</p> + +<p> +She crumpled together a handful of letters from Evelyn M., from Mr. Pepper, +from Mrs. Thornbury and Miss Allan, and Susan Warrington. It was strange, +considering how very different these people were, that they used almost the +same sentences when they wrote to congratulate her upon her engagement. +</p> + +<p> +That any one of these people had ever felt what she felt, or could ever feel +it, or had even the right to pretend for a single second that they were capable +of feeling it, appalled her much as the church service had done, much as the +face of the hospital nurse had done; and if they didn’t feel a thing why +did they go and pretend to? The simplicity and arrogance and hardness of her +youth, now concentrated into a single spark as it was by her love of him, +puzzled Terence; being engaged had not that effect on him; the world was +different, but not in that way; he still wanted the things he had always +wanted, and in particular he wanted the companionship of other people more than +ever perhaps. He took the letters out of her hand, and protested: +</p> + +<p> +“Of course they’re absurd, Rachel; of course they say things just +because other people say them, but even so, what a nice woman Miss Allan is; +you can’t deny that; and Mrs. Thornbury too; she’s got too many +children I grant you, but if half-a-dozen of them had gone to the bad instead +of rising infallibly to the tops of their trees—hasn’t she a kind +of beauty—of elemental simplicity as Flushing would say? Isn’t she +rather like a large old tree murmuring in the moonlight, or a river going on +and on and on? By the way, Ralph’s been made governor of the Carroway +Islands—the youngest governor in the service; very good, isn’t +it?” +</p> + +<p> +But Rachel was at present unable to conceive that the vast majority of the +affairs of the world went on unconnected by a single thread with her own +destiny. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t have eleven children,” she asserted; “I +won’t have the eyes of an old woman. She looks at one up and down, up and +down, as if one were a horse.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must have a son and we must have a daughter,” said Terence, +putting down the letters, “because, let alone the inestimable advantage +of being our children, they’d be so well brought up.” They went on +to sketch an outline of the ideal education—how their daughter should be +required from infancy to gaze at a large square of cardboard painted blue, to +suggest thoughts of infinity, for women were grown too practical; and their +son—he should be taught to laugh at great men, that is, at distinguished +successful men, at men who wore ribands and rose to the tops of their trees. He +should in no way resemble (Rachel added) St. John Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +At this Terence professed the greatest admiration for St. John Hirst. Dwelling +upon his good qualities he became seriously convinced of them; he had a mind +like a torpedo, he declared, aimed at falsehood. Where should we all be without +him and his like? Choked in weeds; Christians, bigots,—why, Rachel +herself, would be a slave with a fan to sing songs to men when they felt +drowsy. +</p> + +<p> +“But you’ll never see it!” he exclaimed; “because with +all your virtues you don’t, and you never will, care with every fibre of +your being for the pursuit of truth! You’ve no respect for facts, Rachel; +you’re essentially feminine.” She did not trouble to deny it, nor +did she think good to produce the one unanswerable argument against the merits +which Terence admired. St. John Hirst said that she was in love with him; she +would never forgive that; but the argument was not one to appeal to a man. +</p> + +<p> +“But I like him,” she said, and she thought to herself that she +also pitied him, as one pities those unfortunate people who are outside the +warm mysterious globe full of changes and miracles in which we ourselves move +about; she thought that it must be very dull to be St. John Hirst. +</p> + +<p> +She summed up what she felt about him by saying that she would not kiss him +supposing he wished it, which was not likely. +</p> + +<p> +As if some apology were due to Hirst for the kiss which she then bestowed upon +him, Terence protested: +</p> + +<p> +“And compared with Hirst I’m a perfect Zany.” +</p> + +<p> +The clock here struck twelve instead of eleven. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re wasting the morning—I ought to be writing my book, and +you ought to be answering these.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve only got twenty-one whole mornings left,” said Rachel. +“And my father’ll be here in a day or two.” +</p> + +<p> +However, she drew a pen and paper towards her and began to write laboriously, +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Evelyn—” +</p> + +<p> +Terence, meanwhile, read a novel which some one else had written, a process +which he found essential to the composition of his own. For a considerable time +nothing was to be heard but the ticking of the clock and the fitful scratch of +Rachel’s pen, as she produced phrases which bore a considerable likeness +to those which she had condemned. She was struck by it herself, for she stopped +writing and looked up; looked at Terence deep in the arm-chair, looked at the +different pieces of furniture, at her bed in the corner, at the window-pane +which showed the branches of a tree filled in with sky, heard the clock +ticking, and was amazed at the gulf which lay between all that and her sheet of +paper. Would there ever be a time when the world was one and indivisible? Even +with Terence himself—how far apart they could be, how little she knew +what was passing in his brain now! She then finished her sentence, which was +awkward and ugly, and stated that they were “both very happy, and going +to be married in the autumn probably and hope to live in London, where we hope +you will come and see us when we get back.” Choosing +“affectionately,” after some further speculation, rather than +sincerely, she signed the letter and was doggedly beginning on another when +Terence remarked, quoting from his book: +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to this, Rachel. ‘It is probable that Hugh’ +(he’s the hero, a literary man), ‘had not realised at the time of +his marriage, any more than the young man of parts and imagination usually does +realise, the nature of the gulf which separates the needs and desires of the +male from the needs and desires of the female. . . . At first they had been +very happy. The walking tour in Switzerland had been a time of jolly +companionship and stimulating revelations for both of them. Betty had proved +herself the ideal comrade. . . . They had shouted <i>Love in the Valley</i> to +each other across the snowy slopes of the Riffelhorn’ (and so on, and so +on—I’ll skip the descriptions). . . . ‘But in London, after +the boy’s birth, all was changed. Betty was an admirable mother; but it +did not take her long to find out that motherhood, as that function is +understood by the mother of the upper middle classes, did not absorb the whole +of her energies. She was young and strong, with healthy limbs and a body and +brain that called urgently for exercise. . . .’ (In short she began to +give tea-parties.) . . . ‘Coming in late from this singular talk with old +Bob Murphy in his smoky, book-lined room, where the two men had each unloosened +his soul to the other, with the sound of the traffic humming in his ears, and +the foggy London sky slung tragically across his mind . . . he found +women’s hats dotted about among his papers. Women’s wraps and +absurd little feminine shoes and umbrellas were in the hall. . . . Then the +bills began to come in. . . . He tried to speak frankly to her. He found her +lying on the great polar-bear skin in their bedroom, half-undressed, for they +were dining with the Greens in Wilton Crescent, the ruddy firelight making the +diamonds wink and twinkle on her bare arms and in the delicious curve of her +breast—a vision of adorable femininity. He forgave her all.’ (Well, +this goes from bad to worse, and finally about fifty pages later, Hugh takes a +week-end ticket to Swanage and ‘has it out with himself on the downs +above Corfe.’ . . . Here there’s fifteen pages or so which +we’ll skip. The conclusion is . . .) ‘They were different. Perhaps, +in the far future, when generations of men had struggled and failed as he must +now struggle and fail, woman would be, indeed, what she now made a pretence of +being—the friend and companion—not the enemy and parasite of +man.’ +</p> + +<p> +“The end of it is, you see, Hugh went back to his wife, poor fellow. It +was his duty, as a married man. Lord, Rachel,” he concluded, “will +it be like that when we’re married?” +</p> + +<p> +Instead of answering him she asked, +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t people write about the things they do feel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that’s the difficulty!” he sighed, tossing the book +away. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, what will it be like when we’re married? What are the +things people do feel?” +</p> + +<p> +She seemed doubtful. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit on the floor and let me look at you,” he commanded. Resting +her chin on his knee, she looked straight at him. +</p> + +<p> +He examined her curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not beautiful,” he began, “but I like your +face. I like the way your hair grows down in a point, and your eyes +too—they never see anything. Your mouth’s too big, and your cheeks +would be better if they had more colour in them. But what I like about your +face is that it makes one wonder what the devil you’re thinking +about—it makes me want to do that—” He clenched his fist and +shook it so near her that she started back, “because now you look as if +you’d blow my brains out. There are moments,” he continued, +“when, if we stood on a rock together, you’d throw me into the +sea.” +</p> + +<p> +Hypnotised by the force of his eyes in hers, she repeated, “If we stood +on a rock together—” +</p> + +<p> +To be flung into the sea, to be washed hither and thither, and driven about the +roots of the world—the idea was incoherently delightful. She sprang up, +and began moving about the room, bending and thrusting aside the chairs and +tables as if she were indeed striking through the waters. He watched her with +pleasure; she seemed to be cleaving a passage for herself, and dealing +triumphantly with the obstacles which would hinder their passage through life. +</p> + +<p> +“It does seem possible!” he exclaimed, “though I’ve +always thought it the most unlikely thing in the world—I shall be in love +with you all my life, and our marriage will be the most exciting thing +that’s ever been done! We’ll never have a moment’s +peace—” He caught her in his arms as she passed him, and they +fought for mastery, imagining a rock, and the sea heaving beneath them. At last +she was thrown to the floor, where she lay gasping, and crying for mercy. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a mermaid! I can swim,” she cried, “so the +game’s up.” Her dress was torn across, and peace being established, +she fetched a needle and thread and began to mend the tear. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” she said, “be quiet and tell me about the world; +tell me about everything that’s ever happened, and I’ll tell +you—let me see, what can I tell you?—I’ll tell you about Miss +Montgomerie and the river party. She was left, you see, with one foot in the +boat, and the other on shore.” +</p> + +<p> +They had spent much time already in thus filling out for the other the course +of their past lives, and the characters of their friends and relations, so that +very soon Terence knew not only what Rachel’s aunts might be expected to +say upon every occasion, but also how their bedrooms were furnished, and what +kind of bonnets they wore. He could sustain a conversation between Mrs. Hunt +and Rachel, and carry on a tea-party including the Rev. William Johnson and +Miss Macquoid, the Christian Scientists, with remarkable likeness to the truth. +But he had known many more people, and was far more highly skilled in the art +of narrative than Rachel was, whose experiences were, for the most part, of a +curiously childlike and humorous kind, so that it generally fell to her lot to +listen and ask questions. +</p> + +<p> +He told her not only what had happened, but what he had thought and felt, and +sketched for her portraits which fascinated her of what other men and women +might be supposed to be thinking and feeling, so that she became very anxious +to go back to England, which was full of people, where she could merely stand +in the streets and look at them. According to him, too, there was an order, a +pattern which made life reasonable, or if that word was foolish, made it of +deep interest anyhow, for sometimes it seemed possible to understand why things +happened as they did. Nor were people so solitary and uncommunicative as she +believed. She should look for vanity—for vanity was a common +quality—first in herself, and then in Helen, in Ridley, in St. John, they +all had their share of it—and she would find it in ten people out of +every twelve she met; and once linked together by one such tie she would find +them not separate and formidable, but practically indistinguishable, and she +would come to love them when she found that they were like herself. +</p> + +<p> +If she denied this, she must defend her belief that human beings were as +various as the beasts at the Zoo, which had stripes and manes, and horns and +humps; and so, wrestling over the entire list of their acquaintances, and +diverging into anecdote and theory and speculation, they came to know each +other. The hours passed quickly, and seemed to them full to leaking-point. +After a night’s solitude they were always ready to begin again. +</p> + +<p> +The virtues which Mrs. Ambrose had once believed to exist in free talk between +men and women did in truth exist for both of them, although not quite in the +measure she prescribed. Far more than upon the nature of sex they dwelt upon +the nature of poetry, but it was true that talk which had no boundaries +deepened and enlarged the strangely small bright view of a girl. In return for +what he could tell her she brought him such curiosity and sensitiveness of +perception, that he was led to doubt whether any gift bestowed by much reading +and living was quite the equal of that for pleasure and pain. What would +experience give her after all, except a kind of ridiculous formal balance, like +that of a drilled dog in the street? He looked at her face and wondered how it +would look in twenty years’ time, when the eyes had dulled, and the +forehead wore those little persistent wrinkles which seem to show that the +middle-aged are facing something hard which the young do not see? What would +the hard thing be for them, he wondered? Then his thoughts turned to their life +in England. +</p> + +<p> +The thought of England was delightful, for together they would see the old +things freshly; it would be England in June, and there would be June nights in +the country; and the nightingales singing in the lanes, into which they could +steal when the room grew hot; and there would be English meadows gleaming with +water and set with stolid cows, and clouds dipping low and trailing across the +green hills. As he sat in the room with her, he wished very often to be back +again in the thick of life, doing things with Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +He crossed to the window and exclaimed, “Lord, how good it is to think of +lanes, muddy lanes, with brambles and nettles, you know, and real grass fields, +and farmyards with pigs and cows, and men walking beside carts with +pitchforks—there’s nothing to compare with that here—look at +the stony red earth, and the bright blue sea, and the glaring white +houses—how tired one gets of it! And the air, without a stain or a +wrinkle. I’d give anything for a sea mist.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel, too, had been thinking of the English country: the flat land rolling +away to the sea, and the woods and the long straight roads, where one can walk +for miles without seeing any one, and the great church towers and the curious +houses clustered in the valleys, and the birds, and the dusk, and the rain +falling against the windows. +</p> + +<p> +“But London, London’s the place,” Terence continued. They +looked together at the carpet, as though London itself were to be seen there +lying on the floor, with all its spires and pinnacles pricking through the +smoke. +</p> + +<p> +“On the whole, what I should like best at this moment,” Terence +pondered, “would be to find myself walking down Kingsway, by those big +placards, you know, and turning into the Strand. Perhaps I might go and look +over Waterloo Bridge for a moment. Then I’d go along the Strand past the +shops with all the new books in them, and through the little archway into the +Temple. I always like the quiet after the uproar. You hear your own footsteps +suddenly quite loud. The Temple’s very pleasant. I think I should go and +see if I could find dear old Hodgkin—the man who writes books about Van +Eyck, you know. When I left England he was very sad about his tame magpie. He +suspected that a man had poisoned it. And then Russell lives on the next +staircase. I think you’d like him. He’s a passion for Handel. Well, +Rachel,” he concluded, dismissing the vision of London, “we shall +be doing that together in six weeks’ time, and it’ll be the middle +of June then—and June in London—my God! how pleasant it all +is!” +</p> + +<p> +“And we’re certain to have it too,” she said. “It +isn’t as if we were expecting a great deal—only to walk about and +look at things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only a thousand a year and perfect freedom,” he replied. +“How many people in London d’you think have that?” +</p> + +<p> +“And now you’ve spoilt it,” she complained. “Now +we’ve got to think of the horrors.” She looked grudgingly at the +novel which had once caused her perhaps an hour’s discomfort, so that she +had never opened it again, but kept it on her table, and looked at it +occasionally, as some medieval monk kept a skull, or a crucifix to remind him +of the frailty of the body. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it true, Terence,” she demanded, “that women die with +bugs crawling across their faces?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think it’s very probable,” he said. “But you must +admit, Rachel, that we so seldom think of anything but ourselves that an +occasional twinge is really rather pleasant.” +</p> + +<p> +Accusing him of an affection of cynicism which was just as bad as +sentimentality itself, she left her position by his side and knelt upon the +window sill, twisting the curtain tassels between her fingers. A vague sense of +dissatisfaction filled her. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s so detestable in this country,” she exclaimed, +“is the blue—always blue sky and blue sea. It’s like a +curtain—all the things one wants are on the other side of that. I want to +know what’s going on behind it. I hate these divisions, don’t you, +Terence? One person all in the dark about another person. Now I liked the +Dalloways,” she continued, “and they’re gone. I shall never +see them again. Just by going on a ship we cut ourselves off entirely from the +rest of the world. I want to see England there—London there—all +sorts of people—why shouldn’t one? why should one be shut up all by +oneself in a room?” +</p> + +<p> +While she spoke thus half to herself and with increasing vagueness, because her +eye was caught by a ship that had just come into the bay, she did not see that +Terence had ceased to stare contentedly in front of him, and was looking at her +keenly and with dissatisfaction. She seemed to be able to cut herself adrift +from him, and to pass away to unknown places where she had no need of him. The +thought roused his jealousy. +</p> + +<p> +“I sometimes think you’re not in love with me and never will +be,” he said energetically. She started and turned round at his words. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t satisfy you in the way you satisfy me,” he +continued. “There’s something I can’t get hold of in you. You +don’t want me as I want you—you’re always wanting something +else.” +</p> + +<p> +He began pacing up and down the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I ask too much,” he went on. “Perhaps it isn’t +really possible to have what I want. Men and women are too different. You +can’t understand—you don’t understand—” +</p> + +<p> +He came up to where she stood looking at him in silence. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to her now that what he was saying was perfectly true, and that she +wanted many more things than the love of one human being—the sea, the +sky. She turned again and looked at the distant blue, which was so smooth and +serene where the sky met the sea; she could not possibly want only one human +being. +</p> + +<p> +“Or is it only this damnable engagement?” he continued. +“Let’s be married here, before we go back—or is it too great +a risk? Are we sure we want to marry each other?” +</p> + +<p> +They began pacing up and down the room, but although they came very near each +other in their pacing, they took care not to touch each other. The hopelessness +of their position overcame them both. They were impotent; they could never love +each other sufficiently to overcome all these barriers, and they could never be +satisfied with less. Realising this with intolerable keenness she stopped in +front of him and exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s break it off, then.” +</p> + +<p> +The words did more to unite them than any amount of argument. As if they stood +on the edge of a precipice they clung together. They knew that they could not +separate; painful and terrible it might be, but they were joined for ever. They +lapsed into silence, and after a time crept together in silence. Merely to be +so close soothed them, and sitting side by side the divisions disappeared, and +it seemed as if the world were once more solid and entire, and as if, in some +strange way, they had grown larger and stronger. +</p> + +<p> +It was long before they moved, and when they moved it was with great +reluctance. They stood together in front of the looking-glass, and with a brush +tried to make themselves look as if they had been feeling nothing all the +morning, neither pain nor happiness. But it chilled them to see themselves in +the glass, for instead of being vast and indivisible they were really very +small and separate, the size of the glass leaving a large space for the +reflection of other things. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<p> +But no brush was able to efface completely the expression of happiness, so that +Mrs. Ambrose could not treat them when they came downstairs as if they had +spent the morning in a way that could be discussed naturally. This being so, +she joined in the world’s conspiracy to consider them for the time +incapacitated from the business of life, struck by their intensity of feeling +into enmity against life, and almost succeeded in dismissing them from her +thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +She reflected that she had done all that it was necessary to do in practical +matters. She had written a great many letters, and had obtained +Willoughby’s consent. She had dwelt so often upon Mr. Hewet’s +prospects, his profession, his birth, appearance, and temperament, that she had +almost forgotten what he was really like. When she refreshed herself by a look +at him, she used to wonder again what he was like, and then, concluding that +they were happy at any rate, thought no more about it. +</p> + +<p> +She might more profitably consider what would happen in three years’ +time, or what might have happened if Rachel had been left to explore the world +under her father’s guidance. The result, she was honest enough to own, +might have been better—who knows? She did not disguise from herself that +Terence had faults. She was inclined to think him too easy and tolerant, just +as he was inclined to think her perhaps a trifle hard—no, it was rather +that she was uncompromising. In some ways she found St. John preferable; but +then, of course, he would never have suited Rachel. Her friendship with St. +John was established, for although she fluctuated between irritation and +interest in a way that did credit to the candour of her disposition, she liked +his company on the whole. He took her outside this little world of love and +emotion. He had a grasp of facts. Supposing, for instance, that England made a +sudden move towards some unknown port on the coast of Morocco, St. John knew +what was at the back of it, and to hear him engaged with her husband in +argument about finance and the balance of power, gave her an odd sense of +stability. She respected their arguments without always listening to them, much +as she respected a solid brick wall, or one of those immense municipal +buildings which, although they compose the greater part of our cities, have +been built day after day and year after year by unknown hands. She liked to sit +and listen, and even felt a little elated when the engaged couple, after +showing their profound lack of interest, slipped from the room, and were seen +pulling flowers to pieces in the garden. It was not that she was jealous of +them, but she did undoubtedly envy them their great unknown future that lay +before them. Slipping from one such thought to another, she was at the +dining-room with fruit in her hands. Sometimes she stopped to straighten a +candle stooping with the heat, or disturbed some too rigid arrangement of the +chairs. She had reason to suspect that Chailey had been balancing herself on +the top of a ladder with a wet duster during their absence, and the room had +never been quite like itself since. Returning from the dining-room for the +third time, she perceived that one of the arm-chairs was now occupied by St. +John. He lay back in it, with his eyes half shut, looking, as he always did, +curiously buttoned up in a neat grey suit and fenced against the exuberance of +a foreign climate which might at any moment proceed to take liberties with him. +Her eyes rested on him gently and then passed on over his head. Finally she +took the chair opposite. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t want to come here,” he said at last, “but I +was positively driven to it. . . . Evelyn M.,” he groaned. +</p> + +<p> +He sat up, and began to explain with mock solemnity how the detestable woman +was set upon marrying him. +</p> + +<p> +“She pursues me about the place. This morning she appeared in the +smoking-room. All I could do was to seize my hat and fly. I didn’t want +to come, but I couldn’t stay and face another meal with her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we must make the best of it,” Helen replied philosophically. +It was very hot, and they were indifferent to any amount of silence, so that +they lay back in their chairs waiting for something to happen. The bell rang +for luncheon, but there was no sound of movement in the house. Was there any +news? Helen asked; anything in the papers? St. John shook his head. O yes, he +had a letter from home, a letter from his mother, describing the suicide of the +parlour-maid. She was called Susan Jane, and she came into the kitchen one +afternoon, and said that she wanted cook to keep her money for her; she had +twenty pounds in gold. Then she went out to buy herself a hat. She came in at +half-past five and said that she had taken poison. They had only just time to +get her into bed and call a doctor before she died. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” Helen enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“There’ll have to be an inquest,” said St. John. +</p> + +<p> +Why had she done it? He shrugged his shoulders. Why do people kill themselves? +Why do the lower orders do any of the things they do do? Nobody knows. They sat +in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“The bell’s run fifteen minutes and they’re not down,” +said Helen at length. +</p> + +<p> +When they appeared, St. John explained why it had been necessary for him to +come to luncheon. He imitated Evelyn’s enthusiastic tone as she +confronted him in the smoking-room. “She thinks there can be nothing +<i>quite</i> so thrilling as mathematics, so I’ve lent her a large work +in two volumes. It’ll be interesting to see what she makes of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Rachel could now afford to laugh at him. She reminded him of Gibbon; she had +the first volume somewhere still; if he were undertaking the education of +Evelyn, that surely was the test; or she had heard that Burke, upon the +American Rebellion—Evelyn ought to read them both simultaneously. When +St. John had disposed of her argument and had satisfied his hunger, he +proceeded to tell them that the hotel was seething with scandals, some of the +most appalling kind, which had happened in their absence; he was indeed much +given to the study of his kind. +</p> + +<p> +“Evelyn M., for example—but that was told me in confidence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense!” Terence interposed. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve heard about poor Sinclair, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about Sinclair. He’s retired to his mine +with a revolver. He writes to Evelyn daily that he’s thinking of +committing suicide. I’ve assured her that he’s never been so happy +in his life, and, on the whole, she’s inclined to agree with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But then she’s entangled herself with Perrott,” St. John +continued; “and I have reason to think, from something I saw in the +passage, that everything isn’t as it should be between Arthur and Susan. +There’s a young female lately arrived from Manchester. A very good thing +if it were broken off, in my opinion. Their married life is something too +horrible to contemplate. Oh, and I distinctly heard old Mrs. Paley rapping out +the most fearful oaths as I passed her bedroom door. It’s supposed that +she tortures her maid in private—it’s practically certain she does. +One can tell it from the look in her eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you’re eighty and the gout tweezes you, you’ll be +swearing like a trooper,” Terence remarked. “You’ll be very +fat, very testy, very disagreeable. Can’t you imagine him—bald as a +coot, with a pair of sponge-bag trousers, a little spotted tie, and a +corporation?” +</p> + +<p> +After a pause Hirst remarked that the worst infamy had still to be told. He +addressed himself to Helen. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve hoofed out the prostitute. One night while we were away +that old numskull Thornbury was doddering about the passages very late. (Nobody +seems to have asked him what <i>he</i> was up to.) He saw the Signora Lola +Mendoza, as she calls herself, cross the passage in her nightgown. He +communicated his suspicions next morning to Elliot, with the result that +Rodriguez went to the woman and gave her twenty-four hours in which to clear +out of the place. No one seems to have enquired into the truth of the story, or +to have asked Thornbury and Elliot what business it was of theirs; they had it +entirely their own way. I propose that we should all sign a Round Robin, go to +Rodriguez in a body, and insist upon a full enquiry. Something’s got to +be done, don’t you agree?” +</p> + +<p> +Hewet remarked that there could be no doubt as to the lady’s profession. +</p> + +<p> +“Still,” he added, “it’s a great shame, poor woman; +only I don’t see what’s to be done—” +</p> + +<p> +“I quite agree with you, St. John,” Helen burst out. +“It’s monstrous. The hypocritical smugness of the English makes my +blood boil. A man who’s made a fortune in trade as Mr. Thornbury has is +bound to be twice as bad as any prostitute.” +</p> + +<p> +She respected St. John’s morality, which she took far more seriously than +any one else did, and now entered into a discussion with him as to the steps +that were to be taken to enforce their peculiar view of what was right. The +argument led to some profoundly gloomy statements of a general nature. Who were +they, after all—what authority had they—what power against the mass +of superstition and ignorance? It was the English, of course; there must be +something wrong in the English blood. Directly you met an English person, of +the middle classes, you were conscious of an indefinable sensation of loathing; +directly you saw the brown crescent of houses above Dover, the same thing came +over you. But unfortunately St. John added, you couldn’t trust these +foreigners— +</p> + +<p> +They were interrupted by sounds of strife at the further end of the table. +Rachel appealed to her aunt. +</p> + +<p> +“Terence says we must go to tea with Mrs. Thornbury because she’s +been so kind, but I don’t see it; in fact, I’d rather have my right +hand sawn in pieces—just imagine! the eyes of all those women!” +</p> + +<p> +“Fiddlesticks, Rachel,” Terence replied. “Who wants to look +at you? You’re consumed with vanity! You’re a monster of conceit! +Surely, Helen, you ought to have taught her by this time that she’s a +person of no conceivable importance whatever—not beautiful, or well +dressed, or conspicuous for elegance or intellect, or deportment. A more +ordinary sight than you are,” he concluded, “except for the tear +across your dress has never been seen. However, stay at home if you want to. +I’m going.” +</p> + +<p> +She appealed again to her aunt. It wasn’t the being looked at, she +explained, but the things people were sure to say. The women in particular. She +liked women, but where emotion was concerned they were as flies on a lump of +sugar. They would be certain to ask her questions. Evelyn M. would say: +“Are you in love? Is it nice being in love?” And Mrs. +Thornbury—her eyes would go up and down, up and down—she shuddered +at the thought of it. Indeed, the retirement of their life since their +engagement had made her so sensitive, that she was not exaggerating her case. +</p> + +<p> +She found an ally in Helen, who proceeded to expound her views of the human +race, as she regarded with complacency the pyramid of variegated fruits in the +centre of the table. It wasn’t that they were cruel, or meant to hurt, or +even stupid exactly; but she had always found that the ordinary person had so +little emotion in his own life that the scent of it in the lives of others was +like the scent of blood in the nostrils of a bloodhound. Warming to the theme, +she continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Directly anything happens—it may be a marriage, or a birth, or a +death—on the whole they prefer it to be a death—every one wants to +see you. They insist upon seeing you. They’ve got nothing to say; they +don’t care a rap for you; but you’ve got to go to lunch or to tea +or to dinner, and if you don’t you’re damned. It’s the smell +of blood,” she continued; “I don’t blame ’em; only they +shan’t have mine if I know it!” +</p> + +<p> +She looked about her as if she had called up a legion of human beings, all +hostile and all disagreeable, who encircled the table, with mouths gaping for +blood, and made it appear a little island of neutral country in the midst of +the enemy’s country. +</p> + +<p> +Her words roused her husband, who had been muttering rhythmically to himself, +surveying his guests and his food and his wife with eyes that were now +melancholy and now fierce, according to the fortunes of the lady in his ballad. +He cut Helen short with a protest. He hated even the semblance of cynicism in +women. “Nonsense, nonsense,” he remarked abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +Terence and Rachel glanced at each other across the table, which meant that +when they were married they would not behave like that. The entrance of Ridley +into the conversation had a strange effect. It became at once more formal and +more polite. It would have been impossible to talk quite easily of anything +that came into their heads, and to say the word prostitute as simply as any +other word. The talk now turned upon literature and politics, and Ridley told +stories of the distinguished people he had known in his youth. Such talk was of +the nature of an art, and the personalities and informalities of the young were +silenced. As they rose to go, Helen stopped for a moment, leaning her elbows on +the table. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve all been sitting here,” she said, “for almost +an hour, and you haven’t noticed my figs, or my flowers, or the way the +light comes through, or anything. I haven’t been listening, because +I’ve been looking at you. You looked very beautiful; I wish you’d +go on sitting for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +She led the way to the drawing-room, where she took up her embroidery, and +began again to dissuade Terence from walking down to the hotel in this heat. +But the more she dissuaded, the more he was determined to go. He became +irritated and obstinate. There were moments when they almost disliked each +other. He wanted other people; he wanted Rachel, to see them with him. He +suspected that Mrs. Ambrose would now try to dissuade her from going. He was +annoyed by all this space and shade and beauty, and Hirst, recumbent, drooping +a magazine from his wrist. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going,” he repeated. “Rachel needn’t come +unless she wants to.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you go, Hewet, I wish you’d make enquiries about the +prostitute,” said Hirst. “Look here,” he added, +“I’ll walk half the way with you.” +</p> + +<p> +Greatly to their surprise he raised himself, looked at his watch, and remarked +that, as it was now half an hour since luncheon, the gastric juices had had +sufficient time to secrete; he was trying a system, he explained, which +involved short spells of exercise interspaced by longer intervals of rest. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be back at four,” he remarked to Helen, “when I +shall lie down on the sofa and relax all my muscles completely.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you’re going, Rachel?” Helen asked. “You +won’t stay with me?” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled, but she might have been sad. +</p> + +<p> +Was she sad, or was she really laughing? Rachel could not tell, and she felt +for the moment very uncomfortable between Helen and Terence. Then she turned +away, saying merely that she would go with Terence, on condition that he did +all the talking. +</p> + +<p> +A narrow border of shadow ran along the road, which was broad enough for two, +but not broad enough for three. St. John therefore dropped a little behind the +pair, and the distance between them increased by degrees. Walking with a view +to digestion, and with one eye upon his watch, he looked from time to time at +the pair in front of him. They seemed to be so happy, so intimate, although +they were walking side by side much as other people walk. They turned slightly +toward each other now and then, and said something which he thought must be +something very private. They were really disputing about Helen’s +character, and Terence was trying to explain why it was that she annoyed him so +much sometimes. But St. John thought that they were saying things which they +did not want him to hear, and was led to think of his own isolation. These +people were happy, and in some ways he despised them for being made happy so +simply, and in other ways he envied them. He was much more remarkable than they +were, but he was not happy. People never liked him; he doubted sometimes +whether even Helen liked him. To be simple, to be able to say simply what one +felt, without the terrific self-consciousness which possessed him, and showed +him his own face and words perpetually in a mirror, that would be worth almost +any other gift, for it made one happy. Happiness, happiness, what was +happiness? He was never happy. He saw too clearly the little vices and deceits +and flaws of life, and, seeing them, it seemed to him honest to take notice of +them. That was the reason, no doubt, why people generally disliked him, and +complained that he was heartless and bitter. Certainly they never told him the +things he wanted to be told, that he was nice and kind, and that they liked +him. But it was true that half the sharp things that he said about them were +said because he was unhappy or hurt himself. But he admitted that he had very +seldom told any one that he cared for them, and when he had been demonstrative, +he had generally regretted it afterwards. His feelings about Terence and Rachel +were so complicated that he had never yet been able to bring himself to say +that he was glad that they were going to be married. He saw their faults so +clearly, and the inferior nature of a great deal of their feeling for each +other, and he expected that their love would not last. He looked at them again, +and, very strangely, for he was so used to thinking that he seldom saw +anything, the look of them filled him with a simple emotion of affection in +which there were some traces of pity also. What, after all, did people’s +faults matter in comparison with what was good in them? He resolved that he +would now tell them what he felt. He quickened his pace and came up with them +just as they reached the corner where the lane joined the main road. They stood +still and began to laugh at him, and to ask him whether the gastric +juices—but he stopped them and began to speak very quickly and stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you remember the morning after the dance?” he demanded. +“It was here we sat, and you talked nonsense, and Rachel made little +heaps of stones. I, on the other hand, had the whole meaning of life revealed +to me in a flash.” He paused for a second, and drew his lips together in +a tight little purse. “Love,” he said. “It seems to me to +explain everything. So, on the whole, I’m very glad that you two are +going to be married.” He then turned round abruptly, without looking at +them, and walked back to the villa. He felt both exalted and ashamed of himself +for having thus said what he felt. Probably they were laughing at him, probably +they thought him a fool, and, after all, had he really said what he felt? +</p> + +<p> +It was true that they laughed when he was gone; but the dispute about Helen +which had become rather sharp, ceased, and they became peaceful and friendly. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<p> +They reached the hotel rather early in the afternoon, so that most people were +still lying down, or sitting speechless in their bedrooms, and Mrs. Thornbury, +although she had asked them to tea, was nowhere to be seen. They sat down, +therefore, in the shady hall, which was almost empty, and full of the light +swishing sounds of air going to and fro in a large empty space. Yes, this +arm-chair was the same arm-chair in which Rachel had sat that afternoon when +Evelyn came up, and this was the magazine she had been looking at, and this the +very picture, a picture of New York by lamplight. How odd it +seemed—nothing had changed. +</p> + +<p> +By degrees a certain number of people began to come down the stairs and to pass +through the hall, and in this dim light their figures possessed a sort of grace +and beauty, although they were all unknown people. Sometimes they went straight +through and out into the garden by the swing door, sometimes they stopped for a +few minutes and bent over the tables and began turning over the newspapers. +Terence and Rachel sat watching them through their half-closed +eyelids—the Johnsons, the Parkers, the Baileys, the Simmons’, the +Lees, the Morleys, the Campbells, the Gardiners. Some were dressed in white +flannels and were carrying racquets under their arms, some were short, some +tall, some were only children, and some perhaps were servants, but they all had +their standing, their reason for following each other through the hall, their +money, their position, whatever it might be. Terence soon gave up looking at +them, for he was tired; and, closing his eyes, he fell half asleep in his +chair. Rachel watched the people for some time longer; she was fascinated by +the certainty and the grace of their movements, and by the inevitable way in +which they seemed to follow each other, and loiter and pass on and disappear. +But after a time her thoughts wandered, and she began to think of the dance, +which had been held in this room, only then the room itself looked quite +different. Glancing round, she could hardly believe that it was the same room. +It had looked so bare and so bright and formal on that night when they came +into it out of the darkness; it had been filled, too, with little red, excited +faces, always moving, and people so brightly dressed and so animated that they +did not seem in the least like real people, nor did you feel that you could +talk to them. And now the room was dim and quiet, and beautiful silent people +passed through it, to whom you could go and say anything you liked. She felt +herself amazingly secure as she sat in her arm-chair, and able to review not +only the night of the dance, but the entire past, tenderly and humorously, as +if she had been turning in a fog for a long time, and could now see exactly +where she had turned. For the methods by which she had reached her present +position, seemed to her very strange, and the strangest thing about them was +that she had not known where they were leading her. That was the strange thing, +that one did not know where one was going, or what one wanted, and followed +blindly, suffering so much in secret, always unprepared and amazed and knowing +nothing; but one thing led to another and by degrees something had formed +itself out of nothing, and so one reached at last this calm, this quiet, this +certainty, and it was this process that people called living. Perhaps, then, +every one really knew as she knew now where they were going; and things formed +themselves into a pattern not only for her, but for them, and in that pattern +lay satisfaction and meaning. When she looked back she could see that a meaning +of some kind was apparent in the lives of her aunts, and in the brief visit of +the Dalloways whom she would never see again, and in the life of her father. +</p> + +<p> +The sound of Terence, breathing deep in his slumber, confirmed her in her calm. +She was not sleepy although she did not see anything very distinctly, but +although the figures passing through the hall became vaguer and vaguer, she +believed that they all knew exactly where they were going, and the sense of +their certainty filled her with comfort. For the moment she was as detached and +disinterested as if she had no longer any lot in life, and she thought that she +could now accept anything that came to her without being perplexed by the form +in which it appeared. What was there to frighten or to perplex in the prospect +of life? Why should this insight ever again desert her? The world was in truth +so large, so hospitable, and after all it was so simple. “Love,” +St. John had said, “that seems to explain it all.” Yes, but it was +not the love of man for woman, of Terence for Rachel. Although they sat so +close together, they had ceased to be little separate bodies; they had ceased +to struggle and desire one another. There seemed to be peace between them. It +might be love, but it was not the love of man for woman. +</p> + +<p> +Through her half-closed eyelids she watched Terence lying back in his chair, +and she smiled as she saw how big his mouth was, and his chin so small, and his +nose curved like a switchback with a knob at the end. Naturally, looking like +that he was lazy, and ambitious, and full of moods and faults. She remembered +their quarrels, and in particular how they had been quarreling about Helen that +very afternoon, and she thought how often they would quarrel in the thirty, or +forty, or fifty years in which they would be living in the same house together, +catching trains together, and getting annoyed because they were so different. +But all this was superficial, and had nothing to do with the life that went on +beneath the eyes and the mouth and the chin, for that life was independent of +her, and independent of everything else. So too, although she was going to +marry him and to live with him for thirty, or forty, or fifty years, and to +quarrel, and to be so close to him, she was independent of him; she was +independent of everything else. Nevertheless, as St. John said, it was love +that made her understand this, for she had never felt this independence, this +calm, and this certainty until she fell in love with him, and perhaps this too +was love. She wanted nothing else. +</p> + +<p> +For perhaps two minutes Miss Allan had been standing at a little distance +looking at the couple lying back so peacefully in their arm-chairs. She could +not make up her mind whether to disturb them or not, and then, seeming to +recollect something, she came across the hall. The sound of her approach woke +Terence, who sat up and rubbed his eyes. He heard Miss Allan talking to Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she was saying, “this is very nice. It is very nice +indeed. Getting engaged seems to be quite the fashion. It cannot often happen +that two couples who have never seen each other before meet in the same hotel +and decide to get married.” Then she paused and smiled, and seemed to +have nothing more to say, so that Terence rose and asked her whether it was +true that she had finished her book. Some one had said that she had really +finished it. Her face lit up; she turned to him with a livelier expression than +usual. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I think I can fairly say I have finished it,” she said. +“That is, omitting Swinburne—Beowulf to Browning—I rather +like the two B’s myself. Beowulf to Browning,” she repeated, +“I think that is the kind of title which might catch one’s eye on a +railway book-stall.” +</p> + +<p> +She was indeed very proud that she had finished her book, for no one knew what +an amount of determination had gone to the making of it. Also she thought that +it was a good piece of work, and, considering what anxiety she had been in +about her brother while she wrote it, she could not resist telling them a +little more about it. +</p> + +<p> +“I must confess,” she continued, “that if I had known how +many classics there are in English literature, and how verbose the best of them +contrive to be, I should never have undertaken the work. They only allow one +seventy thousand words, you see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only seventy thousand words!” Terence exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and one has to say something about everybody,” Miss Allan +added. “That is what I find so difficult, saying something different +about everybody.” Then she thought that she had said enough about +herself, and she asked whether they had come down to join the tennis +tournament. “The young people are very keen about it. It begins again in +half an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +Her gaze rested benevolently upon them both, and, after a momentary pause, she +remarked, looking at Rachel as if she had remembered something that would serve +to keep her distinct from other people. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re the remarkable person who doesn’t like ginger.” +But the kindness of the smile in her rather worn and courageous face made them +feel that although she would scarcely remember them as individuals, she had +laid upon them the burden of the new generation. +</p> + +<p> +“And in that I quite agree with her,” said a voice behind; Mrs. +Thornbury had overheard the last few words about not liking ginger. +“It’s associated in my mind with a horrid old aunt of ours (poor +thing, she suffered dreadfully, so it isn’t fair to call her horrid) who +used to give it to us when we were small, and we never had the courage to tell +her we didn’t like it. We just had to put it out in the +shrubbery—she had a big house near Bath.” +</p> + +<p> +They began moving slowly across the hall, when they were stopped by the impact +of Evelyn, who dashed into them, as though in running downstairs to catch them +her legs had got beyond her control. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she exclaimed, with her usual enthusiasm, seizing Rachel by +the arm, “I call this splendid! I guessed it was going to happen from the +very beginning! I saw you two were made for each other. Now you’ve just +got to tell me all about it—when’s it to be, where are you going to +live—are you both tremendously happy?” +</p> + +<p> +But the attention of the group was diverted to Mrs. Elliot, who was passing +them with her eager but uncertain movement, carrying in her hands a plate and +an empty hot-water bottle. She would have passed them, but Mrs. Thornbury went +up and stopped her. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Hughling’s better,” she replied, in answer to +Mrs. Thornbury’s enquiry, “but he’s not an easy patient. He +wants to know what his temperature is, and if I tell him he gets anxious, and +if I don’t tell him he suspects. You know what men are when they’re +ill! And of course there are none of the proper appliances, and, though he +seems very willing and anxious to help” (here she lowered her voice +mysteriously), “one can’t feel that Dr. Rodriguez is the same as a +proper doctor. If you would come and see him, Mr. Hewet,” she added, +“I know it would cheer him up—lying there in bed all day—and +the flies—But I must go and find Angelo—the food here—of +course, with an invalid, one wants things particularly nice.” And she +hurried past them in search of the head waiter. The worry of nursing her +husband had fixed a plaintive frown upon her forehead; she was pale and looked +unhappy and more than usually inefficient, and her eyes wandered more vaguely +than ever from point to point. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor thing!” Mrs. Thornbury exclaimed. She told them that for some +days Hughling Elliot had been ill, and the only doctor available was the +brother of the proprietor, or so the proprietor said, whose right to the title +of doctor was not above suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +“I know how wretched it is to be ill in a hotel,” Mrs. Thornbury +remarked, once more leading the way with Rachel to the garden. “I spent +six weeks on my honeymoon in having typhoid at Venice,” she continued. +“But even so, I look back upon them as some of the happiest weeks in my +life. Ah, yes,” she said, taking Rachel’s arm, “you think +yourself happy now, but it’s nothing to the happiness that comes +afterwards. And I assure you I could find it in my heart to envy you young +people! You’ve a much better time than we had, I may tell you. When I +look back upon it, I can hardly believe how things have changed. When we were +engaged I wasn’t allowed to go for walks with William alone—some +one had always to be in the room with us—I really believe I had to show +my parents all his letters!—though they were very fond of him too. +Indeed, I may say they looked upon him as their own son. It amuses me,” +she continued, “to think how strict they were to us, when I see how they +spoil their grand-children!” +</p> + +<p> +The table was laid under the tree again, and taking her place before the +teacups, Mrs. Thornbury beckoned and nodded until she had collected quite a +number of people, Susan and Arthur and Mr. Pepper, who were strolling about, +waiting for the tournament to begin. A murmuring tree, a river brimming in the +moonlight, Terence’s words came back to Rachel as she sat drinking the +tea and listening to the words which flowed on so lightly, so kindly, and with +such silvery smoothness. This long life and all these children had left her +very smooth; they seemed to have rubbed away the marks of individuality, and to +have left only what was old and maternal. +</p> + +<p> +“And the things you young people are going to see!” Mrs. Thornbury +continued. She included them all in her forecast, she included them all in her +maternity, although the party comprised William Pepper and Miss Allan, both of +whom might have been supposed to have seen a fair share of the panorama. +“When I see how the world has changed in my lifetime,” she went on, +“I can set no limit to what may happen in the next fifty years. Ah, no, +Mr. Pepper, I don’t agree with you in the least,” she laughed, +interrupting his gloomy remark about things going steadily from bad to worse. +“I know I ought to feel that, but I don’t, I’m afraid. +They’re going to be much better people than we were. Surely everything +goes to prove that. All round me I see women, young women, women with household +cares of every sort, going out and doing things that we should not have thought +it possible to do.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Pepper thought her sentimental and irrational like all old women, but her +manner of treating him as if he were a cross old baby baffled him and charmed +him, and he could only reply to her with a curious grimace which was more a +smile than a frown. +</p> + +<p> +“And they remain women,” Mrs. Thornbury added. “They give a +great deal to their children.” +</p> + +<p> +As she said this she smiled slightly in the direction of Susan and Rachel. They +did not like to be included in the same lot, but they both smiled a little +self-consciously, and Arthur and Terence glanced at each other too. She made +them feel that they were all in the same boat together, and they looked at the +women they were going to marry and compared them. It was inexplicable how any +one could wish to marry Rachel, incredible that any one should be ready to +spend his life with Susan; but singular though the other’s taste must be, +they bore each other no ill-will on account of it; indeed, they liked each +other rather the better for the eccentricity of their choice. +</p> + +<p> +“I really must congratulate you,” Susan remarked, as she leant +across the table for the jam. +</p> + +<p> +There seemed to be no foundation for St. John’s gossip about Arthur and +Susan. Sunburnt and vigorous they sat side by side, with their racquets across +their knees, not saying much but smiling slightly all the time. Through the +thin white clothes which they wore, it was possible to see the lines of their +bodies and legs, the beautiful curves of their muscles, his leanness and her +flesh, and it was natural to think of the firm-fleshed sturdy children that +would be theirs. Their faces had too little shape in them to be beautiful, but +they had clear eyes and an appearance of great health and power of endurance, +for it seemed as if the blood would never cease to run in his veins, or to lie +deeply and calmly in her cheeks. Their eyes at the present moment were brighter +than usual, and wore the peculiar expression of pleasure and self-confidence +which is seen in the eyes of athletes, for they had been playing tennis, and +they were both first-rate at the game. +</p> + +<p> +Evelyn had not spoken, but she had been looking from Susan to Rachel. +Well—they had both made up their minds very easily, they had done in a +very few weeks what it sometimes seemed to her that she would never be able to +do. Although they were so different, she thought that she could see in each the +same look of satisfaction and completion, the same calmness of manner, and the +same slowness of movement. It was that slowness, that confidence, that content +which she hated, she thought to herself. They moved so slowly because they were +not single but double, and Susan was attached to Arthur, and Rachel to Terence, +and for the sake of this one man they had renounced all other men, and +movement, and the real things of life. Love was all very well, and those snug +domestic houses, with the kitchen below and the nursery above, which were so +secluded and self-contained, like little islands in the torrents of the world; +but the real things were surely the things that happened, the causes, the wars, +the ideals, which happened in the great world outside, and went so +independently of these women, turning so quietly and beautifully towards the +men. She looked at them sharply. Of course they were happy and content, but +there must be better things than that. Surely one could get nearer to life, one +could get more out of life, one could enjoy more and feel more than they would +ever do. Rachel in particular looked so young—what could she know of +life? She became restless, and getting up, crossed over to sit beside Rachel. +She reminded her that she had promised to join her club. +</p> + +<p> +“The bother is,” she went on, “that I mayn’t be able to +start work seriously till October. I’ve just had a letter from a friend +of mine whose brother is in business in Moscow. They want me to stay with them, +and as they’re in the thick of all the conspiracies and anarchists, +I’ve a good mind to stop on my way home. It sounds too thrilling.” +She wanted to make Rachel see how thrilling it was. “My friend knows a +girl of fifteen who’s been sent to Siberia for life merely because they +caught her addressing a letter to an anarchist. And the letter wasn’t +from her, either. I’d give all I have in the world to help on a +revolution against the Russian government, and it’s bound to come.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked from Rachel to Terence. They were both a little touched by the sight +of her remembering how lately they had been listening to evil words about her, +and Terence asked her what her scheme was, and she explained that she was going +to found a club—a club for doing things, really doing them. She became +very animated, as she talked on and on, for she professed herself certain that +if once twenty people—no, ten would be enough if they were keen—set +about doing things instead of talking about doing them, they could abolish +almost every evil that exists. It was brains that were needed. If only people +with brains—of course they would want a room, a nice room, in Bloomsbury +preferably, where they could meet once a week. . . . +</p> + +<p> +As she talked Terence could see the traces of fading youth in her face, the +lines that were being drawn by talk and excitement round her mouth and eyes, +but he did not pity her; looking into those bright, rather hard, and very +courageous eyes, he saw that she did not pity herself, or feel any desire to +exchange her own life for the more refined and orderly lives of people like +himself and St. John, although, as the years went by, the fight would become +harder and harder. Perhaps, though, she would settle down; perhaps, after all, +she would marry Perrott. While his mind was half occupied with what she was +saying, he thought of her probable destiny, the light clouds of tobacco smoke +serving to obscure his face from her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Terence smoked and Arthur smoked and Evelyn smoked, so that the air was full of +the mist and fragrance of good tobacco. In the intervals when no one spoke, +they heard far off the low murmur of the sea, as the waves quietly broke and +spread the beach with a film of water, and withdrew to break again. The cool +green light fell through the leaves of the tree, and there were soft crescents +and diamonds of sunshine upon the plates and the tablecloth. Mrs. Thornbury, +after watching them all for a time in silence, began to ask Rachel kindly +questions—When did they all go back? Oh, they expected her father. She +must want to see her father—there would be a great deal to tell him, and +(she looked sympathetically at Terence) he would be so happy, she felt sure. +Years ago, she continued, it might have been ten or twenty years ago, she +remembered meeting Mr. Vinrace at a party, and, being so much struck by his +face, which was so unlike the ordinary face one sees at a party, that she had +asked who he was, and she was told that it was Mr. Vinrace, and she had always +remembered the name,—an uncommon name,—and he had a lady with him, +a very sweet-looking woman, but it was one of those dreadful London crushes, +where you don’t talk,—you only look at each other,—and +although she had shaken hands with Mr. Vinrace, she didn’t think they had +said anything. She sighed very slightly, remembering the past. +</p> + +<p> +Then she turned to Mr. Pepper, who had become very dependent on her, so that he +always chose a seat near her, and attended to what she was saying, although he +did not often make any remark of his own. +</p> + +<p> +“You who know everything, Mr. Pepper,” she said, “tell us how +did those wonderful French ladies manage their salons? Did we ever do anything +of the same kind in England, or do you think that there is some reason why we +cannot do it in England?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Pepper was pleased to explain very accurately why there has never been an +English salon. There were three reasons, and they were very good ones, he said. +As for himself, when he went to a party, as one was sometimes obliged to, from +a wish not to give offence—his niece, for example, had been married the +other day—he walked into the middle of the room, said “Ha! +ha!” as loud as ever he could, considered that he had done his duty, and +walked away again. Mrs. Thornbury protested. She was going to give a party +directly she got back, and they were all to be invited, and she should set +people to watch Mr. Pepper, and if she heard that he had been caught saying +“Ha! ha!” she would—she would do something very dreadful +indeed to him. Arthur Venning suggested that what she must do was to rig up +something in the nature of a surprise—a portrait, for example, of a nice +old lady in a lace cap, concealing a bath of cold water, which at a signal +could be sprung on Pepper’s head; or they’d have a chair which shot +him twenty feet high directly he sat on it. +</p> + +<p> +Susan laughed. She had done her tea; she was feeling very well contented, +partly because she had been playing tennis brilliantly, and then every one was +so nice; she was beginning to find it so much easier to talk, and to hold her +own even with quite clever people, for somehow clever people did not frighten +her any more. Even Mr. Hirst, whom she had disliked when she first met him, +really wasn’t disagreeable; and, poor man, he always looked so ill; +perhaps he was in love; perhaps he had been in love with Rachel—she +really shouldn’t wonder; or perhaps it was Evelyn—she was of course +very attractive to men. Leaning forward, she went on with the conversation. She +said that she thought that the reason why parties were so dull was mainly +because gentlemen will not dress: even in London, she stated, it struck her +very much how people don’t think it necessary to dress in the evening, +and of course if they don’t dress in London they won’t dress in the +country. It was really quite a treat at Christmas-time when there were the Hunt +balls, and the gentlemen wore nice red coats, but Arthur didn’t care for +dancing, so she supposed that they wouldn’t go even to the ball in their +little country town. She didn’t think that people who were fond of one +sport often care for another, although her father was an exception. But then he +was an exception in every way—such a gardener, and he knew all about +birds and animals, and of course he was simply adored by all the old women in +the village, and at the same time what he really liked best was a book. You +always knew where to find him if he were wanted; he would be in his study with +a book. Very likely it would be an old, old book, some fusty old thing that no +one else would dream of reading. She used to tell him that he would have made a +first-rate old bookworm if only he hadn’t had a family of six to support, +and six children, she added, charmingly confident of universal sympathy, +didn’t leave one much time for being a bookworm. +</p> + +<p> +Still talking about her father, of whom she was very proud, she rose, for +Arthur upon looking at his watch found that it was time they went back again to +the tennis court. The others did not move. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re very happy!” said Mrs. Thornbury, looking +benignantly after them. Rachel agreed; they seemed to be so certain of +themselves; they seemed to know exactly what they wanted. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you think they <i>are</i> happy?” Evelyn murmured to +Terence in an undertone, and she hoped that he would say that he did not think +them happy; but, instead, he said that they must go too—go home, for they +were always being late for meals, and Mrs. Ambrose, who was very stern and +particular, didn’t like that. Evelyn laid hold of Rachel’s skirt +and protested. Why should they go? It was still early, and she had so many +things to say to them. “No,” said Terence, “we must go, +because we walk so slowly. We stop and look at things, and we talk.” +</p> + +<p> +“What d’you talk about?” Evelyn enquired, upon which he +laughed and said that they talked about everything. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Thornbury went with them to the gate, trailing very slowly and gracefully +across the grass and the gravel, and talking all the time about flowers and +birds. She told them that she had taken up the study of botany since her +daughter married, and it was wonderful what a number of flowers there were +which she had never seen, although she had lived in the country all her life +and she was now seventy-two. It was a good thing to have some occupation which +was quite independent of other people, she said, when one got old. But the odd +thing was that one never felt old. She always felt that she was twenty-five, +not a day more or a day less, but, of course, one couldn’t expect other +people to agree to that. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be very wonderful to be twenty-five, and not merely to imagine +that you’re twenty-five,” she said, looking from one to the other +with her smooth, bright glance. “It must be very wonderful, very +wonderful indeed.” She stood talking to them at the gate for a long time; +she seemed reluctant that they should go. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<p> +The afternoon was very hot, so hot that the breaking of the waves on the shore +sounded like the repeated sigh of some exhausted creature, and even on the +terrace under an awning the bricks were hot, and the air danced perpetually +over the short dry grass. The red flowers in the stone basins were drooping +with the heat, and the white blossoms which had been so smooth and thick only a +few weeks ago were now dry, and their edges were curled and yellow. Only the +stiff and hostile plants of the south, whose fleshy leaves seemed to be grown +upon spines, still remained standing upright and defied the sun to beat them +down. It was too hot to talk, and it was not easy to find any book that would +withstand the power of the sun. Many books had been tried and then let fall, +and now Terence was reading Milton aloud, because he said the words of Milton +had substance and shape, so that it was not necessary to understand what he was +saying; one could merely listen to his words; one could almost handle them. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +There is a gentle nymph not far from hence, +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +he read, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream.<br /> +Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure;<br /> +Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,<br /> +That had the sceptre from his father Brute. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +The words, in spite of what Terence had said, seemed to be laden with meaning, +and perhaps it was for this reason that it was painful to listen to them; they +sounded strange; they meant different things from what they usually meant. +Rachel at any rate could not keep her attention fixed upon them, but went off +upon curious trains of thought suggested by words such as “curb” +and “Locrine” and “Brute,” which brought unpleasant +sights before her eyes, independently of their meaning. Owing to the heat and +the dancing air the garden too looked strange—the trees were either too +near or too far, and her head almost certainly ached. She was not quite +certain, and therefore she did not know, whether to tell Terence now, or to let +him go on reading. She decided that she would wait until he came to the end of +a stanza, and if by that time she had turned her head this way and that, and it +ached in every position undoubtedly, she would say very calmly that her head +ached. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Sabrina fair,<br /> +    Listen where thou art sitting<br /> +Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,<br /> +    In twisted braids of lilies knitting<br /> +The loose train of thy amber dropping hair,<br /> +Listen for dear honour’s sake,<br /> +    Goddess of the silver lake,<br /> +    Listen and save! +</p> + +<p> +But her head ached; it ached whichever way she turned it. +</p> + +<p> +She sat up and said as she had determined, “My head aches so that I shall +go indoors.” He was half-way through the next verse, but he dropped the +book instantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Your head aches?” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +For a few moments they sat looking at one another in silence, holding each +other’s hands. During this time his sense of dismay and catastrophe were +almost physically painful; all round him he seemed to hear the shiver of broken +glass which, as it fell to earth, left him sitting in the open air. But at the +end of two minutes, noticing that she was not sharing his dismay, but was only +rather more languid and heavy-eyed than usual, he recovered, fetched Helen, and +asked her to tell him what they had better do, for Rachel had a headache. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Ambrose was not discomposed, but advised that she should go to bed, and +added that she must expect her head to ache if she sat up to all hours and went +out in the heat, but a few hours in bed would cure it completely. Terence was +unreasonably reassured by her words, as he had been unreasonably depressed the +moment before. Helen’s sense seemed to have much in common with the +ruthless good sense of nature, which avenged rashness by a headache, and, like +nature’s good sense, might be depended upon. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel went to bed; she lay in the dark, it seemed to her, for a very long +time, but at length, waking from a transparent kind of sleep, she saw the +windows white in front of her, and recollected that some time before she had +gone to bed with a headache, and that Helen had said it would be gone when she +woke. She supposed, therefore, that she was now quite well again. At the same +time the wall of her room was painfully white, and curved slightly, instead of +being straight and flat. Turning her eyes to the window, she was not reassured +by what she saw there. The movement of the blind as it filled with air and blew +slowly out, drawing the cord with a little trailing sound along the floor, +seemed to her terrifying, as if it were the movement of an animal in the room. +She shut her eyes, and the pulse in her head beat so strongly that each thump +seemed to tread upon a nerve, piercing her forehead with a little stab of pain. +It might not be the same headache, but she certainly had a headache. She turned +from side to side, in the hope that the coolness of the sheets would cure her, +and that when she next opened her eyes to look the room would be as usual. +After a considerable number of vain experiments, she resolved to put the matter +beyond a doubt. She got out of bed and stood upright, holding on to the brass +ball at the end of the bedstead. Ice-cold at first, it soon became as hot as +the palm of her hand, and as the pains in her head and body and the instability +of the floor proved that it would be far more intolerable to stand and walk +than to lie in bed, she got into bed again; but though the change was +refreshing at first, the discomfort of bed was soon as great as the discomfort +of standing up. She accepted the idea that she would have to stay in bed all +day long, and as she laid her head on the pillow, relinquished the happiness of +the day. +</p> + +<p> +When Helen came in an hour or two later, suddenly stopped her cheerful words, +looked startled for a second and then unnaturally calm, the fact that she was +ill was put beyond a doubt. It was confirmed when the whole household knew of +it, when the song that some one was singing in the garden stopped suddenly, and +when Maria, as she brought water, slipped past the bed with averted eyes. There +was all the morning to get through, and then all the afternoon, and at +intervals she made an effort to cross over into the ordinary world, but she +found that her heat and discomfort had put a gulf between her world and the +ordinary world which she could not bridge. At one point the door opened, and +Helen came in with a little dark man who had—it was the chief thing she +noticed about him—very hairy hands. She was drowsy and intolerably hot, +and as he seemed shy and obsequious she scarcely troubled to answer him, +although she understood that he was a doctor. At another point the door opened +and Terence came in very gently, smiling too steadily, as she realised, for it +to be natural. He sat down and talked to her, stroking her hands until it +became irksome to her to lie any more in the same position and she turned +round, and when she looked up again Helen was beside her and Terence had gone. +It did not matter; she would see him to-morrow when things would be ordinary +again. Her chief occupation during the day was to try to remember how the lines +went: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,<br /> +In twisted braids of lilies knitting<br /> +The loose train of thy amber dropping hair; +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and the effort worried her because the adjectives persisted in getting into the +wrong places. +</p> + +<p> +The second day did not differ very much from the first day, except that her bed +had become very important, and the world outside, when she tried to think of +it, appeared distinctly further off. The glassy, cool, translucent wave was +almost visible before her, curling up at the end of the bed, and as it was +refreshingly cool she tried to keep her mind fixed upon it. Helen was here, and +Helen was there all day long; sometimes she said that it was lunchtime, and +sometimes that it was teatime; but by the next day all landmarks were +obliterated, and the outer world was so far away that the different sounds, +such as the sounds of people moving overhead, could only be ascribed to their +cause by a great effort of memory. The recollection of what she had felt, or of +what she had been doing and thinking three days before, had faded entirely. On +the other hand, every object in the room, and the bed itself, and her own body +with its various limbs and their different sensations were more and more +important each day. She was completely cut off, and unable to communicate with +the rest of the world, isolated alone with her body. +</p> + +<p> +Hours and hours would pass thus, without getting any further through the +morning, or again a few minutes would lead from broad daylight to the depths of +the night. One evening when the room appeared very dim, either because it was +evening or because the blinds were drawn, Helen said to her, “Some one is +going to sit here to-night. You won’t mind?” +</p> + +<p> +Opening her eyes, Rachel saw not only Helen but a nurse in spectacles, whose +face vaguely recalled something that she had once seen. She had seen her in the +chapel. “Nurse McInnis,” said Helen, and the nurse smiled steadily +as they all did, and said that she did not find many people who were frightened +of her. After waiting for a moment they both disappeared, and having turned on +her pillow Rachel woke to find herself in the midst of one of those +interminable nights which do not end at twelve, but go on into the double +figures—thirteen, fourteen, and so on until they reach the twenties, and +then the thirties, and then the forties. She realised that there is nothing to +prevent nights from doing this if they choose. At a great distance an elderly +woman sat with her head bent down; Rachel raised herself slightly and saw with +dismay that she was playing cards by the light of a candle which stood in the +hollow of a newspaper. The sight had something inexplicably sinister about it, +and she was terrified and cried out, upon which the woman laid down her cards +and came across the room, shading the candle with her hands. Coming nearer and +nearer across the great space of the room, she stood at last above +Rachel’s head and said, “Not asleep? Let me make you +comfortable.” +</p> + +<p> +She put down the candle and began to arrange the bedclothes. It struck Rachel +that a woman who sat playing cards in a cavern all night long would have very +cold hands, and she shrunk from the touch of them. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, there’s a toe all the way down there!” the woman said, +proceeding to tuck in the bedclothes. Rachel did not realise that the toe was +hers. +</p> + +<p> +“You must try and lie still,” she proceeded, “because if you +lie still you will be less hot, and if you toss about you will make yourself +more hot, and we don’t want you to be any hotter than you are.” She +stood looking down upon Rachel for an enormous length of time. +</p> + +<p> +“And the quieter you lie the sooner you will be well,” she +repeated. +</p> + +<p> +Rachel kept her eyes fixed upon the peaked shadow on the ceiling, and all her +energy was concentrated upon the desire that this shadow should move. But the +shadow and the woman seemed to be eternally fixed above her. She shut her eyes. +When she opened them again several more hours had passed, but the night still +lasted interminably. The woman was still playing cards, only she sat now in a +tunnel under a river, and the light stood in a little archway in the wall above +her. She cried “Terence!” and the peaked shadow again moved across +the ceiling, as the woman with an enormous slow movement rose, and they both +stood still above her. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s just as difficult to keep you in bed as it was to keep Mr. +Forrest in bed,” the woman said, “and he was such a tall +gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +In order to get rid of this terrible stationary sight Rachel again shut her +eyes, and found herself walking through a tunnel under the Thames, where there +were little deformed women sitting in archways playing cards, while the bricks +of which the wall was made oozed with damp, which collected into drops and slid +down the wall. But the little old women became Helen and Nurse McInnis after a +time, standing in the window together whispering, whispering incessantly. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile outside her room the sounds, the movements, and the lives of the +other people in the house went on in the ordinary light of the sun, throughout +the usual succession of hours. When, on the first day of her illness, it became +clear that she would not be absolutely well, for her temperature was very high, +until Friday, that day being Tuesday, Terence was filled with resentment, not +against her, but against the force outside them which was separating them. He +counted up the number of days that would almost certainly be spoilt for them. +He realised, with an odd mixture of pleasure and annoyance, that, for the first +time in his life, he was so dependent upon another person that his happiness +was in her keeping. The days were completely wasted upon trifling, immaterial +things, for after three weeks of such intimacy and intensity all the usual +occupations were unbearably flat and beside the point. The least intolerable +occupation was to talk to St. John about Rachel’s illness, and to discuss +every symptom and its meaning, and, when this subject was exhausted, to discuss +illness of all kinds, and what caused them, and what cured them. +</p> + +<p> +Twice every day he went in to sit with Rachel, and twice every day the same +thing happened. On going into her room, which was not very dark, where the +music was lying about as usual, and her books and letters, his spirits rose +instantly. When he saw her he felt completely reassured. She did not look very +ill. Sitting by her side he would tell her what he had been doing, using his +natural voice to speak to her, only a few tones lower down than usual; but by +the time he had sat there for five minutes he was plunged into the deepest +gloom. She was not the same; he could not bring them back to their old +relationship; but although he knew that it was foolish he could not prevent +himself from endeavouring to bring her back, to make her remember, and when +this failed he was in despair. He always concluded as he left her room that it +was worse to see her than not to see her, but by degrees, as the day wore on, +the desire to see her returned and became almost too great to be borne. +</p> + +<p> +On Thursday morning when Terence went into her room he felt the usual increase +of confidence. She turned round and made an effort to remember certain facts +from the world that was so many millions of miles away. +</p> + +<p> +“You have come up from the hotel?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I’m staying here for the present,” he said. +“We’ve just had luncheon,” he continued, “and the mail +has come in. There’s a bundle of letters for you—letters from +England.” +</p> + +<p> +Instead of saying, as he meant her to say, that she wished to see them, she +said nothing for some time. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, there they go, rolling off the edge of the hill,” she +said suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Rolling, Rachel? What do you see rolling? There’s nothing +rolling.” +</p> + +<p> +“The old woman with the knife,” she replied, not speaking to +Terence in particular, and looking past him. As she appeared to be looking at a +vase on the shelf opposite, he rose and took it down. +</p> + +<p> +“Now they can’t roll any more,” he said cheerfully. +Nevertheless she lay gazing at the same spot, and paid him no further attention +although he spoke to her. He became so profoundly wretched that he could not +endure to sit with her, but wandered about until he found St. John, who was +reading <i>The Times</i> in the verandah. He laid it aside patiently, and heard +all that Terence had to say about delirium. He was very patient with Terence. +He treated him like a child. +</p> + +<p> +By Friday it could not be denied that the illness was no longer an attack that +would pass off in a day or two; it was a real illness that required a good deal +of organisation, and engrossed the attention of at least five people, but there +was no reason to be anxious. Instead of lasting five days it was going to last +ten days. Rodriguez was understood to say that there were well-known varieties +of this illness. Rodriguez appeared to think that they were treating the +illness with undue anxiety. His visits were always marked by the same show of +confidence, and in his interviews with Terence he always waved aside his +anxious and minute questions with a kind of flourish which seemed to indicate +that they were all taking it much too seriously. He seemed curiously unwilling +to sit down. +</p> + +<p> +“A high temperature,” he said, looking furtively about the room, +and appearing to be more interested in the furniture and in Helen’s +embroidery than in anything else. “In this climate you must expect a high +temperature. You need not be alarmed by that. It is the pulse we go by” +(he tapped his own hairy wrist), “and the pulse continues +excellent.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon he bowed and slipped out. The interview was conducted laboriously +upon both sides in French, and this, together with the fact that he was +optimistic, and that Terence respected the medical profession from hearsay, +made him less critical than he would have been had he encountered the doctor in +any other capacity. Unconsciously he took Rodriguez’ side against Helen, +who seemed to have taken an unreasonable prejudice against him. +</p> + +<p> +When Saturday came it was evident that the hours of the day must be more +strictly organised than they had been. St. John offered his services; he said +that he had nothing to do, and that he might as well spend the day at the villa +if he could be of use. As if they were starting on a difficult expedition +together, they parcelled out their duties between them, writing out an +elaborate scheme of hours upon a large sheet of paper which was pinned to the +drawing-room door. Their distance from the town, and the difficulty of +procuring rare things with unknown names from the most unexpected places, made +it necessary to think very carefully, and they found it unexpectedly difficult +to do the simple but practical things that were required of them, as if they, +being very tall, were asked to stoop down and arrange minute grains of sand in +a pattern on the ground. +</p> + +<p> +It was St. John’s duty to fetch what was needed from the town, so that +Terence would sit all through the long hot hours alone in the drawing-room, +near the open door, listening for any movement upstairs, or call from Helen. He +always forgot to pull down the blinds, so that he sat in bright sunshine, which +worried him without his knowing what was the cause of it. The room was terribly +stiff and uncomfortable. There were hats in the chairs, and medicine bottles +among the books. He tried to read, but good books were too good, and bad books +were too bad, and the only thing he could tolerate was the newspaper, which +with its news of London, and the movements of real people who were giving +dinner-parties and making speeches, seemed to give a little background of +reality to what was otherwise mere nightmare. Then, just as his attention was +fixed on the print, a soft call would come from Helen, or Mrs. Chailey would +bring in something which was wanted upstairs, and he would run up very quietly +in his socks, and put the jug on the little table which stood crowded with jugs +and cups outside the bedroom door; or if he could catch Helen for a moment he +would ask, “How is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather restless. . . . On the whole, quieter, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +The answer would be one or the other. +</p> + +<p> +As usual she seemed to reserve something which she did not say, and Terence was +conscious that they disagreed, and, without saying it aloud, were arguing +against each other. But she was too hurried and pre-occupied to talk. +</p> + +<p> +The strain of listening and the effort of making practical arrangements and +seeing that things worked smoothly, absorbed all Terence’s power. +Involved in this long dreary nightmare, he did not attempt to think what it +amounted to. Rachel was ill; that was all; he must see that there was medicine +and milk, and that things were ready when they were wanted. Thought had ceased; +life itself had come to a standstill. Sunday was rather worse than Saturday had +been, simply because the strain was a little greater every day, although +nothing else had changed. The separate feelings of pleasure, interest, and +pain, which combine to make up the ordinary day, were merged in one long-drawn +sensation of sordid misery and profound boredom. He had never been so bored +since he was shut up in the nursery alone as a child. The vision of Rachel as +she was now, confused and heedless, had almost obliterated the vision of her as +she had been once long ago; he could hardly believe that they had ever been +happy, or engaged to be married, for what were feelings, what was there to be +felt? Confusion covered every sight and person, and he seemed to see St. John, +Ridley, and the stray people who came up now and then from the hotel to +enquire, through a mist; the only people who were not hidden in this mist were +Helen and Rodriguez, because they could tell him something definite about +Rachel. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless the day followed the usual forms. At certain hours they went into +the dining-room, and when they sat round the table they talked about +indifferent things. St. John usually made it his business to start the talk and +to keep it from dying out. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve discovered the way to get Sancho past the white house,” +said St. John on Sunday at luncheon. “You crackle a piece of paper in his +ear, then he bolts for about a hundred yards, but he goes on quite well after +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but he wants corn. You should see that he has corn.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think much of the stuff they give him; and Angelo seems a +dirty little rascal.” +</p> + +<p> +There was then a long silence. Ridley murmured a few lines of poetry under his +breath, and remarked, as if to conceal the fact that he had done so, +“Very hot to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Two degrees higher than it was yesterday,” said St. John. “I +wonder where these nuts come from,” he observed, taking a nut out of the +plate, turning it over in his fingers, and looking at it curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“London, I should think,” said Terence, looking at the nut too. +</p> + +<p> +“A competent man of business could make a fortune here in no time,” +St. John continued. “I suppose the heat does something funny to +people’s brains. Even the English go a little queer. Anyhow they’re +hopeless people to deal with. They kept me three-quarters of an hour waiting at +the chemist’s this morning, for no reason whatever.” +</p> + +<p> +There was another long pause. Then Ridley enquired, “Rodriguez seems +satisfied?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite,” said Terence with decision. “It’s just got to +run its course.” Whereupon Ridley heaved a deep sigh. He was genuinely +sorry for every one, but at the same time he missed Helen considerably, and was +a little aggrieved by the constant presence of the two young men. +</p> + +<p> +They moved back into the drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Hirst,” said Terence, “there’s nothing to +be done for two hours.” He consulted the sheet pinned to the door. +“You go and lie down. I’ll wait here. Chailey sits with Rachel +while Helen has her luncheon.” +</p> + +<p> +It was asking a good deal of Hirst to tell him to go without waiting for a +sight of Helen. These little glimpses of Helen were the only respites from +strain and boredom, and very often they seemed to make up for the discomfort of +the day, although she might not have anything to tell them. However, as they +were on an expedition together, he had made up his mind to obey. +</p> + +<p> +Helen was very late in coming down. She looked like a person who has been +sitting for a long time in the dark. She was pale and thinner, and the +expression of her eyes was harassed but determined. She ate her luncheon +quickly, and seemed indifferent to what she was doing. She brushed aside +Terence’s enquiries, and at last, as if he had not spoken, she looked at +him with a slight frown and said: +</p> + +<p> +“We can’t go on like this, Terence. Either you’ve got to find +another doctor, or you must tell Rodriguez to stop coming, and I’ll +manage for myself. It’s no use for him to say that Rachel’s better; +she’s not better; she’s worse.” +</p> + +<p> +Terence suffered a terrific shock, like that which he had suffered when Rachel +said, “My head aches.” He stilled it by reflecting that Helen was +overwrought, and he was upheld in this opinion by his obstinate sense that she +was opposed to him in the argument. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think she’s in danger?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No one can go on being as ill as that day after day—” Helen +replied. She looked at him, and spoke as if she felt some indignation with +somebody. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, I’ll talk to Rodriguez this afternoon,” he +replied. +</p> + +<p> +Helen went upstairs at once. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing now could assuage Terence’s anxiety. He could not read, nor could +he sit still, and his sense of security was shaken, in spite of the fact that +he was determined that Helen was exaggerating, and that Rachel was not very +ill. But he wanted a third person to confirm him in his belief. +</p> + +<p> +Directly Rodriguez came down he demanded, “Well, how is she? Do you think +her worse?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no reason for anxiety, I tell you—none,” Rodriguez +replied in his execrable French, smiling uneasily, and making little movements +all the time as if to get away. +</p> + +<p> +Hewet stood firmly between him and the door. He was determined to see for +himself what kind of man he was. His confidence in the man vanished as he +looked at him and saw his insignificance, his dirty appearance, his shiftiness, +and his unintelligent, hairy face. It was strange that he had never seen this +before. +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t object, of course, if we ask you to consult another +doctor?” he continued. +</p> + +<p> +At this the little man became openly incensed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he cried. “You have not confidence in me? You object to +my treatment? You wish me to give up the case?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” Terence replied, “but in serious illness of +this kind—” +</p> + +<p> +Rodriguez shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not serious, I assure you. You are overanxious. The young lady is +not seriously ill, and I am a doctor. The lady of course is frightened,” +he sneered. “I understand that perfectly.” +</p> + +<p> +“The name and address of the doctor is—?” Terence continued. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no other doctor,” Rodriguez replied sullenly. +“Every one has confidence in me. Look! I will show you.” +</p> + +<p> +He took out a packet of old letters and began turning them over as if in search +of one that would confute Terence’s suspicions. As he searched, he began +to tell a story about an English lord who had trusted him—a great English +lord, whose name he had, unfortunately, forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no other doctor in the place,” he concluded, still +turning over the letters. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” said Terence shortly. “I will make enquiries +for myself.” Rodriguez put the letters back in his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” he remarked. “I have no objection.” +</p> + +<p> +He lifted his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, as if to repeat that they took +the illness much too seriously and that there was no other doctor, and slipped +out, leaving behind him an impression that he was conscious that he was +distrusted, and that his malice was aroused. +</p> + +<p> +After this Terence could no longer stay downstairs. He went up, knocked at +Rachel’s door, and asked Helen whether he might see her for a few +minutes. He had not seen her yesterday. She made no objection, and went and sat +at a table in the window. +</p> + +<p> +Terence sat down by the bedside. Rachel’s face was changed. She looked as +though she were entirely concentrated upon the effort of keeping alive. Her +lips were drawn, and her cheeks were sunken and flushed, though without colour. +Her eyes were not entirely shut, the lower half of the white part showing, not +as if she saw, but as if they remained open because she was too much exhausted +to close them. She opened them completely when he kissed her. But she only saw +an old woman slicing a man’s head off with a knife. +</p> + +<p> +“There it falls!” she murmured. She then turned to Terence and +asked him anxiously some question about a man with mules, which he could not +understand. “Why doesn’t he come? Why doesn’t he come?” +she repeated. He was appalled to think of the dirty little man downstairs in +connection with illness like this, and turned instinctively to Helen, but she +was doing something at a table in the window, and did not seem to realise how +great the shock to him must be. He rose to go, for he could not endure to +listen any longer; his heart beat quickly and painfully with anger and misery. +As he passed Helen she asked him in the same weary, unnatural, but determined +voice to fetch her more ice, and to have the jug outside filled with fresh +milk. +</p> + +<p> +When he had done these errands he went to find Hirst. Exhausted and very hot, +St. John had fallen asleep on a bed, but Terence woke him without scruple. +</p> + +<p> +“Helen thinks she’s worse,” he said. “There’s no +doubt she’s frightfully ill. Rodriguez is useless. We must get another +doctor.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there is no other doctor,” said Hirst drowsily, sitting up and +rubbing his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be a damned fool!” Terence exclaimed. “Of course +there’s another doctor, and, if there isn’t, you’ve got to +find one. It ought to have been done days ago. I’m going down to saddle +the horse.” He could not stay still in one place. +</p> + +<p> +In less than ten minutes St. John was riding to the town in the scorching heat +in search of a doctor, his orders being to find one and bring him back if he +had to be fetched in a special train. +</p> + +<p> +“We ought to have done it days ago,” Hewet repeated angrily. +</p> + +<p> +When he went back into the drawing-room he found that Mrs. Flushing was there, +standing very erect in the middle of the room, having arrived, as people did in +these days, by the kitchen or through the garden unannounced. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s better?” Mrs. Flushing enquired abruptly; they did not +attempt to shake hands. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Terence. “If anything, they think she’s +worse.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Flushing seemed to consider for a moment or two, looking straight at +Terence all the time. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me tell you,” she said, speaking in nervous jerks, +“it’s always about the seventh day one begins to get anxious. I +daresay you’ve been sittin’ here worryin’ by yourself. You +think she’s bad, but any one comin’ with a fresh eye would see she +was better. Mr. Elliot’s had fever; he’s all right now,” she +threw out. “It wasn’t anythin’ she caught on the expedition. +What’s it matter—a few days’ fever? My brother had fever for +twenty-six days once. And in a week or two he was up and about. We gave him +nothin’ but milk and arrowroot—” +</p> + +<p> +Here Mrs. Chailey came in with a message. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m wanted upstairs,” said Terence. +</p> + +<p> +“You see—she’ll be better,” Mrs. Flushing jerked out as +he left the room. Her anxiety to persuade Terence was very great, and when he +left her without saying anything she felt dissatisfied and restless; she did +not like to stay, but she could not bear to go. She wandered from room to room +looking for some one to talk to, but all the rooms were empty. +</p> + +<p> +Terence went upstairs, stood inside the door to take Helen’s directions, +looked over at Rachel, but did not attempt to speak to her. She appeared +vaguely conscious of his presence, but it seemed to disturb her, and she +turned, so that she lay with her back to him. +</p> + +<p> +For six days indeed she had been oblivious of the world outside, because it +needed all her attention to follow the hot, red, quick sights which passed +incessantly before her eyes. She knew that it was of enormous importance that +she should attend to these sights and grasp their meaning, but she was always +being just too late to hear or see something which would explain it all. For +this reason, the faces,—Helen’s face, the nurse’s, +Terence’s, the doctor’s,—which occasionally forced themselves +very close to her, were worrying because they distracted her attention and she +might miss the clue. However, on the fourth afternoon she was suddenly unable +to keep Helen’s face distinct from the sights themselves; her lips +widened as she bent down over the bed, and she began to gabble unintelligibly +like the rest. The sights were all concerned in some plot, some adventure, some +escape. The nature of what they were doing changed incessantly, although there +was always a reason behind it, which she must endeavour to grasp. Now they were +among trees and savages, now they were on the sea, now they were on the tops of +high towers; now they jumped; now they flew. But just as the crisis was about +to happen, something invariably slipped in her brain, so that the whole effort +had to begin over again. The heat was suffocating. At last the faces went +further away; she fell into a deep pool of sticky water, which eventually +closed over her head. She saw nothing and heard nothing but a faint booming +sound, which was the sound of the sea rolling over her head. While all her +tormentors thought that she was dead, she was not dead, but curled up at the +bottom of the sea. There she lay, sometimes seeing darkness, sometimes light, +while every now and then some one turned her over at the bottom of the sea. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +After St. John had spent some hours in the heat of the sun wrangling with +evasive and very garrulous natives, he extracted the information that there was +a doctor, a French doctor, who was at present away on a holiday in the hills. +It was quite impossible, so they said, to find him. With his experience of the +country, St. John thought it unlikely that a telegram would either be sent or +received; but having reduced the distance of the hill town, in which he was +staying, from a hundred miles to thirty miles, and having hired a carriage and +horses, he started at once to fetch the doctor himself. He succeeded in finding +him, and eventually forced the unwilling man to leave his young wife and return +forthwith. They reached the villa at midday on Tuesday. +</p> + +<p> +Terence came out to receive them, and St. John was struck by the fact that he +had grown perceptibly thinner in the interval; he was white too; his eyes +looked strange. But the curt speech and the sulky masterful manner of Dr. +Lesage impressed them both favourably, although at the same time it was obvious +that he was very much annoyed at the whole affair. Coming downstairs he gave +his directions emphatically, but it never occurred to him to give an opinion +either because of the presence of Rodriguez who was now obsequious as well as +malicious, or because he took it for granted that they knew already what was to +be known. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, when Terence +asked him, “Is she very ill?” +</p> + +<p> +They were both conscious of a certain sense of relief when Dr. Lesage was gone, +leaving explicit directions, and promising another visit in a few hours’ +time; but, unfortunately, the rise of their spirits led them to talk more than +usual, and in talking they quarrelled. They quarrelled about a road, the +Portsmouth Road. St. John said that it is macadamised where it passes Hindhead, +and Terence knew as well as he knew his own name that it is not macadamised at +that point. In the course of the argument they said some very sharp things to +each other, and the rest of the dinner was eaten in silence, save for an +occasional half-stifled reflection from Ridley. +</p> + +<p> +When it grew dark and the lamps were brought in, Terence felt unable to control +his irritation any longer. St. John went to bed in a state of complete +exhaustion, bidding Terence good-night with rather more affection than usual +because of their quarrel, and Ridley retired to his books. Left alone, Terence +walked up and down the room; he stood at the open window. +</p> + +<p> +The lights were coming out one after another in the town beneath, and it was +very peaceful and cool in the garden, so that he stepped out on to the terrace. +As he stood there in the darkness, able only to see the shapes of trees through +the fine grey light, he was overcome by a desire to escape, to have done with +this suffering, to forget that Rachel was ill. He allowed himself to lapse into +forgetfulness of everything. As if a wind that had been raging incessantly +suddenly fell asleep, the fret and strain and anxiety which had been pressing +on him passed away. He seemed to stand in an unvexed space of air, on a little +island by himself; he was free and immune from pain. It did not matter whether +Rachel was well or ill; it did not matter whether they were apart or together; +nothing mattered—nothing mattered. The waves beat on the shore far away, +and the soft wind passed through the branches of the trees, seeming to encircle +him with peace and security, with dark and nothingness. Surely the world of +strife and fret and anxiety was not the real world, but this was the real +world, the world that lay beneath the superficial world, so that, whatever +happened, one was secure. The quiet and peace seemed to lap his body in a fine +cool sheet, soothing every nerve; his mind seemed once more to expand, and +become natural. +</p> + +<p> +But when he had stood thus for a time a noise in the house roused him; he +turned instinctively and went into the drawing-room. The sight of the lamp-lit +room brought back so abruptly all that he had forgotten that he stood for a +moment unable to move. He remembered everything, the hour, the minute even, +what point they had reached, and what was to come. He cursed himself for making +believe for a minute that things were different from what they are. The night +was now harder to face than ever. +</p> + +<p> +Unable to stay in the empty drawing-room, he wandered out and sat on the stairs +half-way up to Rachel’s room. He longed for some one to talk to, but +Hirst was asleep, and Ridley was asleep; there was no sound in Rachel’s +room. The only sound in the house was the sound of Chailey moving in the +kitchen. At last there was a rustling on the stairs overhead, and Nurse McInnis +came down fastening the links in her cuffs, in preparation for the +night’s watch. Terence rose and stopped her. He had scarcely spoken to +her, but it was possible that she might confirm him in the belief which still +persisted in his own mind that Rachel was not seriously ill. He told her in a +whisper that Dr. Lesage had been and what he had said. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Nurse,” he whispered, “please tell me your opinion. Do +you consider that she is very seriously ill? Is she in any danger?” +</p> + +<p> +“The doctor has said—” she began. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but I want your opinion. You have had experience of many cases like +this?” +</p> + +<p> +“I could not tell you more than Dr. Lesage, Mr. Hewet,” she replied +cautiously, as though her words might be used against her. “The case is +serious, but you may feel quite certain that we are doing all we can for Miss +Vinrace.” She spoke with some professional self-approbation. But she +realised perhaps that she did not satisfy the young man, who still blocked her +way, for she shifted her feet slightly upon the stair and looked out of the +window where they could see the moon over the sea. +</p> + +<p> +“If you ask me,” she began in a curiously stealthy tone, “I +never like May for my patients.” +</p> + +<p> +“May?” Terence repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“It may be a fancy, but I don’t like to see anybody fall ill in +May,” she continued. “Things seem to go wrong in May. Perhaps +it’s the moon. They say the moon affects the brain, don’t they, +Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her but he could not answer her; like all the others, when one +looked at her she seemed to shrivel beneath one’s eyes and become +worthless, malicious, and untrustworthy. +</p> + +<p> +She slipped past him and disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +Though he went to his room he was unable even to take his clothes off. For a +long time he paced up and down, and then leaning out of the window gazed at the +earth which lay so dark against the paler blue of the sky. With a mixture of +fear and loathing he looked at the slim black cypress trees which were still +visible in the garden, and heard the unfamiliar creaking and grating sounds +which show that the earth is still hot. All these sights and sounds appeared +sinister and full of hostility and foreboding; together with the natives and +the nurse and the doctor and the terrible force of the illness itself they +seemed to be in conspiracy against him. They seemed to join together in their +effort to extract the greatest possible amount of suffering from him. He could +not get used to his pain, it was a revelation to him. He had never realised +before that underneath every action, underneath the life of every day, pain +lies, quiescent, but ready to devour; he seemed to be able to see suffering, as +if it were a fire, curling up over the edges of all action, eating away the +lives of men and women. He thought for the first time with understanding of +words which had before seemed to him empty: the struggle of life; the hardness +of life. Now he knew for himself that life is hard and full of suffering. He +looked at the scattered lights in the town beneath, and thought of Arthur and +Susan, or Evelyn and Perrott venturing out unwittingly, and by their happiness +laying themselves open to suffering such as this. How did they dare to love +each other, he wondered; how had he himself dared to live as he had lived, +rapidly and carelessly, passing from one thing to another, loving Rachel as he +had loved her? Never again would he feel secure; he would never believe in the +stability of life, or forget what depths of pain lie beneath small happiness +and feelings of content and safety. It seemed to him as he looked back that +their happiness had never been so great as his pain was now. There had always +been something imperfect in their happiness, something they had wanted and had +not been able to get. It had been fragmentary and incomplete, because they were +so young and had not known what they were doing. +</p> + +<p> +The light of his candle flickered over the boughs of a tree outside the window, +and as the branch swayed in the darkness there came before his mind a picture +of all the world that lay outside his window; he thought of the immense river +and the immense forest, the vast stretches of dry earth and the plains of the +sea that encircled the earth; from the sea the sky rose steep and enormous, and +the air washed profoundly between the sky and the sea. How vast and dark it +must be tonight, lying exposed to the wind; and in all this great space it was +curious to think how few the towns were, and how small little rings of light, +or single glow-worms he figured them, scattered here and there, among the +swelling uncultivated folds of the world. And in those towns were little men +and women, tiny men and women. Oh, it was absurd, when one thought of it, to +sit here in a little room suffering and caring. What did anything matter? +Rachel, a tiny creature, lay ill beneath him, and here in his little room he +suffered on her account. The nearness of their bodies in this vast universe, +and the minuteness of their bodies, seemed to him absurd and laughable. Nothing +mattered, he repeated; they had no power, no hope. He leant on the window-sill, +thinking, until he almost forgot the time and the place. Nevertheless, although +he was convinced that it was absurd and laughable, and that they were small and +hopeless, he never lost the sense that these thoughts somehow formed part of a +life which he and Rachel would live together. +</p> + +<p> +Owing perhaps to the change of doctor, Rachel appeared to be rather better next +day. Terribly pale and worn though Helen looked, there was a slight lifting of +the cloud which had hung all these days in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“She talked to me,” she said voluntarily. “She asked me what +day of the week it was, like herself.” +</p> + +<p> +Then suddenly, without any warning or any apparent reason, the tears formed in +her eyes and rolled steadily down her cheeks. She cried with scarcely any +attempt at movement of her features, and without any attempt to stop herself, +as if she did not know that she was crying. In spite of the relief which her +words gave him, Terence was dismayed by the sight; had everything given way? +Were there no limits to the power of this illness? Would everything go down +before it? Helen had always seemed to him strong and determined, and now she +was like a child. He took her in his arms, and she clung to him like a child, +crying softly and quietly upon his shoulder. Then she roused herself and wiped +her tears away; it was silly to behave like that, she said; very silly, she +repeated, when there could be no doubt that Rachel was better. She asked +Terence to forgive her for her folly. She stopped at the door and came back and +kissed him without saying anything. +</p> + +<p> +On this day indeed Rachel was conscious of what went on round her. She had come +to the surface of the dark, sticky pool, and a wave seemed to bear her up and +down with it; she had ceased to have any will of her own; she lay on the top of +the wave conscious of some pain, but chiefly of weakness. The wave was replaced +by the side of a mountain. Her body became a drift of melting snow, above which +her knees rose in huge peaked mountains of bare bone. It was true that she saw +Helen and saw her room, but everything had become very pale and +semi-transparent. Sometimes she could see through the wall in front of her. +Sometimes when Helen went away she seemed to go so far that Rachel’s eyes +could hardly follow her. The room also had an odd power of expanding, and +though she pushed her voice out as far as possible until sometimes it became a +bird and flew away, she thought it doubtful whether it ever reached the person +she was talking to. There were immense intervals or chasms, for things still +had the power to appear visibly before her, between one moment and the next; it +sometimes took an hour for Helen to raise her arm, pausing long between each +jerky movement, and pour out medicine. Helen’s form stooping to raise her +in bed appeared of gigantic size, and came down upon her like the ceiling +falling. But for long spaces of time she would merely lie conscious of her body +floating on the top of the bed and her mind driven to some remote corner of her +body, or escaped and gone flitting round the room. All sights were something of +an effort, but the sight of Terence was the greatest effort, because he forced +her to join mind to body in the desire to remember something. She did not wish +to remember; it troubled her when people tried to disturb her loneliness; she +wished to be alone. She wished for nothing else in the world. +</p> + +<p> +Although she had cried, Terence observed Helen’s greater hopefulness with +something like triumph; in the argument between them she had made the first +sign of admitting herself in the wrong. He waited for Dr. Lesage to come down +that afternoon with considerable anxiety, but with the same certainty at the +back of his mind that he would in time force them all to admit that they were +in the wrong. +</p> + +<p> +As usual, Dr. Lesage was sulky in his manner and very short in his answers. To +Terence’s demand, “She seems to be better?” he replied, +looking at him in an odd way, “She has a chance of life.” +</p> + +<p> +The door shut and Terence walked across to the window. He leant his forehead +against the pane. +</p> + +<p> +“Rachel,” he repeated to himself. “She has a chance of life. +Rachel.” +</p> + +<p> +How could they say these things of Rachel? Had any one yesterday seriously +believed that Rachel was dying? They had been engaged for four weeks. A +fortnight ago she had been perfectly well. What could fourteen days have done +to bring her from that state to this? To realise what they meant by saying that +she had a chance of life was beyond him, knowing as he did that they were +engaged. He turned, still enveloped in the same dreary mist, and walked towards +the door. Suddenly he saw it all. He saw the room and the garden, and the trees +moving in the air, they could go on without her; she could die. For the first +time since she fell ill he remembered exactly what she looked like and the way +in which they cared for each other. The immense happiness of feeling her close +to him mingled with a more intense anxiety than he had felt yet. He could not +let her die; he could not live without her. But after a momentary struggle, the +curtain fell again, and he saw nothing and felt nothing clearly. It was all +going on—going on still, in the same way as before. Save for a physical +pain when his heart beat, and the fact that his fingers were icy cold, he did +not realise that he was anxious about anything. Within his mind he seemed to +feel nothing about Rachel or about any one or anything in the world. He went on +giving orders, arranging with Mrs. Chailey, writing out lists, and every now +and then he went upstairs and put something quietly on the table outside +Rachel’s door. That night Dr. Lesage seemed to be less sulky than usual. +He stayed voluntarily for a few moments, and, addressing St. John and Terence +equally, as if he did not remember which of them was engaged to the young lady, +said, “I consider that her condition to-night is very grave.” +</p> + +<p> +Neither of them went to bed or suggested that the other should go to bed. They +sat in the drawing-room playing picquet with the door open. St. John made up a +bed upon the sofa, and when it was ready insisted that Terence should lie upon +it. They began to quarrel as to who should lie on the sofa and who should lie +upon a couple of chairs covered with rugs. St. John forced Terence at last to +lie down upon the sofa. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be a fool, Terence,” he said. “You’ll only +get ill if you don’t sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Old fellow,” he began, as Terence still refused, and stopped +abruptly, fearing sentimentality; he found that he was on the verge of tears. +</p> + +<p> +He began to say what he had long been wanting to say, that he was sorry for +Terence, that he cared for him, that he cared for Rachel. Did she know how much +he cared for her—had she said anything, asked perhaps? He was very +anxious to say this, but he refrained, thinking that it was a selfish question +after all, and what was the use of bothering Terence to talk about such things? +He was already half asleep. But St. John could not sleep at once. If only, he +thought to himself, as he lay in the darkness, something would happen—if +only this strain would come to an end. He did not mind what happened, so long +as the succession of these hard and dreary days was broken; he did not mind if +she died. He felt himself disloyal in not minding it, but it seemed to him that +he had no feelings left. +</p> + +<p> +All night long there was no call or movement, except the opening and shutting +of the bedroom door once. By degrees the light returned into the untidy room. +At six the servants began to move; at seven they crept downstairs into the +kitchen; and half an hour later the day began again. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless it was not the same as the days that had gone before, although it +would have been hard to say in what the difference consisted. Perhaps it was +that they seemed to be waiting for something. There were certainly fewer things +to be done than usual. People drifted through the drawing-room—Mr. +Flushing, Mr. and Mrs. Thornbury. They spoke very apologetically in low tones, +refusing to sit down, but remaining for a considerable time standing up, +although the only thing they had to say was, “Is there anything we can +do?” and there was nothing they could do. +</p> + +<p> +Feeling oddly detached from it all, Terence remembered how Helen had said that +whenever anything happened to you this was how people behaved. Was she right, +or was she wrong? He was too little interested to frame an opinion of his own. +He put things away in his mind, as if one of these days he would think about +them, but not now. The mist of unreality had deepened and deepened until it had +produced a feeling of numbness all over his body. Was it his body? Were those +really his own hands? +</p> + +<p> +This morning also for the first time Ridley found it impossible to sit alone in +his room. He was very uncomfortable downstairs, and, as he did not know what +was going on, constantly in the way; but he would not leave the drawing-room. +Too restless to read, and having nothing to do, he began to pace up and down +reciting poetry in an undertone. Occupied in various ways—now in undoing +parcels, now in uncorking bottles, now in writing directions, the sound of +Ridley’s song and the beat of his pacing worked into the minds of Terence +and St. John all the morning as a half comprehended refrain. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +They wrestled up, they wrestled down,<br /> +    They wrestled sore and still:<br /> +The fiend who blinds the eyes of men,<br /> +    That night he had his will.<br /> +<br /> +Like stags full spent, among the bent<br /> +    They dropped awhile to rest— +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s intolerable!” Hirst exclaimed, and then checked +himself, as if it were a breach of their agreement. Again and again Terence +would creep half-way up the stairs in case he might be able to glean news of +Rachel. But the only news now was of a very fragmentary kind; she had drunk +something; she had slept a little; she seemed quieter. In the same way, Dr. +Lesage confined himself to talking about details, save once when he volunteered +the information that he had just been called in to ascertain, by severing a +vein in the wrist, that an old lady of eighty-five was really dead. She had a +horror of being buried alive. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a horror,” he remarked, “that we generally find in the +very old, and seldom in the young.” They both expressed their interest in +what he told them; it seemed to them very strange. Another strange thing about +the day was that the luncheon was forgotten by all of them until it was late in +the afternoon, and then Mrs. Chailey waited on them, and looked strange too, +because she wore a stiff print dress, and her sleeves were rolled up above her +elbows. She seemed as oblivious of her appearance, however, as if she had been +called out of her bed by a midnight alarm of fire, and she had forgotten, too, +her reserve and her composure; she talked to them quite familiarly as if she +had nursed them and held them naked on her knee. She assured them over and over +again that it was their duty to eat. +</p> + +<p> +The afternoon, being thus shortened, passed more quickly than they expected. +Once Mrs. Flushing opened the door, but on seeing them shut it again quickly; +once Helen came down to fetch something, but she stopped as she left the room +to look at a letter addressed to her. She stood for a moment turning it over, +and the extraordinary and mournful beauty of her attitude struck Terence in the +way things struck him now—as something to be put away in his mind and to +be thought about afterwards. They scarcely spoke, the argument between them +seeming to be suspended or forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +Now that the afternoon sun had left the front of the house, Ridley paced up and +down the terrace repeating stanzas of a long poem, in a subdued but suddenly +sonorous voice. Fragments of the poem were wafted in at the open window as he +passed and repassed. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Peor and Baalim<br /> +Forsake their Temples dim,<br /> +    With that twice batter’d God of Palestine<br /> +And mooned Astaroth— +</p> + +<p> +The sound of these words were strangely discomforting to both the young men, +but they had to be borne. As the evening drew on and the red light of the +sunset glittered far away on the sea, the same sense of desperation attacked +both Terence and St. John at the thought that the day was nearly over, and that +another night was at hand. The appearance of one light after another in the +town beneath them produced in Hirst a repetition of his terrible and disgusting +desire to break down and sob. Then the lamps were brought in by Chailey. She +explained that Maria, in opening a bottle, had been so foolish as to cut her +arm badly, but she had bound it up; it was unfortunate when there was so much +work to be done. Chailey herself limped because of the rheumatism in her feet, +but it appeared to her mere waste of time to take any notice of the unruly +flesh of servants. The evening went on. Dr. Lesage arrived unexpectedly, and +stayed upstairs a very long time. He came down once and drank a cup of coffee. +</p> + +<p> +“She is very ill,” he said in answer to Ridley’s question. +All the annoyance had by this time left his manner, he was grave and formal, +but at the same time it was full of consideration, which had not marked it +before. He went upstairs again. The three men sat together in the drawing-room. +Ridley was quite quiet now, and his attention seemed to be thoroughly awakened. +Save for little half-voluntary movements and exclamations that were stifled at +once, they waited in complete silence. It seemed as if they were at last +brought together face to face with something definite. +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly eleven o’clock when Dr. Lesage again appeared in the room. +He approached them very slowly, and did not speak at once. He looked first at +St. John and then at Terence, and said to Terence, “Mr. Hewet, I think +you should go upstairs now.” +</p> + +<p> +Terence rose immediately, leaving the others seated with Dr. Lesage standing +motionless between them. +</p> + +<p> +Chailey was in the passage outside, repeating over and over again, +“It’s wicked—it’s wicked.” +</p> + +<p> +Terence paid her no attention; he heard what she was saying, but it conveyed no +meaning to his mind. All the way upstairs he kept saying to himself, +“This has not happened to me. It is not possible that this has happened +to me.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked curiously at his own hand on the banisters. The stairs were very +steep, and it seemed to take him a long time to surmount them. Instead of +feeling keenly, as he knew that he ought to feel, he felt nothing at all. When +he opened the door he saw Helen sitting by the bedside. There were shaded +lights on the table, and the room, though it seemed to be full of a great many +things, was very tidy. There was a faint and not unpleasant smell of +disinfectants. Helen rose and gave up her chair to him in silence. As they +passed each other their eyes met in a peculiar level glance, he wondered at the +extraordinary clearness of his eyes, and at the deep calm and sadness that +dwelt in them. He sat down by the bedside, and a moment afterwards heard the +door shut gently behind her. He was alone with Rachel, and a faint reflection +of the sense of relief that they used to feel when they were left alone +possessed him. He looked at her. He expected to find some terrible change in +her, but there was none. She looked indeed very thin, and, as far as he could +see, very tired, but she was the same as she had always been. Moreover, she saw +him and knew him. She smiled at him and said, “Hullo, Terence.” +</p> + +<p> +The curtain which had been drawn between them for so long vanished immediately. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Rachel,” he replied in his usual voice, upon which she +opened her eyes quite widely and smiled with her familiar smile. He kissed her +and took her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s been wretched without you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She still looked at him and smiled, but soon a slight look of fatigue or +perplexity came into her eyes and she shut them again. +</p> + +<p> +“But when we’re together we’re perfectly happy,” he +said. He continued to hold her hand. +</p> + +<p> +The light being dim, it was impossible to see any change in her face. An +immense feeling of peace came over Terence, so that he had no wish to move or +to speak. The terrible torture and unreality of the last days were over, and he +had come out now into perfect certainty and peace. His mind began to work +naturally again and with great ease. The longer he sat there the more +profoundly was he conscious of the peace invading every corner of his soul. +Once he held his breath and listened acutely; she was still breathing; he went +on thinking for some time; they seemed to be thinking together; he seemed to be +Rachel as well as himself; and then he listened again; no, she had ceased to +breathe. So much the better—this was death. It was nothing; it was to +cease to breathe. It was happiness, it was perfect happiness. They had now what +they had always wanted to have, the union which had been impossible while they +lived. Unconscious whether he thought the words or spoke them aloud, he said, +“No two people have ever been so happy as we have been. No one has ever +loved as we have loved.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to him that their complete union and happiness filled the room with +rings eddying more and more widely. He had no wish in the world left +unfulfilled. They possessed what could never be taken from them. +</p> + +<p> +He was not conscious that any one had come into the room, but later, moments +later, or hours later perhaps, he felt an arm behind him. The arms were round +him. He did not want to have arms round him, and the mysterious whispering +voices annoyed him. He laid Rachel’s hand, which was now cold, upon the +counterpane, and rose from his chair, and walked across to the window. The +windows were uncurtained, and showed the moon, and a long silver pathway upon +the surface of the waves. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” he said, in his ordinary tone of voice, “look at the +moon. There’s a halo round the moon. We shall have rain to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +The arms, whether they were the arms of man or of woman, were round him again; +they were pushing him gently towards the door. He turned of his own accord and +walked steadily in advance of the arms, conscious of a little amusement at the +strange way in which people behaved merely because some one was dead. He would +go if they wished it, but nothing they could do would disturb his happiness. +</p> + +<p> +As he saw the passage outside the room, and the table with the cups and the +plates, it suddenly came over him that here was a world in which he would never +see Rachel again. +</p> + +<p> +“Rachel! Rachel!” he shrieked, trying to rush back to her. But they +prevented him, and pushed him down the passage and into a bedroom far from her +room. Downstairs they could hear the thud of his feet on the floor, as he +struggled to break free; and twice they heard him shout, “Rachel, +Rachel!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<p> +For two or three hours longer the moon poured its light through the empty air. +Unbroken by clouds it fell straightly, and lay almost like a chill white frost +over the sea and the earth. During these hours the silence was not broken, and +the only movement was caused by the movement of trees and branches which +stirred slightly, and then the shadows that lay across the white spaces of the +land moved too. In this profound silence one sound only was audible, the sound +of a slight but continuous breathing which never ceased, although it never rose +and never fell. It continued after the birds had begun to flutter from branch +to branch, and could be heard behind the first thin notes of their voices. It +continued all through the hours when the east whitened, and grew red, and a +faint blue tinged the sky, but when the sun rose it ceased, and gave place to +other sounds. +</p> + +<p> +The first sounds that were heard were little inarticulate cries, the cries, it +seemed, of children or of the very poor, of people who were very weak or in +pain. But when the sun was above the horizon, the air which had been thin and +pale grew every moment richer and warmer, and the sounds of life became bolder +and more full of courage and authority. By degrees the smoke began to ascend in +wavering breaths over the houses, and these slowly thickened, until they were +as round and straight as columns, and instead of striking upon pale white +blinds, the sun shone upon dark windows, beyond which there was depth and +space. +</p> + +<p> +The sun had been up for many hours, and the great dome of air was warmed +through and glittering with thin gold threads of sunlight, before any one moved +in the hotel. White and massive it stood in the early light, half asleep with +its blinds down. +</p> + +<p> +At about half-past nine Miss Allan came very slowly into the hall, and walked +very slowly to the table where the morning papers were laid, but she did not +put out her hand to take one; she stood still, thinking, with her head a little +sunk upon her shoulders. She looked curiously old, and from the way in which +she stood, a little hunched together and very massive, you could see what she +would be like when she was really old, how she would sit day after day in her +chair looking placidly in front of her. Other people began to come into the +room, and to pass her, but she did not speak to any of them or even look at +them, and at last, as if it were necessary to do something, she sat down in a +chair, and looked quietly and fixedly in front of her. She felt very old this +morning, and useless too, as if her life had been a failure, as if it had been +hard and laborious to no purpose. She did not want to go on living, and yet she +knew that she would. She was so strong that she would live to be a very old +woman. She would probably live to be eighty, and as she was now fifty, that +left thirty years more for her to live. She turned her hands over and over in +her lap and looked at them curiously; her old hands, that had done so much work +for her. There did not seem to be much point in it all; one went on, of course +one went on. . . . She looked up to see Mrs. Thornbury standing beside her, +with lines drawn upon her forehead, and her lips parted as if she were about to +ask a question. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Allan anticipated her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said. “She died this morning, very early, about +three o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Thornbury made a little exclamation, drew her lips together, and the tears +rose in her eyes. Through them she looked at the hall which was now laid with +great breadths of sunlight, and at the careless, casual groups of people who +were standing beside the solid arm-chairs and tables. They looked to her +unreal, or as people look who remain unconscious that some great explosion is +about to take place beside them. But there was no explosion, and they went on +standing by the chairs and the tables. Mrs. Thornbury no longer saw them, but, +penetrating through them as though they were without substance, she saw the +house, the people in the house, the room, the bed in the room, and the figure +of the dead lying still in the dark beneath the sheets. She could almost see +the dead. She could almost hear the voices of the mourners. +</p> + +<p> +“They expected it?” she asked at length. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Allan could only shake her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing,” she replied, “except what Mrs. +Flushing’s maid told me. She died early this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +The two women looked at each other with a quiet significant gaze, and then, +feeling oddly dazed, and seeking she did not know exactly what, Mrs. Thornbury +went slowly upstairs and walked quietly along the passages, touching the wall +with her fingers as if to guide herself. Housemaids were passing briskly from +room to room, but Mrs. Thornbury avoided them; she hardly saw them; they seemed +to her to be in another world. She did not even look up directly when Evelyn +stopped her. It was evident that Evelyn had been lately in tears, and when she +looked at Mrs. Thornbury she began to cry again. Together they drew into the +hollow of a window, and stood there in silence. Broken words formed themselves +at last among Evelyn’s sobs. “It was wicked,” she sobbed, +“it was cruel—they were so happy.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Thornbury patted her on the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems hard—very hard,” she said. She paused and looked +out over the slope of the hill at the Ambroses’ villa; the windows were +blazing in the sun, and she thought how the soul of the dead had passed from +those windows. Something had passed from the world. It seemed to her strangely +empty. +</p> + +<p> +“And yet the older one grows,” she continued, her eyes regaining +more than their usual brightness, “the more certain one becomes that +there is a reason. How could one go on if there were no reason?” she +asked. +</p> + +<p> +She asked the question of some one, but she did not ask it of Evelyn. +Evelyn’s sobs were becoming quieter. “There must be a +reason,” she said. “It can’t only be an accident. For it was +an accident—it need never have happened.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Thornbury sighed deeply. +</p> + +<p> +“But we must not let ourselves think of that,” she added, +“and let us hope that they don’t either. Whatever they had done it +might have been the same. These terrible illnesses—” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no reason—I don’t believe there’s any +reason at all!” Evelyn broke out, pulling the blind down and letting it +fly back with a little snap. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should these things happen? Why should people suffer? I honestly +believe,” she went on, lowering her voice slightly, “that +Rachel’s in Heaven, but Terence. . . .” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the good of it all?” she demanded. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Thornbury shook her head slightly but made no reply, and pressing +Evelyn’s hand she went on down the passage. Impelled by a strong desire +to hear something, although she did not know exactly what there was to hear, +she was making her way to the Flushings’ room. As she opened their door +she felt that she had interrupted some argument between husband and wife. Mrs. +Flushing was sitting with her back to the light, and Mr. Flushing was standing +near her, arguing and trying to persuade her of something. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, here is Mrs. Thornbury,” he began with some relief in his +voice. “You have heard, of course. My wife feels that she was in some way +responsible. She urged poor Miss Vinrace to come on the expedition. I’m +sure you will agree with me that it is most unreasonable to feel that. We +don’t even know—in fact I think it most unlikely—that she +caught her illness there. These diseases—Besides, she was set on going. +She would have gone whether you asked her or not, Alice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t, Wilfrid,” said Mrs. Flushing, neither moving nor +taking her eyes off the spot on the floor upon which they rested. +“What’s the use of talking? What’s the use—?” She +ceased. +</p> + +<p> +“I was coming to ask you,” said Mrs. Thornbury, addressing Wilfrid, +for it was useless to speak to his wife. “Is there anything you think +that one could do? Has the father arrived? Could one go and see?” +</p> + +<p> +The strongest wish in her being at this moment was to be able to do something +for the unhappy people—to see them—to assure them—to help +them. It was dreadful to be so far away from them. But Mr. Flushing shook his +head; he did not think that now—later perhaps one might be able to help. +Here Mrs. Flushing rose stiffly, turned her back to them, and walked to the +dressing-room opposite. As she walked, they could see her breast slowly rise +and slowly fall. But her grief was silent. She shut the door behind her. +</p> + +<p> +When she was alone by herself she clenched her fists together, and began +beating the back of a chair with them. She was like a wounded animal. She hated +death; she was furious, outraged, indignant with death, as if it were a living +creature. She refused to relinquish her friends to death. She would not submit +to dark and nothingness. She began to pace up and down, clenching her hands, +and making no attempt to stop the quick tears which raced down her cheeks. She +sat still at last, but she did not submit. She looked stubborn and strong when +she had ceased to cry. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +In the next room, meanwhile, Wilfrid was talking to Mrs. Thornbury with greater +freedom now that his wife was not sitting there. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the worst of these places,” he said. “People +will behave as though they were in England, and they’re not. I’ve +no doubt myself that Miss Vinrace caught the infection up at the villa itself. +She probably ran risks a dozen times a day that might have given her the +illness. It’s absurd to say she caught it with us.” +</p> + +<p> +If he had not been sincerely sorry for them he would have been annoyed. +“Pepper tells me,” he continued, “that he left the house +because he thought them so careless. He says they never washed their vegetables +properly. Poor people! It’s a fearful price to pay. But it’s only +what I’ve seen over and over again—people seem to forget that these +things happen, and then they do happen, and they’re surprised.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Thornbury agreed with him that they had been very careless, and that there +was no reason whatever to think that she had caught the fever on the +expedition; and after talking about other things for a short time, she left him +and went sadly along the passage to her own room. There must be some reason why +such things happen, she thought to herself, as she shut the door. Only at first +it was not easy to understand what it was. It seemed so strange—so +unbelievable. Why, only three weeks ago—only a fortnight ago, she had +seen Rachel; when she shut her eyes she could almost see her now, the quiet, +shy girl who was going to be married. She thought of all that she would have +missed had she died at Rachel’s age, the children, the married life, the +unimaginable depths and miracles that seemed to her, as she looked back, to +have lain about her, day after day, and year after year. The stunned feeling, +which had been making it difficult for her to think, gradually gave way to a +feeling of the opposite nature; she thought very quickly and very clearly, and, +looking back over all her experiences, tried to fit them into a kind of order. +There was undoubtedly much suffering, much struggling, but, on the whole, +surely there was a balance of happiness—surely order did prevail. Nor +were the deaths of young people really the saddest things in life—they +were saved so much; they kept so much. The dead—she called to mind those +who had died early, accidentally—were beautiful; she often dreamt of the +dead. And in time Terence himself would come to feel—She got up and began +to wander restlessly about the room. +</p> + +<p> +For an old woman of her age she was very restless, and for one of her clear, +quick mind she was unusually perplexed. She could not settle to anything, so +that she was relieved when the door opened. She went up to her husband, took +him in her arms, and kissed him with unusual intensity, and then as they sat +down together she began to pat him and question him as if he were a baby, an +old, tired, querulous baby. She did not tell him about Miss Vinrace’s +death, for that would only disturb him, and he was put out already. She tried +to discover why he was uneasy. Politics again? What were those horrid people +doing? She spent the whole morning in discussing politics with her husband, and +by degrees she became deeply interested in what they were saying. But every now +and then what she was saying seemed to her oddly empty of meaning. +</p> + +<p> +At luncheon it was remarked by several people that the visitors at the hotel +were beginning to leave; there were fewer every day. There were only forty +people at luncheon, instead of the sixty that there had been. So old Mrs. Paley +computed, gazing about her with her faded eyes, as she took her seat at her own +table in the window. Her party generally consisted of Mr. Perrott as well as +Arthur and Susan, and to-day Evelyn was lunching with them also. +</p> + +<p> +She was unusually subdued. Having noticed that her eyes were red, and guessing +the reason, the others took pains to keep up an elaborate conversation between +themselves. She suffered it to go on for a few minutes, leaning both elbows on +the table, and leaving her soup untouched, when she exclaimed suddenly, +“I don’t know how you feel, but I can simply think of nothing +else!” +</p> + +<p> +The gentlemen murmured sympathetically, and looked grave. +</p> + +<p> +Susan replied, “Yes—isn’t it perfectly awful? When you think +what a nice girl she was—only just engaged, and this need never have +happened—it seems too tragic.” She looked at Arthur as though he +might be able to help her with something more suitable. +</p> + +<p> +“Hard lines,” said Arthur briefly. “But it was a foolish +thing to do—to go up that river.” He shook his head. “They +should have known better. You can’t expect Englishwomen to stand roughing +it as the natives do who’ve been acclimatised. I’d half a mind to +warn them at tea that day when it was being discussed. But it’s no good +saying these sort of things—it only puts people’s backs up—it +never makes any difference.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Mrs. Paley, hitherto contented with her soup, here intimated, by raising +one hand to her ear, that she wished to know what was being said. +</p> + +<p> +“You heard, Aunt Emma, that poor Miss Vinrace has died of the +fever,” Susan informed her gently. She could not speak of death loudly or +even in her usual voice, so that Mrs. Paley did not catch a word. Arthur came +to the rescue. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Vinrace is dead,” he said very distinctly. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Paley merely bent a little towards him and asked, “Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Vinrace is dead,” he repeated. It was only by stiffening all +the muscles round his mouth that he could prevent himself from bursting into +laughter, and forced himself to repeat for the third time, “Miss Vinrace. +. . . She’s dead.” +</p> + +<p> +Let alone the difficulty of hearing the exact words, facts that were outside +her daily experience took some time to reach Mrs. Paley’s consciousness. +A weight seemed to rest upon her brain, impeding, though not damaging its +action. She sat vague-eyed for at least a minute before she realised what +Arthur meant. +</p> + +<p> +“Dead?” she said vaguely. “Miss Vinrace dead? Dear me . . . +that’s very sad. But I don’t at the moment remember which she was. +We seem to have made so many new acquaintances here.” She looked at Susan +for help. “A tall dark girl, who just missed being handsome, with a high +colour?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Susan interposed. “She was—” then she gave +it up in despair. There was no use in explaining that Mrs. Paley was thinking +of the wrong person. +</p> + +<p> +“She ought not to have died,” Mrs. Paley continued. “She +looked so strong. But people will drink the water. I can never make out why. It +seems such a simple thing to tell them to put a bottle of Seltzer water in your +bedroom. That’s all the precaution I’ve ever taken, and I’ve +been in every part of the world, I may say—Italy a dozen times over. . . +. But young people always think they know better, and then they pay the +penalty. Poor thing—I am very sorry for her.” But the difficulty of +peering into a dish of potatoes and helping herself engrossed her attention. +</p> + +<p> +Arthur and Susan both secretly hoped that the subject was now disposed of, for +there seemed to them something unpleasant in this discussion. But Evelyn was +not ready to let it drop. Why would people never talk about the things that +mattered? +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe you care a bit!” she said, turning savagely +upon Mr. Perrott, who had sat all this time in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I? Oh, yes, I do,” he answered awkwardly, but with obvious +sincerity. Evelyn’s questions made him too feel uncomfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems so inexplicable,” Evelyn continued. “Death, I mean. +Why should she be dead, and not you or I? It was only a fortnight ago that she +was here with the rest of us. What d’you believe?” she demanded of +Mr. Perrott. “D’you believe that things go on, that she’s +still somewhere—or d’you think it’s simply a game—we +crumble up to nothing when we die? I’m positive Rachel’s not +dead.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Perrott would have said almost anything that Evelyn wanted him to say, but +to assert that he believed in the immortality of the soul was not in his power. +He sat silent, more deeply wrinkled than usual, crumbling his bread. +</p> + +<p> +Lest Evelyn should next ask him what he believed, Arthur, after making a pause +equivalent to a full stop, started a completely different topic. +</p> + +<p> +“Supposing,” he said, “a man were to write and tell you that +he wanted five pounds because he had known your grandfather, what would you do? +It was this way. My grandfather—” +</p> + +<p> +“Invented a stove,” said Evelyn. “I know all about that. We +had one in the conservatory to keep the plants warm.” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t know I was so famous,” said Arthur. +“Well,” he continued, determined at all costs to spin his story out +at length, “the old chap, being about the second best inventor of his +day, and a capable lawyer too, died, as they always do, without making a will. +Now Fielding, his clerk, with how much justice I don’t know, always +claimed that he meant to do something for him. The poor old boy’s come +down in the world through trying inventions on his own account, lives in Penge +over a tobacconist’s shop. I’ve been to see him there. The question +is—must I stump up or not? What does the abstract spirit of justice +require, Perrott? Remember, I didn’t benefit under my grandfather’s +will, and I’ve no way of testing the truth of the story.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know much about the abstract spirit of justice,” +said Susan, smiling complacently at the others, “but I’m certain of +one thing—he’ll get his five pounds!” +</p> + +<p> +As Mr. Perrott proceeded to deliver an opinion, and Evelyn insisted that he was +much too stingy, like all lawyers, thinking of the letter and not of the +spirit, while Mrs. Paley required to be kept informed between the courses as to +what they were all saying, the luncheon passed with no interval of silence, and +Arthur congratulated himself upon the tact with which the discussion had been +smoothed over. +</p> + +<p> +As they left the room it happened that Mrs. Paley’s wheeled chair ran +into the Elliots, who were coming through the door, as she was going out. +Brought thus to a standstill for a moment, Arthur and Susan congratulated +Hughling Elliot upon his convalescence,—he was down, cadaverous enough, +for the first time,—and Mr. Perrott took occasion to say a few words in +private to Evelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“Would there be any chance of seeing you this afternoon, about +three-thirty say? I shall be in the garden, by the fountain.” +</p> + +<p> +The block dissolved before Evelyn answered. But as she left them in the hall, +she looked at him brightly and said, “Half-past three, did you say? +That’ll suit me.” +</p> + +<p> +She ran upstairs with the feeling of spiritual exaltation and quickened life +which the prospect of an emotional scene always aroused in her. That Mr. +Perrott was again about to propose to her, she had no doubt, and she was aware +that on this occasion she ought to be prepared with a definite answer, for she +was going away in three days’ time. But she could not bring her mind to +bear upon the question. To come to a decision was very difficult to her, +because she had a natural dislike of anything final and done with; she liked to +go on and on—always on and on. She was leaving, and, therefore, she +occupied herself in laying her clothes out side by side upon the bed. She +observed that some were very shabby. She took the photograph of her father and +mother, and, before she laid it away in her box, she held it for a minute in +her hand. Rachel had looked at it. Suddenly the keen feeling of some +one’s personality, which things that they have owned or handled sometimes +preserves, overcame her; she felt Rachel in the room with her; it was as if she +were on a ship at sea, and the life of the day was as unreal as the land in the +distance. But by degrees the feeling of Rachel’s presence passed away, +and she could no longer realise her, for she had scarcely known her. But this +momentary sensation left her depressed and fatigued. What had she done with her +life? What future was there before her? What was make-believe, and what was +real? Were these proposals and intimacies and adventures real, or was the +contentment which she had seen on the faces of Susan and Rachel more real than +anything she had ever felt? +</p> + +<p> +She made herself ready to go downstairs, absentmindedly, but her fingers were +so well trained that they did the work of preparing her almost of their own +accord. When she was actually on the way downstairs, the blood began to circle +through her body of its own accord too, for her mind felt very dull. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Perrott was waiting for her. Indeed, he had gone straight into the garden +after luncheon, and had been walking up and down the path for more than half an +hour, in a state of acute suspense. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m late as usual!” she exclaimed, as she caught sight of +him. “Well, you must forgive me; I had to pack up. . . . My word! It +looks stormy! And that’s a new steamer in the bay, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at the bay, in which a steamer was just dropping anchor, the smoke +still hanging about it, while a swift black shudder ran through the waves. +“One’s quite forgotten what rain looks like,” she added. +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Perrott paid no attention to the steamer or to the weather. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Murgatroyd,” he began with his usual formality, “I +asked you to come here from a very selfish motive, I fear. I do not think you +need to be assured once more of my feelings; but, as you are leaving so soon, I +felt that I could not let you go without asking you to tell me—have I any +reason to hope that you will ever come to care for me?” +</p> + +<p> +He was very pale, and seemed unable to say any more. +</p> + +<p> +The little gush of vitality which had come into Evelyn as she ran downstairs +had left her, and she felt herself impotent. There was nothing for her to say; +she felt nothing. Now that he was actually asking her, in his elderly gentle +words, to marry him, she felt less for him than she had ever felt before. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s sit down and talk it over,” she said rather +unsteadily. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Perrott followed her to a curved green seat under a tree. They looked at +the fountain in front of them, which had long ceased to play. Evelyn kept +looking at the fountain instead of thinking of what she was saying; the +fountain without any water seemed to be the type of her own being. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I care for you,” she began, rushing her words out in a +hurry; “I should be a brute if I didn’t. I think you’re quite +one of the nicest people I’ve ever known, and one of the finest too. But +I wish . . . I wish you didn’t care for me in that way. Are you sure you +do?” For the moment she honestly desired that he should say no. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite sure,” said Mr. Perrott. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, I’m not as simple as most women,” Evelyn continued. +“I think I want more. I don’t know exactly what I feel.” +</p> + +<p> +He sat by her, watching her and refraining from speech. +</p> + +<p> +“I sometimes think I haven’t got it in me to care very much for one +person only. Some one else would make you a better wife. I can imagine you very +happy with some one else.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you think that there is any chance that you will come to care for me, +I am quite content to wait,” said Mr. Perrott. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—there’s no hurry, is there?” said Evelyn. +“Suppose I thought it over and wrote and told you when I get back? +I’m going to Moscow; I’ll write from Moscow.” +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Perrott persisted. +</p> + +<p> +“You cannot give me any kind of idea. I do not ask for a date . . . that +would be most unreasonable.” He paused, looking down at the gravel path. +</p> + +<p> +As she did not immediately answer, he went on. +</p> + +<p> +“I know very well that I am not—that I have not much to offer you +either in myself or in my circumstances. And I forget; it cannot seem the +miracle to you that it does to me. Until I met you I had gone on in my own +quiet way—we are both very quiet people, my sister and I—quite +content with my lot. My friendship with Arthur was the most important thing in +my life. Now that I know you, all that has changed. You seem to put such a +spirit into everything. Life seems to hold so many possibilities that I had +never dreamt of.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s splendid!” Evelyn exclaimed, grasping his hand. +“Now you’ll go back and start all kinds of things and make a great +name in the world; and we’ll go on being friends, whatever happens . . . +we’ll be great friends, won’t we?” +</p> + +<p> +“Evelyn!” he moaned suddenly, and took her in his arms, and kissed +her. She did not resent it, although it made little impression on her. +</p> + +<p> +As she sat upright again, she said, “I never see why one shouldn’t +go on being friends—though some people do. And friendships do make a +difference, don’t they? They are the kind of things that matter in +one’s life?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her with a bewildered expression as if he did not really +understand what she was saying. With a considerable effort he collected +himself, stood up, and said, “Now I think I have told you what I feel, +and I will only add that I can wait as long as ever you wish.” +</p> + +<p> +Left alone, Evelyn walked up and down the path. What did matter then? What was +the meaning of it all? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<p> +All that evening the clouds gathered, until they closed entirely over the blue +of the sky. They seemed to narrow the space between earth and heaven, so that +there was no room for the air to move in freely; and the waves, too, lay flat, +and yet rigid, as if they were restrained. The leaves on the bushes and trees +in the garden hung closely together, and the feeling of pressure and restraint +was increased by the short chirping sounds which came from birds and insects. +</p> + +<p> +So strange were the lights and the silence that the busy hum of voices which +usually filled the dining-room at meal times had distinct gaps in it, and +during these silences the clatter of the knives upon plates became audible. The +first roll of thunder and the first heavy drop striking the pane caused a +little stir. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s coming!” was said simultaneously in many different +languages. +</p> + +<p> +There was then a profound silence, as if the thunder had withdrawn into itself. +People had just begun to eat again, when a gust of cold air came through the +open windows, lifting tablecloths and skirts, a light flashed, and was +instantly followed by a clap of thunder right over the hotel. The rain swished +with it, and immediately there were all those sounds of windows being shut and +doors slamming violently which accompany a storm. +</p> + +<p> +The room grew suddenly several degrees darker, for the wind seemed to be +driving waves of darkness across the earth. No one attempted to eat for a time, +but sat looking out at the garden, with their forks in the air. The flashes now +came frequently, lighting up faces as if they were going to be photographed, +surprising them in tense and unnatural expressions. The clap followed close and +violently upon them. Several women half rose from their chairs and then sat +down again, but dinner was continued uneasily with eyes upon the garden. The +bushes outside were ruffled and whitened, and the wind pressed upon them so +that they seemed to stoop to the ground. The waiters had to press dishes upon +the diners’ notice; and the diners had to draw the attention of waiters, +for they were all absorbed in looking at the storm. As the thunder showed no +signs of withdrawing, but seemed massed right overhead, while the lightning +aimed straight at the garden every time, an uneasy gloom replaced the first +excitement. +</p> + +<p> +Finishing the meal very quickly, people congregated in the hall, where they +felt more secure than in any other place because they could retreat far from +the windows, and although they heard the thunder, they could not see anything. +A little boy was carried away sobbing in the arms of his mother. +</p> + +<p> +While the storm continued, no one seemed inclined to sit down, but they +collected in little groups under the central skylight, where they stood in a +yellow atmosphere, looking upwards. Now and again their faces became white, as +the lightning flashed, and finally a terrific crash came, making the panes of +the skylight lift at the joints. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” several voices exclaimed at the same moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Something struck,” said a man’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +The rain rushed down. The rain seemed now to extinguish the lightning and the +thunder, and the hall became almost dark. +</p> + +<p> +After a minute or two, when nothing was heard but the rattle of water upon the +glass, there was a perceptible slackening of the sound, and then the atmosphere +became lighter. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s over,” said another voice. +</p> + +<p> +At a touch, all the electric lights were turned on, and revealed a crowd of +people all standing, all looking with rather strained faces up at the skylight, +but when they saw each other in the artificial light they turned at once and +began to move away. For some minutes the rain continued to rattle upon the +skylight, and the thunder gave another shake or two; but it was evident from +the clearing of the darkness and the light drumming of the rain upon the roof, +that the great confused ocean of air was travelling away from them, and passing +high over head with its clouds and its rods of fire, out to sea. The building, +which had seemed so small in the tumult of the storm, now became as square and +spacious as usual. +</p> + +<p> +As the storm drew away, the people in the hall of the hotel sat down; and with +a comfortable sense of relief, began to tell each other stories about great +storms, and produced in many cases their occupations for the evening. The +chess-board was brought out, and Mr. Elliot, who wore a stock instead of a +collar as a sign of convalescence, but was otherwise much as usual, challenged +Mr. Pepper to a final contest. Round them gathered a group of ladies with +pieces of needlework, or in default of needlework, with novels, to superintend +the game, much as if they were in charge of two small boys playing marbles. +Every now and then they looked at the board and made some encouraging remark to +the gentlemen. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Paley just round the corner had her cards arranged in long ladders before +her, with Susan sitting near to sympathise but not to correct, and the +merchants and the miscellaneous people who had never been discovered to possess +names were stretched in their arm-chairs with their newspapers on their knees. +The conversation in these circumstances was very gentle, fragmentary, and +intermittent, but the room was full of the indescribable stir of life. Every +now and then the moth, which was now grey of wing and shiny of thorax, whizzed +over their heads, and hit the lamps with a thud. +</p> + +<p> +A young woman put down her needlework and exclaimed, “Poor creature! it +would be kinder to kill it.” But nobody seemed disposed to rouse himself +in order to kill the moth. They watched it dash from lamp to lamp, because they +were comfortable, and had nothing to do. +</p> + +<p> +On the sofa, beside the chess-players, Mrs. Elliot was imparting a new stitch +in knitting to Mrs. Thornbury, so that their heads came very near together, and +were only to be distinguished by the old lace cap which Mrs. Thornbury wore in +the evening. Mrs. Elliot was an expert at knitting, and disclaimed a compliment +to that effect with evident pride. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose we’re all proud of something,” she said, +“and I’m proud of my knitting. I think things like that run in +families. We all knit well. I had an uncle who knitted his own socks to the day +of his death—and he did it better than any of his daughters, dear old +gentleman. Now I wonder that you, Miss Allan, who use your eyes so much, +don’t take up knitting in the evenings. You’d find it such a +relief, I should say—such a rest to the eyes—and the bazaars are so +glad of things.” Her voice dropped into the smooth half-conscious tone of +the expert knitter; the words came gently one after another. “As much as +I do I can always dispose of, which is a comfort, for then I feel that I am not +wasting my time—” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Allan, being thus addressed, shut her novel and observed the others +placidly for a time. At last she said, “It is surely not natural to leave +your wife because she happens to be in love with you. But that—as far as +I can make out—is what the gentleman in my story does.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tut, tut, that doesn’t sound good—no, that doesn’t +sound at all natural,” murmured the knitters in their absorbed voices. +</p> + +<p> +“Still, it’s the kind of book people call very clever,” Miss +Allan added. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Maternity</i>—by Michael Jessop—I presume,” Mr. +Elliot put in, for he could never resist the temptation of talking while he +played chess. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you know,” said Mrs. Elliot, after a moment, “I +don’t think people <i>do</i> write good novels now—not as good as +they used to, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +No one took the trouble to agree with her or to disagree with her. Arthur +Venning who was strolling about, sometimes looking at the game, sometimes +reading a page of a magazine, looked at Miss Allan, who was half asleep, and +said humorously, “A penny for your thoughts, Miss Allan.” +</p> + +<p> +The others looked up. They were glad that he had not spoken to them. But Miss +Allan replied without any hesitation, “I was thinking of my imaginary +uncle. Hasn’t every one got an imaginary uncle?” she continued. +“I have one—a most delightful old gentleman. He’s always +giving me things. Sometimes it’s a gold watch; sometimes it’s a +carriage and pair; sometimes it’s a beautiful little cottage in the New +Forest; sometimes it’s a ticket to the place I most want to see.” +</p> + +<p> +She set them all thinking vaguely of the things they wanted. Mrs. Elliot knew +exactly what she wanted; she wanted a child; and the usual little pucker +deepened on her brow. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re such lucky people,” she said, looking at her husband. +“We really have no wants.” She was apt to say this, partly in order +to convince herself, and partly in order to convince other people. But she was +prevented from wondering how far she carried conviction by the entrance of Mr. +and Mrs. Flushing, who came through the hall and stopped by the chess-board. +Mrs. Flushing looked wilder than ever. A great strand of black hair looped down +across her brow, her cheeks were whipped a dark blood red, and drops of rain +made wet marks upon them. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Flushing explained that they had been on the roof watching the storm. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a wonderful sight,” he said. “The lightning went +right out over the sea, and lit up the waves and the ships far away. You +can’t think how wonderful the mountains looked too, with the lights on +them, and the great masses of shadow. It’s all over now.” +</p> + +<p> +He slid down into a chair, becoming interested in the final struggle of the +game. +</p> + +<p> +“And you go back to-morrow?” said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at Mrs. +Flushing. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“And indeed one is not sorry to go back,” said Mrs. Elliot, +assuming an air of mournful anxiety, “after all this illness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you afraid of dyin’?” Mrs. Flushing demanded scornfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I think we are all afraid of that,” said Mrs. Elliot with dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose we’re all cowards when it comes to the point,” +said Mrs. Flushing, rubbing her cheek against the back of the chair. +“I’m sure I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit of it!” said Mr. Flushing, turning round, for Mr. Pepper +took a very long time to consider his move. “It’s not cowardly to +wish to live, Alice. It’s the very reverse of cowardly. Personally, +I’d like to go on for a hundred years—granted, of course, that I +had the full use of my faculties. Think of all the things that are bound to +happen!” +</p> + +<p> +“That is what I feel,” Mrs. Thornbury rejoined. “The changes, +the improvements, the inventions—and beauty. D’you know I feel +sometimes that I couldn’t bear to die and cease to see beautiful things +about me?” +</p> + +<p> +“It would certainly be very dull to die before they have discovered +whether there is life in Mars,” Miss Allan added. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you really believe there’s life in Mars?” asked Mrs. +Flushing, turning to her for the first time with keen interest. “Who +tells you that? Some one who knows? D’you know a man +called—?” +</p> + +<p> +Here Mrs. Thornbury laid down her knitting, and a look of extreme solicitude +came into her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“There is Mr. Hirst,” she said quietly. +</p> + +<p> +St. John had just come through the swing door. He was rather blown about by the +wind, and his cheeks looked terribly pale, unshorn, and cavernous. After taking +off his coat he was going to pass straight through the hall and up to his room, +but he could not ignore the presence of so many people he knew, especially as +Mrs. Thornbury rose and went up to him, holding out her hand. But the shock of +the warm lamp-lit room, together with the sight of so many cheerful human +beings sitting together at their ease, after the dark walk in the rain, and the +long days of strain and horror, overcame him completely. He looked at Mrs. +Thornbury and could not speak. +</p> + +<p> +Every one was silent. Mr. Pepper’s hand stayed upon his Knight. Mrs. +Thornbury somehow moved him to a chair, sat herself beside him, and with tears +in her own eyes said gently, “You have done everything for your +friend.” +</p> + +<p> +Her action set them all talking again as if they had never stopped, and Mr. +Pepper finished the move with his Knight. +</p> + +<p> +“There was nothing to be done,” said St. John. He spoke very +slowly. “It seems impossible—” +</p> + +<p> +He drew his hand across his eyes as if some dream came between him and the +others and prevented him from seeing where he was. +</p> + +<p> +“And that poor fellow,” said Mrs. Thornbury, the tears falling +again down her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible,” St. John repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Did he have the consolation of knowing—?” Mrs. Thornbury +began very tentatively. +</p> + +<p> +But St. John made no reply. He lay back in his chair, half-seeing the others, +half-hearing what they said. He was terribly tired, and the light and warmth, +the movements of the hands, and the soft communicative voices soothed him; they +gave him a strange sense of quiet and relief. As he sat there, motionless, this +feeling of relief became a feeling of profound happiness. Without any sense of +disloyalty to Terence and Rachel he ceased to think about either of them. The +movements and the voices seemed to draw together from different parts of the +room, and to combine themselves into a pattern before his eyes; he was content +to sit silently watching the pattern build itself up, looking at what he hardly +saw. +</p> + +<p> +The game was really a good one, and Mr. Pepper and Mr. Elliot were becoming +more and more set upon the struggle. Mrs. Thornbury, seeing that St. John did +not wish to talk, resumed her knitting. +</p> + +<p> +“Lightning again!” Mrs. Flushing suddenly exclaimed. A yellow light +flashed across the blue window, and for a second they saw the green trees +outside. She strode to the door, pushed it open, and stood half out in the open +air. +</p> + +<p> +But the light was only the reflection of the storm which was over. The rain had +ceased, the heavy clouds were blown away, and the air was thin and clear, +although vapourish mists were being driven swiftly across the moon. The sky was +once more a deep and solemn blue, and the shape of the earth was visible at the +bottom of the air, enormous, dark, and solid, rising into the tapering mass of +the mountain, and pricked here and there on the slopes by the tiny lights of +villas. The driving air, the drone of the trees, and the flashing light which +now and again spread a broad illumination over the earth filled Mrs. Flushing +with exultation. Her breasts rose and fell. +</p> + +<p> +“Splendid! Splendid!” she muttered to herself. Then she turned back +into the hall and exclaimed in a peremptory voice, “Come outside and see, +Wilfrid; it’s wonderful.” +</p> + +<p> +Some half-stirred; some rose; some dropped their balls of wool and began to +stoop to look for them. +</p> + +<p> +“To bed—to bed,” said Miss Allan. +</p> + +<p> +“It was the move with your Queen that gave it away, Pepper,” +exclaimed Mr. Elliot triumphantly, sweeping the pieces together and standing +up. He had won the game. +</p> + +<p> +“What? Pepper beaten at last? I congratulate you!” said Arthur +Venning, who was wheeling old Mrs. Paley to bed. +</p> + +<p> +All these voices sounded gratefully in St. John’s ears as he lay +half-asleep, and yet vividly conscious of everything around him. Across his +eyes passed a procession of objects, black and indistinct, the figures of +people picking up their books, their cards, their balls of wool, their +work-baskets, and passing him one after another on their way to bed. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 144 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + + |