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diff --git a/524-h/524-h.htm b/524-h/524-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..890453f --- /dev/null +++ b/524-h/524-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15319 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!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" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Ann Veronica, by H. G. Wells + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ann Veronica, by H. G. Wells + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Ann Veronica + +Author: H. G. Wells + +Release Date: March 18, 2006 [EBook #524] +Last Updated: September 17, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANN VERONICA *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + ANN VERONICA + </h1> + <h2> + A MODERN LOVE STORY + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By H. G. Wells + </h2> + <blockquote> + <p> + “The art of ignoring is one of the accomplishments of every<br /> + well-bred girl, so carefully instilled that at last she can <br /> even + ignore her own thoughts and her own knowledge.” + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>ANN VERONICA</b></big> </a><br /> + <br /> <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER THE FIRST </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER THE SECOND </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER THE THIRD </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> + CHAPTER THE FOURTH </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER THE FIFTH + </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER THE SIXTH </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER THE SEVENTH </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER THE EIGHTH </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER THE NINTH </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> + CHAPTER THE TENTH </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER THE + ELEVENTH </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER THE TWELFTH </a><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + ANN VERONICA + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE FIRST + </h2> + <h3> + ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER + </h3> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + One Wednesday afternoon in late September, Ann Veronica Stanley came down + from London in a state of solemn excitement and quite resolved to have + things out with her father that very evening. She had trembled on the + verge of such a resolution before, but this time quite definitely she made + it. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been + reached. She made up her mind in the train home that it should be a + decisive crisis. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her + there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis + and its consequences that this novel has to tell. + </p> + <p> + She had a compartment to herself in the train from London to Morningside + Park, and she sat with both her feet on the seat in an attitude that would + certainly have distressed her mother to see, and horrified her grandmother + beyond measure; she sat with her knees up to her chin and her hands + clasped before them, and she was so lost in thought that she discovered + with a start, from a lettered lamp, that she was at Morningside Park, and + thought she was moving out of the station, whereas she was only moving in. + “Lord!” she said. She jumped up at once, caught up a leather clutch + containing notebooks, a fat text-book, and a chocolate-and-yellow-covered + pamphlet, and leaped neatly from the carriage, only to discover that the + train was slowing down and that she had to traverse the full length of the + platform past it again as the result of her precipitation. “Sold again,” + she remarked. “Idiot!” She raged inwardly while she walked along with that + air of self-contained serenity that is proper to a young lady of nearly + two-and-twenty under the eye of the world. + </p> + <p> + She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of + the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the + butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. Outside the + post-office stood a no-hatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was + elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. At the sight of her he became + rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. She made herself serenely + unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent + her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. + </p> + <p> + “Umph!” he said, and regarded his letter doubtfully before consigning it + to the pillar-box. “Here goes,” he said. Then he hovered undecidedly for + some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a + whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face + resumed its expression of stern preoccupation. “It’s either now or never,” + she said to herself.... + </p> + <p> + Morningside Park was a suburb that had not altogether, as people say, come + off. It consisted, like pre-Roman Gaul, of three parts. There was first + the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway + station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow + brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little + clump of shops about the post-office, and under the railway arch was a + congestion of workmen’s dwellings. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran + under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was + now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little red-and-white rough-cast + villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy window-blinds. Behind the + Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of + this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going + back into the Avenue again. + </p> + <p> + “It’s either now or never,” said Ann Veronica, again ascending this stile. + “Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in + altogether.” + </p> + <p> + She seated herself in a loose and easy attitude and surveyed the backs of + the Avenue houses; then her eyes wandered to where the new red-and-white + villas peeped among the trees. She seemed to be making some sort of + inventory. “Ye Gods!” she said at last. “WHAT a place! + </p> + <p> + “Stuffy isn’t the word for it. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what he takes me for?” + </p> + <p> + When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal + conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. She had + now the clear and tranquil expression of one whose mind is made up. Her + back had stiffened, and her hazel eyes looked steadfastly ahead. + </p> + <p> + As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in + gray flannels appeared. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his + manner. He saluted awkwardly. “Hello, Vee!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Teddy!” she answered. + </p> + <p> + He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. + </p> + <p> + But it was clear she was in no mood for Teddys. He realized that he was + committed to the path across the fields, an uninteresting walk at the best + of times. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + Ann Veronica Stanley was twenty-one and a half years old. She had black + hair, fine eyebrows, and a clear complexion; and the forces that had + modelled her features had loved and lingered at their work and made them + subtle and fine. She was slender, and sometimes she seemed tall, and + walked and carried herself lightly and joyfully as one who commonly and + habitually feels well, and sometimes she stooped a little and was + preoccupied. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment + and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, + and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and + life. + </p> + <p> + She wanted to live. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly + know for what—to do, to be, to experience. And experience was slow + in coming. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in + wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. The blinds were + all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these + gray swathings hid. She wanted to know. And there was no intimation + whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be + opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, + unveiled and furnished and lit. Dim souls flitted about her, not only + speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones.... + </p> + <p> + During her school days, especially her earlier school days, the world had + been very explicit with her, telling her what to do, what not to do, + giving her lessons to learn and games to play and interests of the most + suitable and various kinds. Presently she woke up to the fact that there + was a considerable group of interests called being in love and getting + married, with certain attractive and amusing subsidiary developments, such + as flirtation and “being interested” in people of the opposite sex. She + approached this field with her usual liveliness of apprehension. But here + she met with a check. These interests her world promptly, through the + agency of schoolmistresses, older school-mates, her aunt, and a number of + other responsible and authoritative people, assured her she must on no + account think about. Miss Moffatt, the history and moral instruction + mistress, was particularly explicit upon this score, and they all agreed + in indicating contempt and pity for girls whose minds ran on such matters, + and who betrayed it in their conversation or dress or bearing. It was, in + fact, a group of interests quite unlike any other group, peculiar and + special, and one to be thoroughly ashamed of. Nevertheless, Ann Veronica + found it a difficult matter not to think of these things. However having a + considerable amount of pride, she decided she would disavow these + undesirable topics and keep her mind away from them just as far as she + could, but it left her at the end of her school days with that wrapped + feeling I have described, and rather at loose ends. + </p> + <p> + The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular + place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless + existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in + her father’s house. She thought study would be better. She was a clever + girl, the best of her year in the High School, and she made a valiant + fight for Somerville or Newnham but her father had met and argued with a + Somerville girl at a friend’s dinner-table and he thought that sort of + thing unsexed a woman. He said simply that he wanted her to live at home. + There was a certain amount of disputation, and meanwhile she went on at + school. They compromised at length on the science course at the Tredgold + Women’s College—she had already matriculated into London University + from school—she came of age, and she bickered with her aunt for + latch-key privileges on the strength of that and her season ticket. + Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised + as literature and art. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her + aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be + prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the + theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. + She passed her general science examination with double honors and + specialized in science. She happened to have an acute sense of form and + unusual mental lucidity, and she found in biology, and particularly in + comparative anatomy, a very considerable interest, albeit the illumination + it cast upon her personal life was not altogether direct. She dissected + well, and in a year she found herself chafing at the limitations of the + lady B. Sc. who retailed a store of faded learning in the Tredgold + laboratory. She had already realized that this instructress was hopelessly + wrong and foggy—it is the test of the good comparative anatomist—upon + the skull. She discovered a desire to enter as a student in the Imperial + College at Westminster, where Russell taught, and go on with her work at + the fountain-head. + </p> + <p> + She had asked about that already, and her father had replied, evasively: + “We’ll have to see about that, little Vee; we’ll have to see about that.” + In that posture of being seen about the matter hung until she seemed + committed to another session at the Tredgold College, and in the mean time + a small conflict arose and brought the latch-key question, and in fact the + question of Ann Veronica’s position generally, to an acute issue. + </p> + <p> + In addition to the various business men, solicitors, civil servants, and + widow ladies who lived in the Morningside Park Avenue, there was a certain + family of alien sympathies and artistic quality, the Widgetts, with which + Ann Veronica had become very friendly. Mr. Widgett was a journalist and + art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; + he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third + class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. He occupied + one of the smaller houses near the station. He had one son, who had been + co-educated, and three daughters with peculiarly jolly red hair that Ann + Veronica found adorable. Two of these had been her particular intimates at + the High School, and had done much to send her mind exploring beyond the + limits of the available literature at home. It was a cheerful, + irresponsible, shamelessly hard-up family in the key of faded green and + flattened purple, and the girls went on from the High School to the Fadden + Art School and a bright, eventful life of art student dances, Socialist + meetings, theatre galleries, talking about work, and even, at intervals, + work; and ever and again they drew Ann Veronica from her sound persistent + industry into the circle of these experiences. They had asked her to come + to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and + Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. And now her father said she + must not go. + </p> + <p> + He had “put his foot down,” and said she must not go. + </p> + <p> + Going involved two things that all Ann Veronica’s tact had been + ineffectual to conceal from her aunt and father. Her usual dignified + reserve had availed her nothing. One point was that she was to wear fancy + dress in the likeness of a Corsair’s bride, and the other was that she was + to spend whatever vestiges of the night remained after the dance was over + in London with the Widgett girls and a select party in “quite a decent + little hotel” near Fitzroy Square. + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said Ann Veronica, with the air of one who shares a difficulty, + “I’ve promised to go. I didn’t realize—I don’t see how I can get out + of it now.” + </p> + <p> + Then it was her father issued his ultimatum. He had conveyed it to her, + not verbally, but by means of a letter, which seemed to her a singularly + ignoble method of prohibition. “He couldn’t look me in the face and say + it,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “But of course it’s aunt’s doing really.” + </p> + <p> + And thus it was that as Ann Veronica neared the gates of home, she said to + herself: “I’ll have it out with him somehow. I’ll have it out with him. + And if he won’t—” + </p> + <p> + But she did not give even unspoken words to the alternative at that time. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company + business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven + man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray + eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of + his head. His name was Peter. He had had five children at irregular + intervals, of whom Ann Veronica was the youngest, so that as a parent he + came to her perhaps a little practised and jaded and inattentive; and he + called her his “little Vee,” and patted her unexpectedly and + disconcertingly, and treated her promiscuously as of any age between + eleven and eight-and-twenty. The City worried him a good deal, and what + energy he had left over he spent partly in golf, a game he treated very + seriously, and partly in the practices of microscopic petrography. + </p> + <p> + He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his + “hobby.” A birthday present of a microscope had turned his mind to + technical microscopy when he was eighteen, and a chance friendship with a + Holborn microscope dealer had confirmed that bent. He had remarkably + skilful fingers and a love of detailed processes, and he had become one of + the most dexterous amateur makers of rock sections in the world. He spent + a good deal more money and time than he could afford upon the little room + at the top of the house, in producing new lapidary apparatus and new + microscopic accessories and in rubbing down slices of rock to a + transparent thinness and mounting them in a beautiful and dignified + manner. He did it, he said, “to distract his mind.” His chief successes he + exhibited to the Lowndean Microscopical Society, where their high + technical merit never failed to excite admiration. Their scientific value + was less considerable, since he chose rocks entirely with a view to their + difficulty of handling or their attractiveness at conversaziones when + done. He had a great contempt for the sections the “theorizers” produced. + They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, + pitiful pieces of work. Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave + such fellows all sorts of distinctions.... + </p> + <p> + He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic + titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order + “to distract his mind.” He read it in winter in the evening after dinner, + and Ann Veronica associated it with a tendency to monopolize the lamp, and + to spread a very worn pair of dappled fawn-skin slippers across the + fender. She wondered occasionally why his mind needed so much distraction. + His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the + morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the + train, leaving no other paper at home. + </p> + <p> + It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was + younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the + impression of its predecessor. But she certainly remembered that when she + was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a + bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door. And in + those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover + about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the + scullery wall. + </p> + <p> + It had been Ann Veronica’s lot as the youngest child to live in a home + that became less animated and various as she grew up. Her mother had died + when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one + submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the + world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. + But he was not a father one could make much of. + </p> + <p> + His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; + they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, + and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for + life. He made this simple classification of a large and various sex to the + exclusion of all intermediate kinds; he held that the two classes had to + be kept apart even in thought and remote from one another. Women are made + like the potter’s vessels—either for worship or contumely, and are + withal fragile vessels. He had never wanted daughters. Each time a + daughter had been born to him he had concealed his chagrin with great + tenderness and effusion from his wife, and had sworn unwontedly and with + passionate sincerity in the bathroom. He was a manly man, free from any + strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty + bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his + sentiment. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think + of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of + her, and in a sense an intrusion. He had, however, planned brilliant + careers for his two sons, and, with a certain human amount of warping and + delay, they were pursuing these. One was in the Indian Civil Service and + one in the rapidly developing motor business. The daughters, he had hoped, + would be their mother’s care. + </p> + <p> + He had no ideas about daughters. They happen to a man. + </p> + <p> + Of course a little daughter is a delightful thing enough. It runs about + gayly, it romps, it is bright and pretty, it has enormous quantities of + soft hair and more power of expressing affection than its brothers. It is + a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does + things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. It makes + wonderful sentences that you can repeat in the City and are good enough + for Punch. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and + “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. It + loves to sit on your knee. All that is jolly and as it should be. + </p> + <p> + But a little daughter is one thing and a daughter quite another. There one + comes to a relationship that Mr. Stanley had never thought out. When he + found himself thinking about it, it upset him so that he at once resorted + to distraction. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind + glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of + guidance. Its heroes never had daughters, they borrowed other people’s. + The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had + rather a light way with parental rights. His instinct was in the direction + of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his + to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as + he thought fit. About this conception of ownership he perceived and + desired a certain sentimental glamour, he liked everything properly + dressed, but it remained ownership. Ownership seemed only a reasonable + return for the cares and expenses of a daughter’s upbringing. Daughters + were not like sons. He perceived, however, that both the novels he read + and the world he lived in discountenanced these assumptions. Nothing else + was put in their place, and they remained sotto voce, as it were, in his + mind. The new and the old cancelled out; his daughters became + quasi-independent dependents—which is absurd. One married as he + wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his + little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, + going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class + dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to + unwomanly lengths. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, + handing over the means of her freedom. And now she insisted that she MUST + leave the chastened security of the Tredgold Women’s College for Russell’s + unbridled classes, and wanted to go to fancy dress dances in pirate + costume and spend the residue of the night with Widgett’s ramshackle girls + in some indescribable hotel in Soho! + </p> + <p> + He had done his best not to think about her at all, but the situation and + his sister had become altogether too urgent. He had finally put aside The + Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the + letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAR VEE, he wrote. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, + tore the sheet up, and began again. + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR VERONICA,—Your aunt tells me you have involved yourself in + some arrangement with the Widgett girls about a Fancy Dress Ball in + London. I gather you wish to go up in some fantastic get-up, wrapped about + in your opera cloak, and that after the festivities you propose to stay + with these friends of yours, and without any older people in your party, + at an hotel. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your + heart upon, but I regret to say—” + </p> + <p> + “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. + </p> + <p> + “—but this cannot be.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, and tried again: “but I must tell you quite definitely that + I feel it to be my duty to forbid any such exploit.” + </p> + <p> + “Damn!” he remarked at the defaced letter; and, taking a fresh sheet, he + recopied what he had written. A certain irritation crept into his manner + as he did so. + </p> + <p> + “I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. + </p> + <p> + He meditated, and began a new paragraph. + </p> + <p> + “The fact of it is, and this absurd project of yours only brings it to a + head, you have begun to get hold of some very queer ideas about what a + young lady in your position may or may not venture to do. I do not think + you quite understand my ideals or what is becoming as between father and + daughter. Your attitude to me—” + </p> + <p> + He fell into a brown study. It was so difficult to put precisely. + </p> + <p> + “—and your aunt—” + </p> + <p> + For a time he searched for the mot juste. Then he went on: + </p> + <p> + “—and, indeed, to most of the established things in life is, + frankly, unsatisfactory. You are restless, aggressive, critical with all + the crude unthinking criticism of youth. You have no grasp upon the + essential facts of life (I pray God you never may), and in your rash + ignorance you are prepared to dash into positions that may end in lifelong + regret. The life of a young girl is set about with prowling pitfalls.” + </p> + <p> + He was arrested for a moment by an indistinct picture of Veronica reading + this last sentence. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain + unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. “Well,” he + said, argumentatively, “it IS. That’s all about it. It’s time she knew.” + </p> + <p> + “The life of a young girl is set about with prowling pitfalls, from which + she must be shielded at all costs.” + </p> + <p> + His lips tightened, and he frowned with solemn resolution. + </p> + <p> + “So long as I am your father, so long as your life is entrusted to my + care, I feel bound by every obligation to use my authority to check this + odd disposition of yours toward extravagant enterprises. A day will come + when you will thank me. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is + any harm in you; there is not. But a girl is soiled not only by evil but + by the proximity of evil, and a reputation for rashness may do her as + serious an injury as really reprehensible conduct. So do please believe + that in this matter I am acting for the best.” + </p> + <p> + He signed his name and reflected. Then he opened the study door and called + “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the + hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire. + </p> + <p> + His sister appeared. + </p> + <p> + She was dressed in one of those complicated dresses that are all lace and + work and confused patternings of black and purple and cream about the + body, and she was in many ways a younger feminine version of the same + theme as himself. She had the same sharp nose—which, indeed, only + Ann Veronica, of all the family, had escaped. She carried herself well, + whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity + about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of + family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. He had died before they + married, and when her brother became a widower she had come to his + assistance and taken over much of the care of his youngest daughter. But + from the first her rather old-fashioned conception of life had jarred with + the suburban atmosphere, the High School spirit and the memories of the + light and little Mrs. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning + inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. Miss Stanley had + determined from the outset to have the warmest affection for her youngest + niece and to be a second mother in her life—a second and a better + one; but she had found much to battle with, and there was much in herself + that Ann Veronica failed to understand. She came in now with an air of + reserved solicitude. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket + pocket. “What do you think of that?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially. He filled + his pipe slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said at last, “it is firm and affectionate.” + </p> + <p> + “I could have said more.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have said just what had to be said. It seems to me exactly + what is wanted. She really must not go to that affair.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, and he waited for her to speak. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think she quite sees the harm of those people or the sort of life + to which they would draw her,” she said. “They would spoil every chance.” + </p> + <p> + “She has chances?” he said, helping her out. + </p> + <p> + “She is an extremely attractive girl,” she said; and added, “to some + people. Of course, one doesn’t like to talk about things until there are + things to talk about.” + </p> + <p> + “All the more reason why she shouldn’t get herself talked about.” + </p> + <p> + “That is exactly what I feel.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for + a time. “I’d give anything,” he remarked, “to see our little Vee happily + and comfortably married.” + </p> + <p> + He gave the note to the parlormaid the next morning in an inadvertent, + casual manner just as he was leaving the house to catch his London train. + When Ann Veronica got it she had at first a wild, fantastic idea that it + contained a tip. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 5 + </h2> + <p> + Ann Veronica’s resolve to have things out with her father was not + accomplished without difficulty. + </p> + <p> + He was not due from the City until about six, and so she went and played + Badminton with the Widgett girls until dinner-time. The atmosphere at + dinner was not propitious. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain + tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread + of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril + to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to + table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. “It really seems as + if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly + repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. They seed beyond all + reason.” Elizabeth, the parlormaid, kept coming in to hand vegetables + whenever there seemed a chance of Ann Veronica asking for an interview. + Directly dinner was over Mr. Stanley, having pretended to linger to smoke, + fled suddenly up-stairs to petrography, and when Veronica tapped he + answered through the locked door, “Go away, Vee! I’m busy,” and made a + lapidary’s wheel buzz loudly. + </p> + <p> + Breakfast, too, was an impossible occasion. He read the Times with an + unusually passionate intentness, and then declared suddenly for the + earlier of the two trains he used. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll come to the station,” said Ann Veronica. “I may as well come up by + this train.” + </p> + <p> + “I may have to run,” said her father, with an appeal to his watch. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. + </p> + <p> + Instead of which they walked sharply.... + </p> + <p> + “I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath. + </p> + <p> + “If it’s about that dance project,” he said, “it’s no good, Veronica. I’ve + made up my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll make me look a fool before all my friends.” + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn’t have made an engagement until you’d consulted your aunt.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I was old enough,” she gasped, between laughter and crying. + </p> + <p> + Her father’s step quickened to a trot. “I won’t have you quarrelling and + crying in the Avenue,” he said. “Stop it!... If you’ve got anything to + say, you must say it to your aunt—” + </p> + <p> + “But look here, daddy!” + </p> + <p> + He flapped the Times at her with an imperious gesture. + </p> + <p> + “It’s settled. You’re not to go. You’re NOT to go.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s about other things.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care. This isn’t the place.” + </p> + <p> + “Then may I come to the study to-night—after dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m—BUSY!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s important. If I can’t talk anywhere else—I DO want an + understanding.” + </p> + <p> + Ahead of them walked a gentleman whom it was evident they must at their + present pace very speedily overtake. It was Ramage, the occupant of the + big house at the end of the Avenue. He had recently made Mr. Stanley’s + acquaintance in the train and shown him one or two trifling civilities. He + was an outside broker and the proprietor of a financial newspaper; he had + come up very rapidly in the last few years, and Mr. Stanley admired and + detested him in almost equal measure. It was intolerable to think that he + might overhear words and phrases. Mr. Stanley’s pace slackened. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve no right to badger me like this, Veronica,” he said. “I can’t see + what possible benefit can come of discussing things that are settled. If + you want advice, your aunt is the person. However, if you must air your + opinions—” + </p> + <p> + “To-night, then, daddy!” + </p> + <p> + He made an angry but conceivably an assenting noise, and then Ramage + glanced back and stopped, saluted elaborately, and waited for them to come + up. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a + mobile, clean-shaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now + scrutinized Ann Veronica. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West + End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow + disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. He did + not play golf, but took his exercise on horseback, which was also + unsympathetic. + </p> + <p> + “Stuffy these trees make the Avenue,” said Mr. Stanley as they drew + alongside, to account for his own ruffled and heated expression. “They + ought to have been lopped in the spring.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s plenty of time,” said Ramage. “Is Miss Stanley coming up with + us?” + </p> + <p> + “I go second,” she said, “and change at Wimbledon.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll all go second,” said Ramage, “if we may?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stanley wanted to object strongly, but as he could not immediately + think how to put it, he contented himself with a grunt, and the motion was + carried. “How’s Mrs. Ramage?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Very much as usual,” said Ramage. “She finds lying up so much very + irksome. But, you see, she HAS to lie up.” + </p> + <p> + The topic of his invalid wife bored him, and he turned at once to Ann + Veronica. “And where are YOU going?” he said. “Are you going on again this + winter with that scientific work of yours? It’s an instance of heredity, I + suppose.” For a moment Mr. Stanley almost liked Ramage. “You’re a + biologist, aren’t you?” + </p> + <p> + He began to talk of his own impressions of biology as a commonplace + magazine reader who had to get what he could from the monthly reviews, and + was glad to meet with any information from nearer the fountainhead. In a + little while he and she were talking quite easily and agreeably. They went + on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of + deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. He + was struck disagreeably by Ramage’s air of gallant consideration and Ann + Veronica’s self-possessed answers. These things did not harmonize with his + conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview. After all, it + came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense + regarded as grownup. He was a man who in all things classified without + nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine + classes and no more—girls and women. The distinction lay chiefly in + the right to pat their heads. But here was a girl—she must be a + girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman + quite remarkably and cleverly. He resumed his listening. She was + discussing one of those modern advanced plays with a remarkable, with an + extraordinary, confidence. + </p> + <p> + “His love-making,” she remarked, “struck me as unconvincing. He seemed too + noisy.” + </p> + <p> + The full significance of her words did not instantly appear to him. Then + it dawned. Good heavens! She was discussing love-making. For a time he + heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in + leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. Could she + understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class + carriage and the ordinary fellow-travellers were not there. Everybody, he + felt, must be listening behind their papers. + </p> + <p> + Of course, girls repeat phrases and opinions of which they cannot possibly + understand the meaning. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know + better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor.... + </p> + <p> + Well, after all, he seemed to be turning the subject. “Broddick is a heavy + man,” he was saying, “and the main interest of the play was the + embezzlement.” Thank Heaven! Mr. Stanley allowed his paper to drop a + little, and scrutinized the hats and brows of their three + fellow-travellers. + </p> + <p> + They reached Wimbledon, and Ramage whipped out to hand Miss Stanley to the + platform as though she had been a duchess, and she descended as though + such attentions from middle-aged, but still gallant, merchants were a + matter of course. Then, as Ramage readjusted himself in a corner, he + remarked: “These young people shoot up, Stanley. It seems only yesterday + that she was running down the Avenue, all hair and legs.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching + animosity. + </p> + <p> + “Now she’s all hat and ideas,” he said, with an air of humor. + </p> + <p> + “She seems an unusually clever girl,” said Ramage. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stanley regarded his neighbor’s clean-shaven face almost warily. “I’m + not sure whether we don’t rather overdo all this higher education,” he + said, with an effect of conveying profound meanings. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 6 + </h2> + <p> + He became quite sure, by a sort of accumulation of reflection, as the day + wore on. He found his youngest daughter intrusive in his thoughts all + through the morning, and still more so in the afternoon. He saw her young + and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring + him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his + train ran out of Wimbledon. He recalled with exasperating perplexity her + clear, matter-of-fact tone as she talked about love-making being + unconvincing. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry + and resentful at the innocent and audacious self-reliance that seemed to + intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security + without him. After all, she only LOOKED a woman. She was rash and + ignorant, absolutely inexperienced. Absolutely. He began to think of + speeches, very firm, explicit speeches, he would make. + </p> + <p> + He lunched in the Legal Club in Chancery Lane, and met Ogilvy. Daughters + were in the air that day. Ogilvy was full of a client’s trouble in that + matter, a grave and even tragic trouble. He told some of the particulars. + </p> + <p> + “Curious case,” said Ogilvy, buttering his bread and cutting it up in a + way he had. “Curious case—and sets one thinking.” + </p> + <p> + He resumed, after a mouthful: “Here is a girl of sixteen or seventeen, + seventeen and a half to be exact, running about, as one might say, in + London. Schoolgirl. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington + people. Father—dead. She goes out and comes home. Afterward goes on + to Oxford. Twenty-one, twenty-two. Why doesn’t she marry? Plenty of money + under her father’s will. Charming girl.” + </p> + <p> + He consumed Irish stew for some moments. + </p> + <p> + “Married already,” he said, with his mouth full. “Shopman.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” said Mr. Stanley. + </p> + <p> + “Good-looking rascal she met at Worthing. Very romantic and all that. He + fixed it.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “He left her alone. Pure romantic nonsense on her part. Sheer calculation + on his. Went up to Somerset House to examine the will before he did it. + Yes. Nice position.” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn’t care for him now?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and + moonlight and a tenor voice. I suppose most of our daughters would marry + organ-grinders if they had a chance—at that age. My son wanted to + marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop. Only a son’s another + story. We fixed that. Well, that’s the situation. My people don’t know + what to do. Can’t face a scandal. Can’t ask the gent to go abroad and + condone a bigamy. He misstated her age and address; but you can’t get home + on him for a thing like that.... There you are! Girl spoilt for life. + Makes one want to go back to the Oriental system!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stanley poured wine. “Damned Rascal!” he said. “Isn’t there a brother + to kick him?” + </p> + <p> + “Mere satisfaction,” reflected Ogilvy. “Mere sensuality. I rather think + they have kicked him, from the tone of some of the letters. Nice, of + course. But it doesn’t alter the situation.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s these Rascals,” said Mr. Stanley, and paused. + </p> + <p> + “Always has been,” said Ogilvy. “Our interest lies in heading them off.” + </p> + <p> + “There was a time when girls didn’t get these extravagant ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “Lydia Languish, for example. Anyhow, they didn’t run about so much.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That’s about the beginning. It’s these damned novels. All this + torrent of misleading, spurious stuff that pours from the press. These + sham ideals and advanced notions. Women who Dids, and all that kind of + thing....” + </p> + <p> + Ogilvy reflected. “This girl—she’s really a very charming, frank + person—had had her imagination fired, so she told me, by a school + performance of Romeo and Juliet.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stanley decided to treat that as irrelevant. “There ought to be a + Censorship of Books. We want it badly at the present time. Even WITH the + Censorship of Plays there’s hardly a decent thing to which a man can take + his wife and daughters, a creeping taint of suggestion everywhere. What + would it be without that safeguard?” + </p> + <p> + Ogilvy pursued his own topic. “I’m inclined to think, Stanley, myself that + as a matter of fact it was the expurgated Romeo and Juliet did the + mischief. If our young person hadn’t had the nurse part cut out, eh? She + might have known more and done less. I was curious about that. All they + left it was the moon and stars. And the balcony and ‘My Romeo!’” + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare is altogether different from the modern stuff. Altogether + different. I’m not discussing Shakespeare. I don’t want to Bowdlerize + Shakespeare. I’m not that sort I quite agree. But this modern miasma—” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stanley took mustard savagely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we won’t go into Shakespeare,” said Ogilvy “What interests me is + that our young women nowadays are running about as free as air + practically, with registry offices and all sorts of accommodation round + the corner. Nothing to check their proceedings but a declining habit of + telling the truth and the limitations of their imaginations. And in that + respect they stir up one another. Not my affair, of course, but I think we + ought to teach them more or restrain them more. One or the other. They’re + too free for their innocence or too innocent for their freedom. That’s my + point. Are you going to have any apple-tart, Stanley? The apple-tart’s + been very good lately—very good!” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 7 + </h2> + <p> + At the end of dinner that evening Ann Veronica began: “Father!” + </p> + <p> + Her father looked at her over his glasses and spoke with grave + deliberation; “If there is anything you want to say to me,” he said, “you + must say it in the study. I am going to smoke a little here, and then I + shall go to the study. I don’t see what you can have to say. I should have + thought my note cleared up everything. There are some papers I have to + look through to-night—important papers.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t keep you very long, daddy,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see, Mollie,” he remarked, taking a cigar from the box on the + table as his sister and daughter rose, “why you and Vee shouldn’t discuss + this little affair—whatever it is—without bothering me.” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time this controversy had become triangular, for all + three of them were shy by habit. + </p> + <p> + He stopped in mid-sentence, and Ann Veronica opened the door for her aunt. + The air was thick with feelings. Her aunt went out of the room with + dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. She + agreed entirely with her brother. It distressed and confused her that the + girl should not come to her. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited + disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. + </p> + <p> + When Ann Veronica came into the study she found every evidence of a + carefully foreseen grouping about the gas fire. Both arm-chairs had been + moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and + in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously + waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. Her + father held some printed document in his hand, and appeared not to observe + her entry. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word + for it—for some moments. Then he put the paper by. “And what is it + all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking + at her a little quizzically over his glasses. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica looked bright and a little elated, and she disregarded her + father’s invitation to be seated. She stood on the mat instead, and looked + down on him. “Look here, daddy,” she said, in a tone of great + reasonableness, “I MUST go to that dance, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Her father’s irony deepened. “Why?” he asked, suavely. + </p> + <p> + Her answer was not quite ready. “Well, because I don’t see any reason why + I shouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “You see I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t I go?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t a suitable place; it isn’t a suitable gathering.” + </p> + <p> + “But, daddy, what do you know of the place and the gathering?” + </p> + <p> + “And it’s entirely out of order; it isn’t right, it isn’t correct; it’s + impossible for you to stay in an hotel in London—the idea is + preposterous. I can’t imagine what possessed you, Veronica.” + </p> + <p> + He put his head on one side, pulled down the corners of his mouth, and + looked at her over his glasses. + </p> + <p> + “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe + on the mantel. + </p> + <p> + “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal. + </p> + <p> + “You see, daddy, I don’t think it IS preposterous. That’s really what I + want to discuss. It comes to this—am I to be trusted to take care of + myself, or am I not?” + </p> + <p> + “To judge from this proposal of yours, I should say not.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I am.” + </p> + <p> + “As long as you remain under my roof—” he began, and paused. + </p> + <p> + “You are going to treat me as though I wasn’t. Well, I don’t think that’s + fair.” + </p> + <p> + “Your ideas of fairness—” he remarked, and discontinued that + sentence. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, + “you are a mere child. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, + nothing of its possibilities. You think everything is harmless and simple, + and so forth. It isn’t. It isn’t. That’s where you go wrong. In some + things, in many things, you must trust to your elders, to those who know + more of life than you do. Your aunt and I have discussed all this matter. + There it is. You can’t go.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation hung for a moment. Ann Veronica tried to keep hold of a + complicated situation and not lose her head. She had turned round + sideways, so as to look down into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. I + want to go to that because it’s a new experience, because I think it will + be interesting and give me a view of things. You say I know nothing. + That’s probably true. But how am I to know of things?” + </p> + <p> + “Some things I hope you may never know,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not so sure. I want to know—just as much as I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut!” he said, fuming, and put out his hand to the papers in the pink + tape. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do. It’s just that I want to say. I want to be a human being; I + want to learn about things and know about things, and not to be protected + as something too precious for life, cooped up in one narrow little + corner.” + </p> + <p> + “Cooped up!” he cried. “Did I stand in the way of your going to college? + Have I ever prevented you going about at any reasonable hour? You’ve got a + bicycle!” + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” said Ann Veronica, and then went on “I want to be taken seriously. + A girl—at my age—is grown-up. I want to go on with my + University work under proper conditions, now that I’ve done the + Intermediate. It isn’t as though I haven’t done well. I’ve never muffed an + exam yet. Roddy muffed two....” + </p> + <p> + Her father interrupted. “Now look here, Veronica, let us be plain with + each other. You are not going to that infidel Russell’s classes. You are + not going anywhere but to the Tredgold College. I’ve thought that out, and + you must make up your mind to it. All sorts of considerations come in. + While you live in my house you must follow my ideas. You are wrong even + about that man’s scientific position and his standard of work. There are + men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him. And I have + seen work by his pupils myself that struck me as being—well, next + door to shameful. There’s stories, too, about his demonstrator, Capes + Something or other. The kind of man who isn’t content with his science, + and writes articles in the monthly reviews. Anyhow, there it is: YOU ARE + NOT GOING THERE.” + </p> + <p> + The girl received this intimation in silence, but the face that looked + down upon the gas fire took an expression of obstinacy that brought out a + hitherto latent resemblance between parent and child. When she spoke, her + lips twitched. + </p> + <p> + “Then I suppose when I have graduated I am to come home?” + </p> + <p> + “It seems the natural course—” + </p> + <p> + “And do nothing?” + </p> + <p> + “There are plenty of things a girl can find to do at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Until some one takes pity on me and marries me?” + </p> + <p> + He raised his eyebrows in mild appeal. His foot tapped impatiently, and he + took up the papers. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I + won’t stand it?” + </p> + <p> + He regarded her as though this was a new idea. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose, for example, I go to this dance?” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Well”—her breath failed her for a moment. “How would you prevent + it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “But I have forbidden it!” he said, raising his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. But suppose I go?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Veronica! No, no. This won’t do. Understand me! I forbid it. I do + not want to hear from you even the threat of disobedience.” He spoke + loudly. “The thing is forbidden!” + </p> + <p> + “I am ready to give up anything that you show to be wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “You will give up anything I wish you to give up.” + </p> + <p> + They stared at each other through a pause, and both faces were flushed and + obstinate. + </p> + <p> + She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to + restrain her tears. But when she spoke her lips quivered, and they came. + “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. “I mean to go to that dance! + I meant to reason with you, but you won’t reason. You’re dogmatic.” + </p> + <p> + At the sight of her tears his expression changed to a mingling of triumph + and concern. He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, + but she stepped back from him quickly. She produced a handkerchief, and + with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of + weeping. His voice now had lost its ironies. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Veronica,” he pleaded, “Veronica, this is most unreasonable. All we + do is for your good. Neither your aunt nor I have any other thought but + what is best for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Only you won’t let me live. Only you won’t let me exist!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stanley lost patience. He bullied frankly. + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO + exist! You have this home. You have friends, acquaintances, social + standing, brothers and sisters, every advantage! Instead of which, you + want to go to some mixed classes or other and cut up rabbits and dance + about at nights in wild costumes with casual art student friends and God + knows who. That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. You + don’t know what you ask nor what you say. You have neither reason nor + logic. I am sorry to seem to hurt you, but all I say is for your good. You + MUST not, you SHALL not go. On this I am resolved. I put my foot down like—like + adamant. And a time will come, Veronica, mark my words, a time will come + when you will bless me for my firmness to-night. It goes to my heart to + disappoint you, but this thing must not be.” + </p> + <p> + He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession + of the hearth-rug. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said, “good-night, father.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” he asked; “not a kiss?” + </p> + <p> + She affected not to hear. + </p> + <p> + The door closed softly upon her. For a long time he remained standing + before the fire, staring at the situation. Then he sat down and filled his + pipe slowly and thoughtfully.... + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see what else I could have said,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE SECOND + </h2> + <h3> + ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW + </h3> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + “Are you coming to the Fadden Dance, Ann Veronica?” asked Constance + Widgett. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica considered her answer. “I mean to,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “You are making your dress?” + </p> + <p> + “Such as it is.” + </p> + <p> + They were in the elder Widgett girl’s bedroom; Hetty was laid up, she + said, with a sprained ankle, and a miscellaneous party was gossiping away + her tedium. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated + with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open + bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, + displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, + Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. Constance Widgett’s abundant + copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling + in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had + dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a + slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had + introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. Miss Miniver looked + out on the world through large emotional blue eyes that were further + magnified by the glasses she wore, and her nose was pinched and pink, and + her mouth was whimsically petulant. Her glasses moved quickly as her + glance travelled from face to face. She seemed bursting with the desire to + talk, and watching for her opportunity. On her lapel was an ivory button, + bearing the words “Votes for Women.” Ann Veronica sat at the foot of the + sufferer’s bed, while Teddy Widgett, being something of an athlete, + occupied the only bed-room chair—a decadent piece, essentially a + tripod and largely a formality—and smoked cigarettes, and tried to + conceal the fact that he was looking all the time at Ann Veronica’s + eyebrows. Teddy was the hatless young man who had turned Ann Veronica + aside from the Avenue two days before. He was the junior of both his + sisters, co-educated and much broken in to feminine society. A bowl of + roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, + and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was + to make with her aunt later in the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica decided to be more explicit. “I’ve been,” she said, + “forbidden to come.” + </p> + <p> + “Hul-LO!” said Hetty, turning her head on the pillow; and Teddy remarked + with profound emotion, “My God!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ann Veronica, “and that complicates the situation.” + </p> + <p> + “Auntie?” asked Constance, who was conversant with Ann Veronica’s affairs. + </p> + <p> + “No! My father. It’s—it’s a serious prohibition.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Hetty. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the point. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason.” + </p> + <p> + “YOU ASKED YOUR FATHER FOR A REASON!” said Miss Miniver, with great + intensity. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out.” Ann + Veronica reflected for an instant “That’s why I think I ought to come.” + </p> + <p> + “You asked your father for a reason!” Miss Miniver repeated. + </p> + <p> + “We always have things out with OUR father, poor dear!” said Hetty. “He’s + got almost to like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Men,” said Miss Miniver, “NEVER have a reason. Never! And they don’t know + it! They have no idea of it. It’s one of their worst traits, one of their + very worst.” + </p> + <p> + “But I say, Vee,” said Constance, “if you come and you are forbidden to + come there’ll be the deuce of a row.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica was deciding for further confidences. Her situation was + perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and + sympathetic, and provocative of discussion. “It isn’t only the dance,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. + </p> + <p> + “There’s the whole situation. Apparently I’m not to exist yet. I’m not to + study, I’m not to grow. I’ve got to stay at home and remain in a state of + suspended animation.” + </p> + <p> + “DUSTING!” said Miss Miniver, in a sepulchral voice. + </p> + <p> + “Until you marry, Vee,” said Hetty. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t feel like standing it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thousands of women have married merely for freedom,” said Miss Miniver. + “Thousands! Ugh! And found it a worse slavery.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s + our lot. But it’s very beastly.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s our lot?” asked her sister. + </p> + <p> + “Slavery! Downtroddenness! When I think of it I feel all over boot marks—men’s + boots. We hide it bravely, but so it is. Damn! I’ve splashed.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Miniver’s manner became impressive. She addressed Ann Veronica with + an air of conveying great open secrets to her. “As things are at present,” + she said, “it is true. We live under man-made institutions, and that is + what they amount to. Every girl in the world practically, except a few of + us who teach or type-write, and then we’re underpaid and sweated—it’s + dreadful to think how we are sweated!” She had lost her generalization, + whatever it was. She hung for a moment, and then went on, conclusively, + “Until we have the vote that is how things WILL be.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m all for the vote,” said Teddy. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose a girl MUST be underpaid and sweated,” said Ann Veronica. “I + suppose there’s no way of getting a decent income—independently.” + </p> + <p> + “Women have practically NO economic freedom,” said Miss Miniver, “because + they have no political freedom. Men have seen to that. The one profession, + the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage—is + teaching, and there we trample on one another. Everywhere else—the + law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s art,” said Ann Veronica, “and writing.” + </p> + <p> + “Every one hasn’t the Gift. Even there a woman never gets a fair chance. + Men are against her. Whatever she does is minimized. All the best novels + have been written by women, and yet see how men sneer at the lady novelist + still! There’s only one way to get on for a woman, and that is to please + men. That is what they think we are for!” + </p> + <p> + “We’re beasts,” said Teddy. “Beasts!” + </p> + <p> + But Miss Miniver took no notice of his admission. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating + voice—“we DO please men. We have that gift. We can see round them + and behind them and through them, and most of us use that knowledge, in + the silent way we have, for our great ends. Not all of us, but some of us. + Too many. I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if + we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE + were.” A flush of excitement crept into her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Maternity,” she said, “has been our undoing.” + </p> + <p> + From that she opened out into a long, confused emphatic discourse on the + position of women, full of wonderful statements, while Constance worked at + her stencilling and Ann Veronica and Hetty listened, and Teddy contributed + sympathetic noises and consumed cheap cigarettes. As she talked she made + weak little gestures with her hands, and she thrust her face forward from + her bent shoulders; and she peered sometimes at Ann Veronica and sometimes + at a photograph of the Axenstrasse, near Fluelen, that hung upon the wall. + Ann Veronica watched her face, vaguely sympathizing with her, vaguely + disliking her physical insufficiency and her convulsive movements, and the + fine eyebrows were knit with a faint perplexity. Essentially the talk was + a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments + indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of + strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. Ann Veronica had had some training + at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, + and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was + something—something real, something that signified. But it was very + hard to follow. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that + ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s + cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly + accumulated. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong. + </p> + <p> + “We are the species,” said Miss Miniver, “men are only incidents. They + give themselves airs, but so it is. In all the species of animals the + females are more important than the males; the males have to please them. + Look at the cock’s feathers, look at the competition there is everywhere, + except among humans. The stags and oxen and things all have to fight for + us, everywhere. Only in man is the male made the most important. And that + happens through our maternity; it’s our very importance that degrades us. + </p> + <p> + “While we were minding the children they stole our rights and liberties. + The children made us slaves, and the men took advantage of it. It’s—Mrs. + Shalford says—the accidental conquering the essential. Originally in + the first animals there were no males, none at all. It has been proved. + Then they appear among the lower things”—she made meticulous + gestures to figure the scale of life; she seemed to be holding up + specimens, and peering through her glasses at them—“among + crustaceans and things, just as little creatures, ever so inferior to the + females. Mere hangers on. Things you would laugh at. And among human + beings, too, women to begin with were the rulers and leaders; they owned + all the property, they invented all the arts. + </p> + <p> + “The primitive government was the Matriarchate. The Matriarchate! The + Lords of Creation just ran about and did what they were told.” + </p> + <p> + “But is that really so?” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “It has been proved,” said Miss Miniver, and added, “by American + professors.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did they prove it?” + </p> + <p> + “By science,” said Miss Miniver, and hurried on, putting out a rhetorical + hand that showed a slash of finger through its glove. “And now, look at + us! See what we have become. Toys! Delicate trifles! A sex of invalids. It + is we who have become the parasites and toys.” + </p> + <p> + It was, Ann Veronica felt, at once absurd and extraordinarily right. + Hetty, who had periods of lucid expression, put the thing for her from her + pillow. She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical + pause. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t quite that we’re toys. Nobody toys with me. Nobody regards + Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle.” + </p> + <p> + Teddy made some confused noise, a thoracic street row; some remark was + assassinated by a rival in his throat and buried hastily under a cough. + </p> + <p> + “They’d better not,” said Hetty. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t + the word; we’re litter. We’re handfuls. We’re regarded as inflammable + litter that mustn’t be left about. We are the species, and maternity is + our game; that’s all right, but nobody wants that admitted for fear we + should all catch fire, and set about fulfilling the purpose of our beings + without waiting for further explanations. As if we didn’t know! The + practical trouble is our ages. They used to marry us off at seventeen, + rush us into things before we had time to protest. They don’t now. Heaven + knows why! They don’t marry most of us off now until high up in the + twenties. And the age gets higher. We have to hang about in the interval. + There’s a great gulf opened, and nobody’s got any plans what to do with + us. So the world is choked with waste and waiting daughters. Hanging + about! And they start thinking and asking questions, and begin to be + neither one thing nor the other. We’re partly human beings and partly + females in suspense.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Miniver followed with an expression of perplexity, her mouth shaped + to futile expositions. The Widgett method of thought puzzled her weakly + rhetorical mind. “There is no remedy, girls,” she began, breathlessly, + “except the Vote. Give us that—” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica came in with a certain disregard of Miss Miniver. “That’s + it,” she said. “They have no plans for us. They have no ideas what to do + with us.” + </p> + <p> + “Except,” said Constance, surveying her work with her head on one side, + “to keep the matches from the litter.” + </p> + <p> + “And they won’t let us make plans for ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “We will,” said Miss Miniver, refusing to be suppressed, “if some of us + have to be killed to get it.” And she pressed her lips together in white + resolution and nodded, and she was manifestly full of that same passion + for conflict and self-sacrifice that has given the world martyrs since the + beginning of things. “I wish I could make every woman, every girl, see + this as clearly as I see it—just what the Vote means to us. Just + what it means....” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + As Ann Veronica went back along the Avenue to her aunt she became aware of + a light-footed pursuer running. Teddy overtook her, a little out of + breath, his innocent face flushed, his straw-colored hair disordered. He + was out of breath, and spoke in broken sentences. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Vee. Half a minute, Vee. It’s like this: You want freedom. Look + here. You know—if you want freedom. Just an idea of mine. You know + how those Russian students do? In Russia. Just a formal marriage. Mere + formality. Liberates the girl from parental control. See? You marry me. + Simply. No further responsibility whatever. Without hindrance—present + occupation. Why not? Quite willing. Get a license—just an idea of + mine. Doesn’t matter a bit to me. Do anything to please you, Vee. + Anything. Not fit to be dust on your boots. Still—there you are!” + </p> + <p> + He paused. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica’s desire to laugh unrestrainedly was checked by the + tremendous earnestness of his expression. “Awfully good of you, Teddy.” + she said. + </p> + <p> + He nodded silently, too full for words. + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t see,” said Ann Veronica, “just how it fits the present + situation.” + </p> + <p> + “No! Well, I just suggested it. Threw it out. Of course, if at any time—see + reason—alter your opinion. Always at your service. No offence, I + hope. All right! I’m off. Due to play hockey. Jackson’s. Horrid snorters! + So long, Vee! Just suggested it. See? Nothing really. Passing thought.” + </p> + <p> + “Teddy,” said Ann Veronica, “you’re a dear!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, quite!” said Teddy, convulsively, and lifted an imaginary hat and + left her. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + The call Ann Veronica paid with her aunt that afternoon had at first much + the same relation to the Widgett conversation that a plaster statue of Mr. + Gladstone would have to a carelessly displayed interior on a + dissecting-room table. The Widgetts talked with a remarkable absence of + external coverings; the Palsworthys found all the meanings of life on its + surfaces. They seemed the most wrapped things in all Ann Veronica’s + wrappered world. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, + but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost + pitiless sunlight. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won + his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century + attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s + deceased curate. She was the social leader of Morningside Park, and in her + superficial and euphuistic way an extremely kind and pleasant woman. With + her lived a Mrs. Pramlay, a sister of the Morningside Park doctor, and a + very active and useful member of the Committee of the Impoverished + Gentlewomen’s Aid Society. Both ladies were on easy and friendly terms + with all that was best in Morningside Park society; they had an afternoon + once a month that was quite well attended, they sometimes gave musical + evenings, they dined out and gave a finish to people’s dinners, they had a + full-sized croquet lawn and tennis beyond, and understood the art of + bringing people together. And they never talked of anything at all, never + discussed, never even encouraged gossip. They were just nice. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica found herself walking back down the Avenue that had just been + the scene of her first proposal beside her aunt, and speculating for the + first time in her life about that lady’s mental attitudes. Her prevailing + effect was one of quiet and complete assurance, as though she knew all + about everything, and was only restrained by her instinctive delicacy from + telling what she knew. But the restraint exercised by her instinctive + delicacy was very great; over and above coarse or sexual matters it + covered religion and politics and any mention of money matters or crime, + and Ann Veronica found herself wondering whether these exclusions + represented, after all, anything more than suppressions. Was there + anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully + furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, + or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the + gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The + image was going astray. But what would her aunt think of Teddy’s recent + off-hand suggestion of marriage? What would she think of the Widgett + conversation? Suppose she was to tell her aunt quietly but firmly about + the parasitic males of degraded crustacea. The girl suppressed a chuckle + that would have been inexplicable. + </p> + <p> + There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of + indecorous humor. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this + grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled + and rioted. After all, she found herself reflecting, behind her aunt’s + complacent visage there was a past as lurid as any one’s—not, of + course, her aunt’s own personal past, which was apparently just that + curate and almost incredibly jejune, but an ancestral past with all sorts + of scandalous things in it: fire and slaughterings, exogamy, marriage by + capture, corroborees, cannibalism! Ancestresses with perhaps dim + anticipatory likenesses to her aunt, their hair less neatly done, no + doubt, their manners and gestures as yet undisciplined, but still + ancestresses in the direct line, must have danced through a brief and + stirring life in the woady buff. Was there no echo anywhere in Miss + Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the + equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors. Perhaps it was just as + well there was no inherited memory. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica was by this time quite shocked at her own thoughts, and yet + they would go on with their freaks. Great vistas of history opened, and + she and her aunt were near reverting to the primitive and passionate and + entirely indecorous arboreal—were swinging from branches by the + arms, and really going on quite dreadfully—when their arrival at + the Palsworthys’ happily checked this play of fancy, and brought Ann + Veronica back to the exigencies of the wrappered life again. + </p> + <p> + Lady Palsworthy liked Ann Veronica because she was never awkward, had + steady eyes, and an almost invariable neatness and dignity in her clothes. + She seemed just as stiff and shy as a girl ought to be, Lady Palsworthy + thought, neither garrulous nor unready, and free from nearly all the heavy + aggressiveness, the overgrown, overblown quality, the egotism and want of + consideration of the typical modern girl. But then Lady Palsworthy had + never seen Ann Veronica running like the wind at hockey. She had never + seen her sitting on tables nor heard her discussing theology, and had + failed to observe that the graceful figure was a natural one and not due + to ably chosen stays. She took it for granted Ann Veronica wore stays—mild + stays, perhaps, but stays, and thought no more of the matter. She had seen + her really only at teas, with the Stanley strain in her uppermost. There + are so many girls nowadays who are quite unpresentable at tea, with their + untrimmed laughs, their awful dispositions of their legs when they sit + down, their slangy disrespect; they no longer smoke, it is true, like the + girls of the eighties and nineties, nevertheless to a fine intelligence + they have the flavor of tobacco. They have no amenities, they scratch the + mellow surface of things almost as if they did it on purpose; and Lady + Palsworthy and Mrs. Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces + of things. Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must + have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a + little gathering without the risk of a painful discord. Then the distant + relationship to Miss Stanley gave them a slight but pleasant sense of + proprietorship in the girl. They had their little dreams about her. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened + by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its + tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with + smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. Her eye met Miss Stanley’s + understandingly, and she was if anything a trifle more affectionate in her + greeting to Ann Veronica. Then Ann Veronica passed on toward the tea in + the garden, which was dotted with the elite of Morningside Park society, + and there she was pounced upon by Lady Palsworthy and given tea and led + about. Across the lawn and hovering indecisively, Ann Veronica saw and + immediately affected not to see Mr. Manning, Lady Palsworthy’s nephew, a + tall young man of seven-and-thirty with a handsome, thoughtful, impassive + face, a full black mustache, and a certain heavy luxuriousness of gesture. + The party resolved itself for Ann Veronica into a game in which she + manoeuvred unostentatiously and finally unsuccessfully to avoid talking + alone with this gentleman. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Manning had shown on previous occasions that he found Ann Veronica + interesting and that he wished to interest her. He was a civil servant of + some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a + sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small + volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a + matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. It dealt with fine aspects + of Mr. Manning’s feelings, and as Ann Veronica’s mind was still largely + engaged with fundamentals and found no pleasure in metrical forms, she had + not as yet cut its pages. So that as she saw him she remarked to herself + very faintly but definitely, “Oh, golly!” and set up a campaign of + avoidance that Mr. Manning at last broke down by coming directly at her as + she talked with the vicar’s aunt about some of the details of the alleged + smell of the new church lamps. He did not so much cut into this + conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously + stooping, man. + </p> + <p> + The face that looked down upon Ann Veronica was full of amiable intention. + “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said. “How well and + jolly you must be feeling.” + </p> + <p> + He beamed over the effect of this and shook hands with effusion, and Lady + Palsworthy suddenly appeared as his confederate and disentangled the + vicar’s aunt. + </p> + <p> + “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. “I’ve + tried to make words tell it. It’s no good. Mild, you know, and boon. You + want music.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica agreed, and tried to make the manner of her assent cover a + possible knowledge of a probable poem. + </p> + <p> + “Splendid it must be to be a composer. Glorious! The Pastoral. Beethoven; + he’s the best of them. Don’t you think? Tum, tay, tum, tay.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica did. + </p> + <p> + “What have you been doing since our last talk? Still cutting up rabbits + and probing into things? I’ve often thought of that talk of ours—often.” + </p> + <p> + He did not appear to require any answer to his question. + </p> + <p> + “Often,” he repeated, a little heavily. + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful these autumn flowers are,” said Ann Veronica, in a wide, + uncomfortable pause. + </p> + <p> + “Do come and see the Michaelmas daisies at the end of the garden,” said + Mr. Manning, “they’re a dream.” And Ann Veronica found herself being + carried off to an isolation even remoter and more conspicuous than the + corner of the lawn, with the whole of the party aiding and abetting and + glancing at them. “Damn!” said Ann Veronica to herself, rousing herself + for a conflict. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Manning told her he loved beauty, and extorted a similar admission + from her; he then expatiated upon his own love of beauty. He said that for + him beauty justified life, that he could not imagine a good action that + was not a beautiful one nor any beautiful thing that could be altogether + bad. Ann Veronica hazarded an opinion that as a matter of history some + very beautiful people had, to a quite considerable extent, been bad, but + Mr. Manning questioned whether when they were bad they were really + beautiful or when they were beautiful bad. Ann Veronica found her + attention wandering a little as he told her that he was not ashamed to + feel almost slavish in the presence of really beautiful people, and then + they came to the Michaelmas daisies. They were really very fine and + abundant, with a blaze of perennial sunflowers behind them. + </p> + <p> + “They make me want to shout,” said Mr. Manning, with a sweep of the arm. + </p> + <p> + “They’re very good this year,” said Ann Veronica, avoiding controversial + matter. + </p> + <p> + “Either I want to shout,” said Mr. Manning, “when I see beautiful things, + or else I want to weep.” He paused and looked at her, and said, with a + sudden drop into a confidential undertone, “Or else I want to pray.” + </p> + <p> + “When is Michaelmas Day?” said Ann Veronica, a little abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven knows!” said Mr. Manning; and added, “the twenty-ninth.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was earlier,” said Ann Veronica. “Wasn’t Parliament to + reassemble?” + </p> + <p> + He put out his hand and leaned against a tree and crossed his legs. + “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of + protest. + </p> + <p> + “Well, rather,” said Ann Veronica. “It seems—It’s interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so? I find my interest in that sort of thing decline and + decline.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m curious. Perhaps because I don’t know. I suppose an intelligent + person OUGHT to be interested in political affairs. They concern us all.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said Mr. Manning, with a baffling smile. + </p> + <p> + “I think they do. After all, they’re history in the making.” + </p> + <p> + “A sort of history,” said Mr. Manning; and repeated, “a sort of history. + But look at these glorious daisies!” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you think political questions ARE important?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think they are this afternoon, and I don’t think they are to + you.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica turned her back on the Michaelmas daisies, and faced toward + the house with an air of a duty completed. + </p> + <p> + “Just come to that seat now you are here, Miss Stanley, and look down the + other path; there’s a vista of just the common sort. Better even than + these.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica walked as he indicated. + </p> + <p> + “You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley. I don’t think women need to + trouble about political questions.” + </p> + <p> + “I want a vote,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Really!” said Mr. Manning, in an earnest voice, and waved his hand to the + alley of mauve and purple. “I wish you didn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” She turned on him. + </p> + <p> + “It jars. It jars with all my ideas. Women to me are something so serene, + so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome + and quarrelsome. It seems to me a woman’s duty to be beautiful, to BE + beautiful and to behave beautifully, and politics are by their very nature + ugly. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. I worshipped women long + before I found any woman I might ever hope to worship. Long ago. And—the + idea of committees, of hustings, of agenda-papers!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why the responsibility of beauty should all be shifted on to + the women,” said Ann Veronica, suddenly remembering a part of Miss + Miniver’s discourse. + </p> + <p> + “It rests with them by the nature of things. Why should you who are queens + come down from your thrones? If you can afford it, WE can’t. We can’t + afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona + Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. + Womanhood is sacred to me. My politics in that matter wouldn’t be to give + women votes. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley.” + </p> + <p> + “WHAT?” said Ann Veronica, startled. + </p> + <p> + “A Socialist of the order of John Ruskin. Indeed I am! I would make this + country a collective monarchy, and all the girls and women in it should be + the Queen. They should never come into contact with politics or economics—or + any of those things. And we men would work for them and serve them in + loyal fealty.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s rather the theory now,” said Ann Veronica. “Only so many men + neglect their duties.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Manning, with an air of emerging from an elaborate + demonstration, “and so each of us must, under existing conditions, being + chivalrous indeed to all women, choose for himself his own particular and + worshipful queen.” + </p> + <p> + “So far as one can judge from the system in practice,” said Ann Veronica, + speaking in a loud, common-sense, detached tone, and beginning to walk + slowly but resolutely toward the lawn, “it doesn’t work.” + </p> + <p> + “Every one must be experimental,” said Mr. Manning, and glanced round + hastily for further horticultural points of interest in secluded corners. + None presented themselves to save him from that return. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all very well when one isn’t the material experimented upon,” Ann + Veronica had remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Women would—they DO have far more power than they think, as + influences, as inspirations.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica said nothing in answer to that. + </p> + <p> + “You say you want a vote,” said Mr. Manning, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “I think I ought to have one.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have two,” said Mr. Manning—“one in Oxford University and + one in Kensington.” He caught up and went on with a sort of clumsiness: + “Let me present you with them and be your voter.” + </p> + <p> + There followed an instant’s pause, and then Ann Veronica had decided to + misunderstand. + </p> + <p> + “I want a vote for myself,” she said. “I don’t see why I should take it + second-hand. Though it’s very kind of you. And rather unscrupulous. Have + you ever voted, Mr. Manning? I suppose there’s a sort of place like a + ticket-office. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of + intellectual conflict. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as + though it was very important to her. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Manning regarded her thoughtfully for a moment and stroked his + mustache. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box.” + He made quite a long pause, and went on, with a sigh: “You have a voting + paper given you—” + </p> + <p> + They emerged into the publicity of the lawn. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ann Veronica, “yes,” to his explanation, and saw across the + lawn Lady Palsworthy talking to her aunt, and both of them staring frankly + across at her and Mr. Manning as they talked. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE THIRD + </h2> + <h3> + THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS + </h3> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. It + would have been a crisis anyhow, but it was complicated in Ann Veronica’s + mind by the fact that a letter lay on the breakfast-table from Mr. + Manning, and that her aunt focussed a brightly tactful disregard upon this + throughout the meal. Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the + world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all + opposition. She did not know Mr. Manning’s handwriting, and opened his + letter and read some lines before its import appeared. Then for a time she + forgot the Fadden affair altogether. With a well-simulated unconcern and a + heightened color she finished her breakfast. + </p> + <p> + She was not obliged to go to the Tredgold College, because as yet the + College had not settled down for the session. She was supposed to be + reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable + garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused + greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows + of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed + the reading of Mr. Manning’s letter. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Manning’s handwriting had an air of being clear without being easily + legible; it was large and rather roundish, with a lack of definition about + the letters and a disposition to treat the large ones as liberal-minded + people nowadays treat opinions, as all amounting to the same thing really—a + years-smoothed boyish rather than an adult hand. And it filled seven + sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side. + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my + bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our + conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to + say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. It is the worst + of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off + so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had + said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to + say to you and that were coursing through my head. They were things I had + meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and + disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses. I + wonder if you will mind very much when I tell you they were suggested by + you. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. Here is one verse. The + metrical irregularity is intentional, because I want, as it were, to put + you apart: to change the lilt and the mood altogether when I speak of you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘A SONG OF LADIES AND MY LADY + + “‘Saintly white and a lily is Mary, + Margaret’s violets, sweet and shy; + Green and dewy is Nellie-bud fairy, + Forget-me-nots live in Gwendolen’s eye. + Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, + Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; + But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, + She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes.’ +</pre> + <p> + “Crude, I admit. But let that verse tell my secret. All bad verse—originally + the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work + and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it + beyond measure. There we were discussing whether you should have a vote, + and I remembered the last occasion we met it was about your prospects of + success in the medical profession or as a Government official such as a + number of women now are, and all the time my heart was crying out within + me, ‘Here is the Queen of your career.’ I wanted, as I have never wanted + before, to take you up, to make you mine, to carry you off and set you + apart from all the strain and turmoil of life. For nothing will ever + convince me that it is not the man’s share in life to shield, to protect, + to lead and toil and watch and battle with the world at large. I want to + be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely + write the word—your husband. So I come suppliant. I am + five-and-thirty, and I have knocked about in the world and tasted the + quality of life. I had a hard fight to begin with to win my way into the + Upper Division—I was third on a list of forty-seven—and since + then I have found myself promoted almost yearly in a widening sphere of + social service. Before I met you I never met any one whom I felt I could + love, but you have discovered depths in my own nature I had scarcely + suspected. Except for a few early ebullitions of passion, natural to a + warm and romantic disposition, and leaving no harmful after-effects—ebullitions + that by the standards of the higher truth I feel no one can justly cast a + stone at, and of which I for one am by no means ashamed—I come to + you a pure and unencumbered man. I love you. In addition to my public + salary I have a certain private property and further expectations through + my aunt, so that I can offer you a life of wide and generous refinement, + travel, books, discussion, and easy relations with a circle of clever and + brilliant and thoughtful people with whom my literary work has brought me + into contact, and of which, seeing me only as you have done alone in + Morningside Park, you can have no idea. I have a certain standing not only + as a singer but as a critic, and I belong to one of the most brilliant + causerie dinner clubs of the day, in which successful Bohemianism, + politicians, men of affairs, artists, sculptors, and cultivated noblemen + generally, mingle together in the easiest and most delightful intercourse. + That is my real milieu, and one that I am convinced you would not only + adorn but delight in. + </p> + <p> + “I find it very hard to write this letter. There are so many things I want + to tell you, and they stand on such different levels, that the effect is + necessarily confusing and discordant, and I find myself doubting if I am + really giving you the thread of emotion that should run through all this + letter. For although I must confess it reads very much like an application + or a testimonial or some such thing as that, I can assure you I am writing + this in fear and trembling with a sinking heart. My mind is full of ideas + and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of + travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly + restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing + you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; + of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there + are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor + is quite within my means. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just + quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but + I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. I have often + felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write + easy poetry. Witness Browning. And how can I get into one brief letter the + complex accumulated desires of what is now, I find on reference to my + diary, nearly sixteen months of letting my mind run on you—ever + since that jolly party at Surbiton, where we raced and beat the other + boat. You steered and I rowed stroke. My very sentences stumble and give + way. But I do not even care if I am absurd. I am a resolute man, and + hitherto when I have wanted a thing I have got it; but I have never yet + wanted anything in my life as I have wanted you. It isn’t the same thing. + I am afraid because I love you, so that the mere thought of failure hurts. + If I did not love you so much I believe I could win you by sheer force of + character, for people tell me I am naturally of the dominating type. Most + of my successes in life have been made with a sort of reckless vigor. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have said what I had to say, stumblingly and badly, and baldly. + But I am sick of tearing up letters and hopeless of getting what I have to + say better said. It would be easy enough for me to write an eloquent + letter about something else. Only I do not care to write about anything + else. Let me put the main question to you now that I could not put the + other afternoon. Will you marry me, Ann Veronica? + </p> + <p> + “Very sincerely yours, + </p> + <p> + “HUBERT MANNING.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica read this letter through with grave, attentive eyes. + </p> + <p> + Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared. Twice she + smiled, but not unkindly. Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a + search for particular passages. Finally she fell into reflection. + </p> + <p> + “Odd!” she said. “I suppose I shall have to write an answer. It’s so + different from what one has been led to expect.” + </p> + <p> + She became aware of her aunt, through the panes of the greenhouse, + advancing with an air of serene unconsciousness from among the raspberry + canes. + </p> + <p> + “No you don’t!” said Ann Veronica, and walked out at a brisk and + business-like pace toward the house. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Alone, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, aunt. I’ve got a lot of things to think about.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Stanley reflected as Ann Veronica went toward the house. She thought + her niece very hard and very self-possessed and self-confident. She ought + to be softened and tender and confidential at this phase of her life. She + seemed to have no idea whatever of the emotional states that were becoming + to her age and position. Miss Stanley walked round the garden thinking, + and presently house and garden reverberated to Ann Veronica’s slamming of + the front door. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder!” said Miss Stanley. + </p> + <p> + For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they + offered an explanation. Then she went in and up-stairs, hesitated on the + landing, and finally, a little breathless and with an air of great + dignity, opened the door and walked into Ann Veronica’s room. It was a + neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a + business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s + skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, + black-covered note-books. In the corner of the room were two hockey-sticks + and a tennis-racket, and upon the walls Ann Veronica, by means of + autotypes, had indicated her proclivities in art. But Miss Stanley took no + notice of these things. She walked straight across to the wardrobe and + opened it. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a + skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it + could hardly reach below the knee. On the same peg and evidently belonging + to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. And then! a garment that was + conceivably a secondary skirt. + </p> + <p> + Miss Stanley hesitated, and took first one and then another of the + constituents of this costume off its peg and surveyed it. + </p> + <p> + The third item she took with a trembling hand by its waistbelt. As she + raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses. + </p> + <p> + “TROUSERS!” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes travelled about the room as if in appeal to the very chairs. + </p> + <p> + Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers + of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. She walked over to them + still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. + They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would + seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. + </p> + <p> + Then she reverted to the trousers. + </p> + <p> + “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + Ann Veronica carried a light but business-like walking-stick. She walked + with an easy quickness down the Avenue and through the proletarian portion + of Morningside Park, and crossing these fields came into a pretty overhung + lane that led toward Caddington and the Downs. And then her pace + slackened. She tucked her stick under her arm and re-read Manning’s + letter. + </p> + <p> + “Let me think,” said Ann Veronica. “I wish this hadn’t turned up to-day of + all days.” + </p> + <p> + She found it difficult to begin thinking, and indeed she was anything but + clear what it was she had to think about. Practically it was most of the + chief interests in life that she proposed to settle in this pedestrian + meditation. Primarily it was her own problem, and in particular the answer + she had to give to Mr. Manning’s letter, but in order to get data for that + she found that she, having a logical and ordered mind, had to decide upon + the general relations of men to women, the objects and conditions of + marriage and its bearing upon the welfare of the race, the purpose of the + race, the purpose, if any, of everything.... + </p> + <p> + “Frightful lot of things aren’t settled,” said Ann Veronica. In addition, + the Fadden Dance business, all out of proportion, occupied the whole + foreground of her thoughts and threw a color of rebellion over everything. + She kept thinking she was thinking about Mr. Manning’s proposal of + marriage and finding she was thinking of the dance. + </p> + <p> + For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were + dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing + of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad + mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. When she got back + to her questions again in the monotonous high-road that led up the hill, + she found the image of Mr. Manning central in her mind. He stood there, + large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large + mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. He proposed, he + wanted to possess her! He loved her. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica felt no repulsion at the prospect. That Mr. Manning loved her + presented itself to her bloodlessly, stilled from any imaginative quiver + or thrill of passion or disgust. The relationship seemed to have almost as + much to do with blood and body as a mortgage. It was something that would + create a mutual claim, a relationship. It was in another world from that + in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that + burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately + beautiful things. + </p> + <p> + But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always + looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and + rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining + out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her + dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage + walls of her mind. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting + outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice + that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend + not to hear. Its shouting now did in some occult manner convey a protest + that Mr. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and + handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that + a husband should be. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, + no movement, nothing about him that warmed. If Ann Veronica could have put + words to that song they would have been, “Hot-blooded marriage or none!” + but she was far too indistinct in this matter to frame any words at all. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t love him,” said Ann Veronica, getting a gleam. “I don’t see that + his being a good sort matters. That really settles about that.... But it + means no end of a row.” + </p> + <p> + For a time she sat on a rail before leaving the road for the downland + turf. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to.” + </p> + <p> + Her thoughts went into solution for a time, while she listened to a lark + singing. + </p> + <p> + “Marriage and mothering,” said Ann Veronica, with her mind crystallizing + out again as the lark dropped to the nest in the turf. “And all the rest + of it perhaps is a song.” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + Her mind got back to the Fadden Ball. + </p> + <p> + She meant to go, she meant to go, she meant to go. Nothing would stop her, + and she was prepared to face the consequences. Suppose her father turned + her out of doors! She did not care, she meant to go. She would just walk + out of the house and go.... + </p> + <p> + She thought of her costume in some detail and with considerable + satisfaction, and particularly of a very jolly property dagger with large + glass jewels in the handle, that reposed in a drawer in her room. She was + to be a Corsair’s Bride. “Fancy stabbing a man for jealousy!” she thought. + “You’d have to think how to get in between his bones.” + </p> + <p> + She thought of her father, and with an effort dismissed him from her mind. + </p> + <p> + She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had + never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. Mr. Manning came into her + thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the + Fadden. One might suppose him turning up; he knew a lot of clever people, + and some of them might belong to the class. What would he come as? + </p> + <p> + Presently she roused herself with a guilty start from the task of dressing + and re-dressing Mr. Manning in fancy costume, as though he was a doll. She + had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There + IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as + a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which + was better, and as an Arab sheik. Also she had tried him as a dragoman and + as a gendarme, which seemed the most suitable of all to his severely + handsome, immobile profile. She felt he would tell people the way, control + traffic, and refuse admission to public buildings with invincible + correctness and the very finest explicit feelings possible. For each + costume she had devised a suitable form of matrimonial refusal. “Oh, + Lord!” she said, discovering what she was up to, and dropped lightly from + the fence upon the turf and went on her way toward the crest. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never marry,” said Ann Veronica, resolutely; “I’m not the sort. + That’s why it’s so important I should take my own line now.” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + Ann Veronica’s ideas of marriage were limited and unsystematic. Her + teachers and mistresses had done their best to stamp her mind with an + ineradicable persuasion that it was tremendously important, and on no + account to be thought about. Her first intimations of marriage as a fact + of extreme significance in a woman’s life had come with the marriage of + Alice and the elopement of her second sister, Gwen. + </p> + <p> + These convulsions occurred when Ann Veronica was about twelve. There was a + gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an + impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. These sisters + moved in a grown-up world inaccessible to Ann Veronica’s sympathies, and + to a large extent remote from her curiosity. She got into rows through + meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully + concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her + bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared + to go out with her mother. She thought Alice a bit of a sneak, an opinion + her brothers shared, and Gwen rather a snatch at meals. She saw nothing of + their love-making, and came home from her boarding-school in a state of + decently suppressed curiosity for Alice’s wedding. + </p> + <p> + Her impressions of this cardinal ceremony were rich and confused, + complicated by a quite transitory passion that awakened no reciprocal fire + for a fat curly headed cousin in black velveteen and a lace collar, who + assisted as a page. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, + after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to + “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. + Afterward her brother Roddy, also strange in velveteen, feeling rather + than knowing of this relationship, punched this Adonis’s head. + </p> + <p> + A marriage in the house proved to be exciting but extremely disorganizing. + Everything seemed designed to unhinge the mind and make the cat wretched. + All the furniture was moved, all the meals were disarranged, and + everybody, Ann Veronica included, appeared in new, bright costumes. She + had to wear cream and a brown sash and a short frock and her hair down, + and Gwen cream and a brown sash and a long skirt and her hair up. And her + mother, looking unusually alert and hectic, wore cream and brown also, + made up in a more complicated manner. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica was much impressed by a mighty trying on and altering and + fussing about Alice’s “things”—Alice was being re-costumed from + garret to cellar, with a walking-dress and walking-boots to measure, and a + bride’s costume of the most ravishing description, and stockings and such + like beyond the dreams of avarice—and a constant and increasing + dripping into the house of irrelevant remarkable objects, such as— + </p> + <p> + Real lace bedspread; + </p> + <p> + Gilt travelling clock; + </p> + <p> + Ornamental pewter plaque; + </p> + <p> + Salad bowl (silver mounted) and servers; + </p> + <p> + Madgett’s “English Poets” (twelve volumes), bound purple morocco; + </p> + <p> + Etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, + preoccupied, almost depressed figure. It was Doctor Ralph, formerly the + partner of Doctor Stickell in the Avenue, and now with a thriving practice + of his own in Wamblesmith. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over + in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had + attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the + fish-bone. But his role was altered, and he was now playing the bridegroom + in this remarkable drama. Alice was going to be Mrs. Ralph. He came in + apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he + asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, + </p> + <p> + “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his + old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray + trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most + becoming roll.... + </p> + <p> + It was not simply that all the rooms were rearranged and everybody dressed + in unusual fashions, and all the routines of life abolished and put away: + people’s tempers and emotions also seemed strangely disturbed and shifted + about. Her father was distinctly irascible, and disposed more than ever to + hide away among the petrological things—the study was turned out. At + table he carved in a gloomy but resolute manner. On the Day he had + trumpet-like outbreaks of cordiality, varied by a watchful preoccupation. + Gwen and Alice were fantastically friendly, which seemed to annoy him, and + Mrs. Stanley was throughout enigmatical, with an anxious eye on her + husband and Alice. + </p> + <p> + There was a confused impression of livery carriages and whips with white + favors, people fussily wanting other people to get in before them, and + then the church. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky + emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica had a number of fragmentary impressions of Alice strangely + transfigured in bridal raiment. It seemed to make her sister downcast + beyond any precedent. The bridesmaids and pages got rather jumbled in the + aisle, and she had an effect of Alice’s white back and sloping shoulders + and veiled head receding toward the altar. In some incomprehensible way + that back view made her feel sorry for Alice. Also she remembered very + vividly the smell of orange blossom, and Alice, drooping and spiritless, + mumbling responses, facing Doctor Ralph, while the Rev. Edward Bribble + stood between them with an open book. Doctor Ralph looked kind and large, + and listened to Alice’s responses as though he was listening to symptoms + and thought that on the whole she was progressing favorably. + </p> + <p> + And afterward her mother and Alice kissed long and clung to each other. + And Doctor Ralph stood by looking considerate. He and her father shook + hands manfully. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica had got quite interested in Mr. Bribble’s rendering of the + service—he had the sort of voice that brings out things—and + was still teeming with ideas about it when finally a wild outburst from + the organ made it clear that, whatever snivelling there might be down in + the chancel, that excellent wind instrument was, in its Mendelssohnian + way, as glad as ever it could be. “Pump, pump, per-um-pump, Pum, Pump, + Per-um....” + </p> + <p> + The wedding-breakfast was for Ann Veronica a spectacle of the unreal + consuming the real; she liked that part very well, until she was + carelessly served against her expressed wishes with mayonnaise. She was + caught by an uncle, whose opinion she valued, making faces at Roddy + because he had exulted at this. + </p> + <p> + Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at + the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind + naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further + digestion. Only one thing emerged with any reasonable clarity in her mind + at once, and that was that unless she was saved from drowning by an + unmarried man, in which case the ceremony is unavoidable, or totally + destitute of under-clothing, and so driven to get a trousseau, in which + hardship a trousseau would certainly be “ripping,” marriage was an + experience to be strenuously evaded. + </p> + <p> + When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice + had cried. + </p> + <p> + “Ssh!” said her mother, and then added, “A little natural feeling, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “But didn’t Alice want to marry Doctor Ralph?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ssh, Vee!” said her mother, with an evasion as patent as an + advertisement board. “I am sure she will be very happy indeed with Doctor + Ralph.” + </p> + <p> + But Ann Veronica was by no means sure of that until she went over to + Wamblesmith and saw her sister, very remote and domestic and + authoritative, in a becoming tea-gown, in command of Doctor Ralph’s home. + Doctor Ralph came in to tea and put his arm round Alice and kissed her, + and Alice called him “Squiggles,” and stood in the shelter of his arms for + a moment with an expression of satisfied proprietorship. She HAD cried, + Ann Veronica knew. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended + through half-open doors. She had heard Alice talking and crying at the + same time, a painful noise. Perhaps marriage hurt. But now it was all + over, and Alice was getting on well. It reminded Ann Veronica of having a + tooth stopped. + </p> + <p> + And after that Alice became remoter than ever, and, after a time, ill. + Then she had a baby and became as old as any really grown-up person, or + older, and very dull. Then she and her husband went off to a Yorkshire + practice, and had four more babies, none of whom photographed well, and so + she passed beyond the sphere of Ann Veronica’s sympathies altogether. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 5 + </h2> + <p> + The Gwen affair happened when she was away at school at Marticombe-on-Sea, + a term before she went to the High School, and was never very clear to + her. + </p> + <p> + Her mother missed writing for a week, and then she wrote in an unusual + key. “My dear,” the letter ran, “I have to tell you that your sister Gwen + has offended your father very much. I hope you will always love her, but I + want you to remember she has offended your father and married without his + consent. Your father is very angry, and will not have her name mentioned + in his hearing. She has married some one he could not approve of, and gone + right away....” + </p> + <p> + When the next holidays came Ann Veronica’s mother was ill, and Gwen was in + the sick-room when Ann Veronica returned home. She was in one of her old + walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a + wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Gwen!” said Ann Veronica, trying to put every one at their ease. + “Been and married?... What’s the name of the happy man?” + </p> + <p> + Gwen owned to “Fortescue.” + </p> + <p> + “Got a photograph of him or anything?” said Ann Veronica, after kissing + her mother. + </p> + <p> + Gwen made an inquiry, and, directed by Mrs. Stanley, produced a portrait + from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. It presented a + clean-shaven face with a large Corinthian nose, hair tremendously waving + off the forehead and more chin and neck than is good for a man. + </p> + <p> + “LOOKS all right,” said Ann Veronica, regarding him with her head first on + one side and then on the other, and trying to be agreeable. “What’s the + objection?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter + the key of the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Vee,” said Mrs. Stanley, “Mr. Fortescue is an actor, and your + father does not approve of the profession.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Ann Veronica. “I thought they made knights of actors?” + </p> + <p> + “They may of Hal some day,” said Gwen. “But it’s a long business.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose this makes you an actress?” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of + languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. “The other women don’t + much like it if husband and wife work together, and I don’t think Hal + would like me to act away from him.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica regarded her sister with a new respect, but the traditions of + family life are strong. “I don’t suppose you’ll be able to do it much,” + said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + Later Gwen’s trouble weighed so heavily on Mrs. Stanley in her illness + that her husband consented to receive Mr. Fortescue in the drawing-room, + and actually shake hands with him in an entirely hopeless manner and hope + everything would turn out for the best. + </p> + <p> + The forgiveness and reconciliation was a cold and formal affair, and + afterwards her father went off gloomily to his study, and Mr. Fortescue + rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian + nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard + at the fruit-trees against the wall. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica watched him from the dining-room window, and after some + moments of maidenly hesitation rambled out into the garden in a reverse + direction to Mr. Fortescue’s steps, and encountered him with an air of + artless surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” said Ann Veronica, with arms akimbo and a careless, breathless + manner. “You Mr. Fortescue?” + </p> + <p> + “At your service. You Ann Veronica?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather! I say—did you marry Gwen?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression. + “I suppose I fell in love with her, Ann Veronica.” + </p> + <p> + “Rum,” said Ann Veronica. “Have you got to keep her now?” + </p> + <p> + “To the best of my ability,” said Mr. Fortescue, with a bow. + </p> + <p> + “Have you much ability?” asked Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fortescue tried to act embarrassment in order to conceal its reality, + and Ann Veronica went on to ask a string of questions about acting, and + whether her sister would act, and was she beautiful enough for it, and who + would make her dresses, and so on. + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact Mr. Fortescue had not much ability to keep her sister, + and a little while after her mother’s death Ann Veronica met Gwen suddenly + on the staircase coming from her father’s study, shockingly dingy in dusty + mourning and tearful and resentful, and after that Gwen receded from the + Morningside Park world, and not even the begging letters and distressful + communications that her father and aunt received, but only a vague + intimation of dreadfulness, a leakage of incidental comment, flashes of + paternal anger at “that blackguard,” came to Ann Veronica’s ears. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 6 + </h2> + <p> + These were Ann Veronica’s leading cases in the question of marriage. They + were the only real marriages she had seen clearly. For the rest, she + derived her ideas of the married state from the observed behavior of + married women, which impressed her in Morningside Park as being tied and + dull and inelastic in comparison with the life of the young, and from a + remarkably various reading among books. As a net result she had come to + think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost + their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely + for a moment had wings. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a + house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. Manning. Who knows?—on the + analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into + another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. Had romance + to be banished from life?... + </p> + <p> + It was hard to part with romance, but she had never thirsted so keenly to + go on with her University work in her life as she did that day. She had + never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life + unhampered by others. At any cost! Her brothers had it practically—at + least they had it far more than it seemed likely she would unless she + exerted herself with quite exceptional vigor. Between her and the fair, + far prospect of freedom and self-development manoeuvred Mr. Manning, her + aunt and father, neighbors, customs, traditions, forces. They seemed to + her that morning to be all armed with nets and prepared to throw them over + her directly her movements became in any manner truly free. + </p> + <p> + She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though + she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered + herself as a sleep-walker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, + and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. + </p> + <p> + The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless + and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on + amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. + </p> + <p> + And in its way it was very well. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, + came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme + seriousness. The Ralphs and Mannings and Fortescues came down upon the raw + inexperience, upon the blinking ignorance of the newcomer; and before her + eyes were fairly open, before she knew what had happened, a new set of + guides and controls, a new set of obligations and responsibilities and + limitations, had replaced the old. “I want to be a Person,” said Ann + Veronica to the downs and the open sky; “I will not have this happen to + me, whatever else may happen in its place.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica had three things very definitely settled by the time when, a + little after mid-day, she found herself perched up on a gate between a + bridle-path and a field that commanded the whole wide stretch of country + between Chalking and Waldersham. Firstly, she did not intend to marry at + all, and particularly she did not mean to marry Mr. Manning; secondly, by + some measure or other, she meant to go on with her studies, not at the + Tredgold Schools but at the Imperial College; and, thirdly, she was, as an + immediate and decisive act, a symbol of just exactly where she stood, a + declaration of free and adult initiative, going that night to the Fadden + Ball. + </p> + <p> + But the possible attitude of her father she had still to face. So far she + had the utmost difficulty in getting on to that vitally important matter. + The whole of that relationship persisted in remaining obscure. What would + happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? + </p> + <p> + He couldn’t turn her out of doors. But what he could do or might do she + could not imagine. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of + something mean, some secondary kind of force. Suppose he stopped all her + allowance, made it imperative that she should either stay ineffectually + resentful at home or earn a living for herself at once.... It appeared + highly probable to her that he would stop her allowance. + </p> + <p> + What can a girl do? + </p> + <p> + Somewhere at this point Ann Veronica’s speculations were interrupted and + turned aside by the approach of a horse and rider. Mr. Ramage, that + iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of + hard gray, astride of a black horse. He pulled rein at the sight of her, + saluted, and regarded her with his rather too protuberant eyes. The girl’s + gaze met his in interested inquiry. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve got my view,” he said, after a pensive second. “I always get off + here and lean over that rail for a bit. May I do so to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. It’s for you to + say if I may sit on it.” + </p> + <p> + He slipped off the horse. “Let me introduce you to Caesar,” he said; and + she patted Caesar’s neck, and remarked how soft his nose was, and secretly + deplored the ugliness of equine teeth. Ramage tethered the horse to the + farther gate-post, and Caesar blew heavily and began to investigate the + hedge. + </p> + <p> + Ramage leaned over the gate at Ann Veronica’s side, and for a moment there + was silence. + </p> + <p> + He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal + blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. + </p> + <p> + “It’s as broad as life,” said Mr. Ramage, regarding it and putting a + well-booted foot up on the bottom rail. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 7 + </h2> + <p> + “And what are you doing here, young lady,” he said, looking up at her + face, “wandering alone so far from home?” + </p> + <p> + “I like long walks,” said Ann Veronica, looking down on him. + </p> + <p> + “Solitary walks?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s the point of them. I think over all sorts of things.” + </p> + <p> + “Problems?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes quite difficult problems.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re lucky to live in an age when you can do so. Your mother, for + instance, couldn’t. She had to do her thinking at home—under + inspection.” + </p> + <p> + She looked down on him thoughtfully, and he let his admiration of her free + young poise show in his face. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose things have changed?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Never was such an age of transition.” + </p> + <p> + She wondered what to. Mr. Ramage did not know. “Sufficient unto me is the + change thereof,” he said, with all the effect of an epigram. + </p> + <p> + “I must confess,” he said, “the New Woman and the New Girl intrigue me + profoundly. I am one of those people who are interested in women, more + interested than I am in anything else. I don’t conceal it. And the change, + the change of attitude! The way all the old clingingness has been thrown + aside is amazing. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like + a snail at a touch. If you had lived twenty years ago you would have been + called a Young Person, and it would have been your chief duty in life not + to know, never to have heard of, and never to understand.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s quite enough still,” said Ann Veronica, smiling, “that one + doesn’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite. But your role would have been to go about saying, ‘I beg your + pardon’ in a reproving tone to things you understood quite well in your + heart and saw no harm in. That terrible Young Person! she’s vanished. + Lost, stolen, or strayed, the Young Person!... I hope we may never find + her again.” + </p> + <p> + He rejoiced over this emancipation. “While that lamb was about every man + of any spirit was regarded as a dangerous wolf. We wore invisible chains + and invisible blinkers. Now, you and I can gossip at a gate, and Honi + soit qui mal y pense. The change has given man one good thing he never had + before,” he said. “Girl friends. And I am coming to believe the best as + well as the most beautiful friends a man can have are girl friends.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and went on, after a keen look at her: + </p> + <p> + “I had rather gossip to a really intelligent girl than to any man alive.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose we ARE more free than we were?” said Ann Veronica, keeping the + question general. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there’s no doubt of it! Since the girls of the eighties broke bounds + and sailed away on bicycles—my young days go back to the very + beginnings of that—it’s been one triumphant relaxation.” + </p> + <p> + “Relaxation, perhaps. But are we any more free?” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean we’ve long strings to tether us, but we are bound all the same. A + woman isn’t much freer—in reality.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ramage demurred. + </p> + <p> + “One runs about,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s on condition one doesn’t do anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Do what?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!—anything.” + </p> + <p> + He looked interrogation with a faint smile. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me it comes to earning one’s living in the long run,” said + Ann Veronica, coloring faintly. “Until a girl can go away as a son does + and earn her independent income, she’s still on a string. It may be a long + string, long enough if you like to tangle up all sorts of people; but + there it is! If the paymaster pulls, home she must go. That’s what I + mean.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ramage admitted the force of that. He was a little impressed by Ann + Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty + Widgett. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. “I + mean REALLY independent. On your own. It isn’t such fun as it seems.” + </p> + <p> + “Every one wants to be independent,” said Ann Veronica. “Every one. Man or + woman.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather!” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder why?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no why. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody does that,” said Ramage, and kept silence for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “But a boy—a boy goes out into the world and presently stands on his + own feet. He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own + way of living.” + </p> + <p> + “You’d like to do that?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to be a boy?” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder! It’s out of the question, any way.” + </p> + <p> + Ramage reflected. “Why don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it might mean rather a row.” + </p> + <p> + “I know—” said Ramage, with sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “And besides,” said Ann Veronica, sweeping that aspect aside, “what could + I do? A boy sails out into a trade or profession. But—it’s one of + the things I’ve just been thinking over. Suppose—suppose a girl did + want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him + frankly in the eyes. “What ought she to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, suppose I—” + </p> + <p> + He felt that his advice was being asked. He became a little more personal + and intimate. “I wonder what you could do?” he said. “I should think YOU + could do all sorts of things.... + </p> + <p> + “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for + her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of + “savoir faire.” He took an optimist view of her chances. Ann Veronica + listened thoughtfully, with her eyes on the turf, and now and then she + asked a question or looked up to discuss a point. In the meanwhile, as he + talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious + poise, wondered hard about her. He described her privately to himself as a + splendid girl. It was clear she wanted to get away from home, that she was + impatient to get away from home. Why? While the front of his mind was busy + warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, + and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for + men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers + of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” + </p> + <p> + His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, + some secret or forbidden or impossible lover. But he dismissed that + because then she would ask her lover and not him all these things. + Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. + He could quite understand the daughter of Mr. Stanley being bored and + feeling limited. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of + something more vital wandered about his mind. Was the young lady impatient + for experience? Was she adventurous? As a man of the world he did not + think it becoming to accept maidenly calm as anything more than a mask. + Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. If it was not an + actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not + yet perhaps suspected.... + </p> + <p> + He had diverged only a little from the truth when he said that his chief + interest in life was women. It wasn’t so much women as Woman that engaged + his mind. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at + thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of + falling in love. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin + thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had + been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, + absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. Each one had been different + from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive + freshness, a distinctive beauty. He could not understand how men could + live ignoring this one predominant interest, this wonderful research into + personality and the possibilities of pleasing, these complex, fascinating + expeditions that began in interest and mounted to the supremest, most + passionate intimacy. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this + pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. + </p> + <p> + So while he talked to this girl of work and freedom, his slightly + protuberant eyes were noting the gracious balance of her limbs and body + across the gate, the fine lines of her chin and neck. Her grave fine face, + her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had + gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her + and talking freely and intimately. He had found her in a communicative + mood, and he used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to + account. + </p> + <p> + She was pleased and a little flattered by his interest and sympathy. She + became eager to explain herself, to show herself in the right light. He + was manifestly exerting his mind for her, and she found herself fully + disposed to justify his interest. + </p> + <p> + She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly + limited. She even touched lightly on her father’s unreasonableness. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said Ramage, “that more girls don’t think as you do and want + to strike out in the world.” + </p> + <p> + And then he speculated. “I wonder if you will?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me say one thing,” he said. “If ever you do and I can help you in any + way, by advice or inquiry or recommendation—You see, I’m no believer + in feminine incapacity, but I do perceive there is such a thing as + feminine inexperience. As a sex you’re a little under-trained—in + affairs. I’d take it—forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a + sort of proof of friendliness. I can imagine nothing more pleasant in life + than to help you, because I know it would pay to help you. There’s + something about you, a little flavor of Will, I suppose, that makes one + feel—good luck about you and success....” + </p> + <p> + And while he talked and watched her as he talked, she answered, and behind + her listening watched and thought about him. She liked the animated + eagerness of his manner. + </p> + <p> + His mind seemed to be a remarkably full one; his knowledge of detailed + reality came in just where her own mind was most weakly equipped. Through + all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man + who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to + push one before one moved. Compared with her father and Mr. Manning and + the men in “fixed” positions generally that she knew, Ramage, presented by + himself, had a fine suggestion of freedom, of power, of deliberate and + sustained adventure.... + </p> + <p> + She was particularly charmed by his theory of friendship. It was really + very jolly to talk to a man in this way—who saw the woman in her and + did not treat her as a child. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a + girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond + the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting + sort of friend one could meet. But in that reservation it may be she went + a little beyond the converse of his view.... + </p> + <p> + They got on wonderfully well together. They talked for the better part of + an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the + bridle-path. There, after protestations of friendliness and helpfulness + that were almost ardent, he mounted a little clumsily and rode off at an + amiable pace, looking his best, making a leg with his riding gaiters, + smiling and saluting, while Ann Veronica turned northward and so came to + Micklechesil. There, in a little tea and sweet-stuff shop, she bought and + consumed slowly and absent-mindedly the insufficient nourishment that is + natural to her sex on such occasions. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE FOURTH + </h2> + <h3> + THE CRISIS + </h3> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + We left Miss Stanley with Ann Veronica’s fancy dress in her hands and her + eyes directed to Ann Veronica’s pseudo-Turkish slippers. + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by + fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with + a hushed expression. “I’m so glad you’re here, Peter,” she said. “She + means to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Go!” he said. “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “To that ball.” + </p> + <p> + “What ball?” The question was rhetorical. He knew. + </p> + <p> + “I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now.” + </p> + <p> + “Then tell her to undress, confound her!” The City had been thoroughly + annoying that day, and he was angry from the outset. + </p> + <p> + Miss Stanley reflected on this proposal for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think she will,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “She must,” said Mr. Stanley, and went into his study. His sister + followed. “She can’t go now. She’ll have to wait for dinner,” he said, + uncomfortably. + </p> + <p> + “She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, + and go up with them. + </p> + <p> + “She told you that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “At tea.” + </p> + <p> + “But why didn’t you prohibit once for all the whole thing? How dared she + tell you that?” + </p> + <p> + “Out of defiance. She just sat and told me that was her arrangement. I’ve + never seen her quite so sure of herself.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I said, ‘My dear Veronica! how can you think of such things?’” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “She had two more cups of tea and some cake, and told me of her walk.” + </p> + <p> + “She’ll meet somebody one of these days—walking about like that.” + </p> + <p> + “She didn’t say she’d met any one.” + </p> + <p> + “But didn’t you say some more about that ball?” + </p> + <p> + “I said everything I could say as soon as I realized she was trying to + avoid the topic. I said, ‘It is no use your telling me about this walk and + pretend I’ve been told about the ball, because you haven’t. Your father + has forbidden you to go!’” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “She said, ‘I hate being horrid to you and father, but I feel it my duty + to go to that ball!’” + </p> + <p> + “Felt it her duty!” + </p> + <p> + “‘Very well,’ I said, ‘then I wash my hands of the whole business. Your + disobedience be upon your own head.’” + </p> + <p> + “But that is flat rebellion!” said Mr. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug + with his back to the unlit gas-fire. “You ought at once—you ought at + once to have told her that. What duty does a girl owe to any one before + her father? Obedience to him, that is surely the first law. What CAN she + put before that?” His voice began to rise. “One would think I had said + nothing about the matter. One would think I had agreed to her going. I + suppose this is what she learns in her infernal London colleges. I suppose + this is the sort of damned rubbish—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. + </p> + <p> + He stopped abruptly. In the pause a door could be heard opening and + closing on the landing up-stairs. Then light footsteps became audible, + descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of + skirts. + </p> + <p> + “Tell her,” said Mr. Stanley, with an imperious gesture, “to come in + here.” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + Miss Stanley emerged from the study and stood watching Ann Veronica + descend. + </p> + <p> + The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for a + struggle; her aunt had never seen her looking so fine or so pretty. Her + fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish + slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was + hidden in a large black-silk-hooded opera-cloak. Beneath the hood it was + evident that her rebellious hair was bound up with red silk, and fastened + by some device in her ears (unless she had them pierced, which was too + dreadful a thing to suppose!) were long brass filigree earrings. + </p> + <p> + “I’m just off, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Your father is in the study and wishes to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica hesitated, and then stood in the open doorway and regarded + her father’s stern presence. She spoke with an entirely false note of + cheerful off-handedness. “I’m just in time to say good-bye before I go, + father. I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball.” + </p> + <p> + “Now look here, Ann Veronica,” said Mr. Stanley, “just a moment. You are + NOT going to that ball!” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica tried a less genial, more dignified note. + </p> + <p> + “I thought we had discussed that, father.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not going to that ball! You are not going out of this house in + that get-up!” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica tried yet more earnestly to treat him, as she would treat any + man, with an insistence upon her due of masculine respect. “You see,” she + said, very gently, “I AM going. I am sorry to seem to disobey you, but I + am. I wish”—she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I + wish we needn’t have quarrelled.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped abruptly, and turned about toward the front door. In a moment + he was beside her. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, + with intensely controlled fury. “I said you were”—he shouted—“NOT + TO GO!” + </p> + <p> + She made, and overdid, an immense effort to be a princess. She tossed her + head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door. Her father + intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands + upon the latch. A common rage flushed their faces. “Let go!” she gasped at + him, a blaze of anger. + </p> + <p> + “Veronica!” cried Miss Stanley, warningly, and, “Peter!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment they seemed on the verge of an altogether desperate scuffle. + Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he + had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her + kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime. With + something near to horror they found themselves thus confronted. + </p> + <p> + The door was fastened by a catch and a latch with an inside key, to which + at night a chain and two bolts were added. Carefully abstaining from + thrusting against each other, Ann Veronica and her father began an + absurdly desperate struggle, the one to open the door, the other to keep + it fastened. She seized the key, and he grasped her hand and squeezed it + roughly and painfully between the handle and the ward as she tried to turn + it. His grip twisted her wrist. She cried out with the pain of it. + </p> + <p> + A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her. Her spirit awoke + in dismay to an affection in ruins, to the immense undignified disaster + that had come to them. + </p> + <p> + Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. + </p> + <p> + She made noises between weeping and laughter as she went. She gained her + room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and + pursuit. + </p> + <p> + “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a + time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. + “Why can’t he reason with me,” she said, again and again, “instead of + doing this?” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + There presently came a phase in which she said: “I WON’T stand it even + now. I will go to-night.” + </p> + <p> + She went as far as her door, then turned to the window. She opened this + and scrambled out—a thing she had not done for five long years of + adolescence—upon the leaded space above the built-out bath-room on + the first floor. Once upon a time she and Roddy had descended thence by + the drain-pipe. + </p> + <p> + But things that a girl of sixteen may do in short skirts are not things to + be done by a young lady of twenty-one in fancy dress and an opera-cloak, + and just as she was coming unaided to an adequate realization of this, she + discovered Mr. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens + away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, + standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and + watching her intently. + </p> + <p> + She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude + into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she + waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. + </p> + <p> + When she reflected that Mr. Pragmar probably knew Mr. Ramage, and might + describe the affair to him, she cried “Oh!” with renewed vexation, and + repeated some steps of her dance in a new and more ecstatic measure. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + At eight that evening Miss Stanley tapped at Ann Veronica’s bedroom door. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve brought you up some dinner, Vee,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the + ceiling. She reflected before answering. She was frightfully hungry. She + had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than + nothing. + </p> + <p> + She got up and unlocked the door. + </p> + <p> + Her aunt did not object to capital punishment or war, or the industrial + system or casual wards, or flogging of criminals or the Congo Free State, + because none of these things really got hold of her imagination; but she + did object, she did not like, she could not bear to think of people not + having and enjoying their meals. It was her distinctive test of an + emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. Any one + very badly moved choked down a few mouthfuls; the symptom of supreme + distress was not to be able to touch a bit. So that the thought of Ann + Veronica up-stairs had been extremely painful for her through all the + silent dinner-time that night. As soon as dinner was over she went into + the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray + merely of half-cooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, + suitable for tempting any one. With this she now entered. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica found herself in the presence of the most disconcerting fact + in human experience, the kindliness of people you believe to be thoroughly + wrong. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. + </p> + <p> + Her aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s + shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica flung away from her hand, and the pepper-pot on the tray + upset, sending a puff of pepper into the air and instantly filling them + both with an intense desire to sneeze. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her + brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH + TISHU!” + </p> + <p> + She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table. + </p> + <p> + “But, dear, think! He is your father. SHOOH!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s no reason,” said Ann Veronica, speaking through her handkerchief + and stopping abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their + pocket-handkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too + profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with + features in civil warfare. “Better state of mind,” she gasped.... + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had + slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. + Her soul was full of the sense of disaster. She had made her first fight + for dignity and freedom as a grown-up and independent Person, and this was + how the universe had treated her. It had neither succumbed to her nor + wrathfully overwhelmed her. It had thrust her back with an undignified + scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. + </p> + <p> + “By God!” said Ann Veronica for the first time in her life. “But I will! I + will!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE FIFTH + </h2> + <h3> + THE FLIGHT TO LONDON + </h3> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + Ann Veronica had an impression that she did not sleep at all that night, + and at any rate she got through an immense amount of feverish feeling and + thinking. + </p> + <p> + What was she going to do? + </p> + <p> + One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert + herself at once or perish. “Very well,” she would say, “then I must go.” + To remain, she felt, was to concede everything. And she would have to go + to-morrow. It was clear it must be to-morrow. If she delayed a day she + would delay two days, if she delayed two days she would delay a week, and + after a week things would be adjusted to submission forever. “I’ll go,” + she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means + and resources. These and her general preparations had perhaps a certain + disproportion. She had a gold watch, a very good gold watch that had been + her mother’s, a pearl necklace that was also pretty good, some + unpretending rings, some silver bangles and a few other such inferior + trinkets, three pounds thirteen shillings unspent of her dress and book + allowance and a few good salable books. So equipped, she proposed to set + up a separate establishment in the world. + </p> + <p> + And then she would find work. + </p> + <p> + For most of a long and fluctuating night she was fairly confident that she + would find work; she knew herself to be strong, intelligent, and capable + by the standards of most of the girls she knew. She was not quite clear + how she should find it, but she felt she would. Then she would write and + tell her father what she had done, and put their relationship on a new + footing. + </p> + <p> + That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible + and possible. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence + were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as + making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, + preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. “I don’t care,” said Ann + Veronica to the darkness; “I’ll fight it.” + </p> + <p> + She tried to plan her proceedings in detail. The only difficulties that + presented themselves clearly to her were the difficulties of getting away + from Morningside Park, and not the difficulties at the other end of the + journey. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible + to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in + confident tones to herself. But still she knew they were not right, and at + times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her + round the corner. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to + project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning + after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. + For a time she furnished the flat. But even with that furniture it + remained extremely vague, the possible good and the possible evil as well! + </p> + <p> + The possible evil! “I’ll go,” said Ann Veronica for the hundredth time. + “I’ll go. I don’t care WHAT happens.” + </p> + <p> + She awoke out of a doze, as though she had never been sleeping. It was + time to get up. + </p> + <p> + She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the + row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. “I must take them,” she + said, to help herself over her own incredulity. “How shall I get my + luggage out of the house?...” + </p> + <p> + The figure of her aunt, a little distant, a little propitiatory, behind + the coffee things, filled her with a sense of almost catastrophic + adventure. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. + Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room. + She helped herself to the remainder of the slightly congealed bacon, and + reverted to the problem of getting her luggage out of the house. She + decided to call in the help of Teddy Widgett, or, failing him, of one of + his sisters. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + She found the younger generation of the Widgetts engaged in languid + reminiscences, and all, as they expressed it, a “bit decayed.” Every one + became tremendously animated when they heard that Ann Veronica had failed + them because she had been, as she expressed it, “locked in.” + </p> + <p> + “My God!” said Teddy, more impressively than ever. + </p> + <p> + “But what are you going to do?” asked Hetty. + </p> + <p> + “What can one do?” asked Ann Veronica. “Would you stand it? I’m going to + clear out.” + </p> + <p> + “Clear out?” cried Hetty. + </p> + <p> + “Go to London,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + She had expected sympathetic admiration, but instead the whole Widgett + family, except Teddy, expressed a common dismay. “But how can you?” asked + Constance. “Who will you stop with?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall go on my own. Take a room!” + </p> + <p> + “I say!” said Constance. “But who’s going to pay for the room?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got money,” said Ann Veronica. “Anything is better than this—this + stifled life down here.” And seeing that Hetty and Constance were + obviously developing objections, she plunged at once into a demand for + help. “I’ve got nothing in the world to pack with except a toy size + portmanteau. Can you lend me some stuff?” + </p> + <p> + “You ARE a chap!” said Constance, and warmed only slowly from the idea of + dissuasion to the idea of help. But they did what they could for her. They + agreed to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they + called the communal trunk. And Teddy declared himself ready to go to the + ends of the earth for her, and carry her luggage all the way. + </p> + <p> + Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her + after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less + advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise + objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. + </p> + <p> + “If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time.” And Ann + Veronica at once went back with the hold-all, trying not to hurry + indecently but to keep up her dignified air of being a wronged person + doing the right thing at a smart trot, to pack. Teddy went round by the + garden backs and dropped the bag over the fence. All this was exciting and + entertaining. Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann + Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs + and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed. + She went down, flushed and light-hearted, to the Widgetts’ after lunch to + make some final arrangements and then, as soon as her aunt had retired to + lie down for her usual digestive hour, took the risk of the servants + having the enterprise to report her proceedings and carried her bag and + hold-all to the garden gate, whence Teddy, in a state of ecstatic service, + bore them to the railway station. Then she went up-stairs again, dressed + herself carefully for town, put on her most businesslike-looking hat, and + with a wave of emotion she found it hard to control, walked down to catch + the 3.17 up-train. + </p> + <p> + Teddy handed her into the second-class compartment her season-ticket + warranted, and declared she was “simply splendid.” “If you want anything,” + he said, “or get into any trouble, wire me. I’d come back from the ends of + the earth. I’d do anything, Vee. It’s horrible to think of you!” + </p> + <p> + “You’re an awful brick, Teddy!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Who wouldn’t be for you?” + </p> + <p> + The train began to move. “You’re splendid!” said Teddy, with his hair wild + in the wind. “Good luck! Good luck!” + </p> + <p> + She waved from the window until the bend hid him. + </p> + <p> + She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, + and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge + whatever from the world she had resolved to face. She felt smaller and + more adventurous even than she had expected to feel. “Let me see,” she + said to herself, trying to control a slight sinking of the heart, “I am + going to take a room in a lodging-house because that is cheaper.... But + perhaps I had better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round.... + </p> + <p> + “It’s bound to be all right,” she said. + </p> + <p> + But her heart kept on sinking. What hotel should she go to? If she told a + cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He + might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet + sort of thing she required. Finally she decided that even for an hotel she + must look round, and that meanwhile she would “book” her luggage at + Waterloo. She told the porter to take it to the booking-office, and it was + only after a disconcerting moment or so that she found she ought to have + directed him to go to the cloak-room. But that was soon put right, and she + walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation + that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast + unexampled release. + </p> + <p> + She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + She dismissed the first hotels she passed, she scarcely knew why, mainly + perhaps from the mere dread of entering them, and crossed Waterloo Bridge + at a leisurely pace. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of + foot-passengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested + gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with + the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of + her face. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without + either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty + neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and + graciously over her ears.... + </p> + <p> + It seemed at first the most beautiful afternoon of all time to her, and + perhaps the thrill of her excitement did add a distinctive and culminating + keenness to the day. The river, the big buildings on the north bank, + Westminster, and St. Paul’s, were rich and wonderful with the soft + sunshine of London, the softest, the finest grained, the most penetrating + and least emphatic sunshine in the world. The very carts and vans and cabs + that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe + and good in her eyes. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face + of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the + wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London + seagulls. She had never been there before at that hour, in that light, and + it seemed to her as if she came to it all for the first time. And this + great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go + where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. “I am glad,” she told + herself, “I came.” + </p> + <p> + She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side + street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, + returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen + refuge with her two pieces of luggage. There was just a minute’s + hesitation before they gave her a room. + </p> + <p> + The young lady in the bureau said she would inquire, and Ann Veronica, + while she affected to read the appeal on a hospital collecting-box upon + the bureau counter, had a disagreeable sense of being surveyed from behind + by a small, whiskered gentleman in a frock-coat, who came out of the inner + office and into the hall among a number of equally observant green porters + to look at her and her bags. But the survey was satisfactory, and she + found herself presently in Room No. 47, straightening her hat and waiting + for her luggage to appear. + </p> + <p> + “All right so far,” she said to herself.... + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and + surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized + apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless + walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as + though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal + corner, she and her gear.... + </p> + <p> + She decided to go out into the London afternoon again and get something to + eat in an Aerated Bread shop or some such place, and perhaps find a cheap + room for herself. Of course that was what she had to do; she had to find a + cheap room for herself and work! + </p> + <p> + This Room No. 47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way + to that. + </p> + <p> + How does one get work? + </p> + <p> + She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the + Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial + alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative + treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of + the keenest appreciation for London, on the other. The jolly part of it + was that for the first time in her life so far as London was concerned, + she was not going anywhere in particular; for the first time in her life + it seemed to her she was taking London in. + </p> + <p> + She tried to think how people get work. Ought she to walk into some of + these places and tell them what she could do? She hesitated at the window + of a shipping-office in Cockspur Street and at the Army and Navy Stores, + but decided that perhaps there would be some special and customary hour, + and that it would be better for her to find this out before she made her + attempt. And, besides, she didn’t just immediately want to make her + attempt. + </p> + <p> + She fell into a pleasant dream of positions and work. Behind every one of + these myriad fronts she passed there must be a career or careers. Her + ideas of women’s employment and a modern woman’s pose in life were based + largely on the figure of Vivie Warren in Mrs. Warren’s Profession. She had + seen Mrs. Warren’s Profession furtively with Hetty Widgett from the + gallery of a Stage Society performance one Monday afternoon. Most of it + had been incomprehensible to her, or comprehensible in a way that checked + further curiosity, but the figure of Vivien, hard, capable, successful, + and bullying, and ordering about a veritable Teddy in the person of Frank + Gardner, appealed to her. She saw herself in very much Vivie’s position—managing + something. + </p> + <p> + Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of + a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. He appeared suddenly from the + infinite in the neighborhood of the Burlington Arcade, crossing the + pavement toward her and with his eyes upon her. He seemed to her + indistinguishably about her father’s age. He wore a silk hat a little + tilted, and a morning coat buttoned round a tight, contained figure; and a + white slip gave a finish to his costume and endorsed the quiet distinction + of his tie. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown + eyes were bright. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if + he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. + Ann Veronica stared at his foolish, propitiatory smile, his hungry gaze, + through one moment of amazement, then stepped aside and went on her way + with a quickened step. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like + surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. + </p> + <p> + Queer old gentleman! + </p> + <p> + The art of ignoring is one of the accomplishments of every well-bred girl, + so carefully instilled that at last she can even ignore her own thoughts + and her own knowledge. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself + what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and + know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting + signified. About her, as she had gone day by day to and from the Tredgold + College, she had seen and not seen many an incidental aspect of those + sides of life about which girls are expected to know nothing, aspects that + were extraordinarily relevant to her own position and outlook on the + world, and yet by convention ineffably remote. For all that she was of + exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these + things with unaverted eyes. She had viewed them askance, and without + exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. + </p> + <p> + She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed + and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. + </p> + <p> + That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. + </p> + <p> + As she neared the bottom of the dip in Piccadilly she saw a woman + approaching her from the opposite direction—a tall woman who at the + first glance seemed altogether beautiful and fine. She came along with the + fluttering assurance of some tall ship. Then as she drew nearer paint + showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of + her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed + itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a + word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word + “meretricious.” Behind this woman and a little to the side of her, walked + a man smartly dressed, with desire and appraisal in his eyes. Something + insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew + the man was there. + </p> + <p> + It was a second reminder that against her claim to go free and + untrammelled there was a case to be made, that after all it was true that + a girl does not go alone in the world unchallenged, nor ever has gone + freely alone in the world, that evil walks abroad and dangers, and petty + insults more irritating than dangers, lurk. + </p> + <p> + It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first + came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. She + observed a man walking on the opposite side of the way and looking toward + her. + </p> + <p> + “Bother it all!” she swore. “Bother!” and decided that this was not so, + and would not look to right or left again. + </p> + <p> + Beyond the Circus Ann Veronica went into a British Tea-Table Company shop + to get some tea. And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw + this man again. Either it was an unfortunate recovery of a trail, or he + had followed her from Mayfair. There was no mistaking his intentions this + time. He came down the shop looking for her quite obviously, and took up a + position on the other side against a mirror in which he was able to regard + her steadfastly. + </p> + <p> + Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. + She was furiously angry. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the + window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy + kicking this man to death. He HAD followed her! What had he followed her + for? He must have followed her all the way from beyond Grosvenor Square. + </p> + <p> + He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, + and long white hands of which he made a display. He had removed his silk + hat, and now sat looking at Ann Veronica over an untouched cup of tea; he + sat gloating upon her, trying to catch her eye. Once, when he thought he + had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. He moved, after quiet + intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his + small mustache and coughed a self-conscious cough. + </p> + <p> + “That he should be in the same world with me!” said Ann Veronica, reduced + to reading the list of good things the British Tea-Table Company had + priced for its patrons. + </p> + <p> + Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in + that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and + adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into + the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, + exasperating, indecent. + </p> + <p> + She had no idea what she should do. If she spoke to a policeman she did + not know what would ensue. Perhaps she would have to charge this man and + appear in a police-court next day. + </p> + <p> + She became angry with herself. She would not be driven in by this + persistent, sneaking aggression. She would ignore him. Surely she could + ignore him. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. He + passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking + into her face. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon had passed now into twilight. The shops were lighting up + into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into + existence, and she had lost her way. She had lost her sense of direction, + and was among unfamiliar streets. She went on from street to street, and + all the glory of London had departed. Against the sinister, the + threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing + now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit—the pursuit of the + undesired, persistent male. + </p> + <p> + For a second time Ann Veronica wanted to swear at the universe. + </p> + <p> + There were moments when she thought of turning upon this man and talking + to him. But there was something in his face at once stupid and invincible + that told her he would go on forcing himself upon her, that he would + esteem speech with her a great point gained. In the twilight he had ceased + to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more + general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let + her alone.... + </p> + <p> + Then, when the tension was getting unendurable, and she was on the verge + of speaking to some casual passer-by and demanding help, her follower + vanished. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. He had. The + night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. She had lost her + nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. She was + glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now + welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their + driven, preoccupied haste. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray + jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, + and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a + guess of her way. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she + felt driven. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the + dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was + afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. + </p> + <p> + It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. She thought then that + she had shaken off the man of the bulging blue eyes forever, but that + night she found he followed her into her dreams. He stalked her, he stared + at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet + relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating + nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror + listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. + </p> + <p> + She came very near that night to resolving that she would return to her + home next morning. But the morning brought courage again, and those first + intimations of horror vanished completely from her mind. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 5 + </h2> + <p> + She had sent her father a telegram from the East Strand post-office worded + thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + | All | is | well | with | me | + |————-|—————-|—————|—————|————-| + | and | quite | safe | Veronica | | + ——————————————————————————- +</pre> + <p> + and afterward she had dined a la carte upon a cutlet, and had then set + herself to write an answer to Mr. Manning’s proposal of marriage. But she + had found it very difficult. + </p> + <p> + “DEAR MR. MANNING,” she had begun. So far it had been plain sailing, and + it had seemed fairly evident to go on: “I find it very difficult to answer + your letter.” + </p> + <p> + But after that neither ideas nor phrases had come and she had fallen + thinking of the events of the day. She had decided that she would spend + the next morning answering advertisements in the papers that abounded in + the writing-room; and so, after half an hour’s perusal of back numbers of + the Sketch in the drawing-room, she had gone to bed. + </p> + <p> + She found next morning, when she came to this advertisement answering, + that it was more difficult than she had supposed. In the first place there + were not so many suitable advertisements as she had expected. She sat down + by the paper-rack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, + and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and + afterward the half-penny sheets. The Morning Post was hungry for + governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the + Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands. She went + to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and + then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be + sent. + </p> + <p> + She decided to leave this matter until the morrow and devote the morning + to settling up with Mr. Manning. At the cost of quite a number of torn + drafts she succeeded in evolving this: + </p> + <p> + “DEAR MR. MANNING,—I find it very difficult to answer your letter. I + hope you won’t mind if I say first that I think it does me an + extraordinary honor that you should think of any one like myself so highly + and seriously, and, secondly, that I wish it had not been written.” + </p> + <p> + She surveyed this sentence for some time before going on. “I wonder,” she + said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she + decided, “I’ve written too many already.” She went on, with a desperate + attempt to be easy and colloquial: + </p> + <p> + “You see, we were rather good friends, I thought, and now perhaps it will + be difficult for us to get back to the old friendly footing. But if that + can possibly be done I want it to be done. You see, the plain fact of the + case is that I think I am too young and ignorant for marriage. I have been + thinking these things over lately, and it seems to me that marriage for a + girl is just the supremest thing in life. It isn’t just one among a number + of important things; for her it is the important thing, and until she + knows far more than I know of the facts of life, how is she to undertake + it? So please; if you will, forget that you wrote that letter, and forgive + this answer. I want you to think of me just as if I was a man, and quite + outside marriage altogether. + </p> + <p> + “I do hope you will be able to do this, because I value men friends. I + shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend. I think that there + is no better friend for a girl than a man rather older than herself. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps by this time you will have heard of the step I have taken in + leaving my home. Very likely you will disapprove highly of what I have + done—I wonder? You may, perhaps, think I have done it just in a fit + of childish petulance because my father locked me in when I wanted to go + to a ball of which he did not approve. But really it is much more than + that. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently + to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as + they say in botany, etiolated. I was just like a sort of dummy that does + things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled. I + want to be a person by myself, and to pull my own strings. I had rather + have trouble and hardship like that than be taken care of by others. I + want to be myself. I wonder if a man can quite understand that passionate + feeling? It is quite a passionate feeling. So I am already no longer the + girl you knew at Morningside Park. I am a young person seeking employment + and freedom and self-development, just as in quite our first talk of all I + said I wanted to be. + </p> + <p> + “I do hope you will see how things are, and not be offended with me or + frightfully shocked and distressed by what I have done. + </p> + <p> + “Very sincerely yours, + </p> + <p> + “ANN VERONICA STANLEY.” + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 6 + </h2> + <p> + In the afternoon she resumed her search for apartments. The intoxicating + sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. She drifted + northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. + </p> + <p> + She had never imagined life was half so sinister as it looked to her in + the beginning of these investigations. She found herself again in the + presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to + think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; + something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all + her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from + Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious + world. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue + that she found hard to explain. “We don’t let to ladies,” they said. + </p> + <p> + She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about + Titchfield Street. Such apartments as she saw were either scandalously + dirty or unaccountably dear, or both. And some were adorned with + engravings that struck her as being more vulgar and undesirable than + anything she had ever seen in her life. Ann Veronica loved beautiful + things, and the beauty of undraped loveliness not least among them; but + these were pictures that did but insist coarsely upon the roundness of + women’s bodies. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, + their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were + of a class apart. After the first onset several of the women who had + apartments to let said she would not do for them, and in effect dismissed + her. This also struck her as odd. + </p> + <p> + About many of these houses hung a mysterious taint as of something weakly + and commonly and dustily evil; the women who negotiated the rooms looked + out through a friendly manner as though it was a mask, with hard, defiant + eyes. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann + Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the + spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. + </p> + <p> + For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and + ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and + troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. + </p> + <p> + She had something of the feeling a Hindoo must experience who has been + into surroundings or touched something that offends his caste. She passed + people in the streets and regarded them with a quickening apprehension, + once or twice came girls dressed in slatternly finery, going toward Regent + Street from out these places. It did not occur to her that they at least + had found a way of earning a living, and had that much economic + superiority to herself. It did not occur to her that save for some + accidents of education and character they had souls like her own. + </p> + <p> + For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid + streets. At last, a little way to the northward of Euston Road, the moral + cloud seemed to lift, the moral atmosphere to change; clean blinds + appeared in the windows, clean doorsteps before the doors, a different + appeal in the neatly placed cards bearing the word + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ————————————— + | APARTMENTS | + ————————————— +</pre> + <p> + in the clear bright windows. At last in a street near the Hampstead Road + she hit upon a room that had an exceptional quality of space and order, + and a tall woman with a kindly face to show it. “You’re a student, + perhaps?” said the tall woman. “At the Tredgold Women’s College,” said Ann + Veronica. She felt it would save explanations if she did not state she had + left her home and was looking for employment. The room was papered with + green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the + arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual + brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the + window-curtain. There was a round table covered, not with the usual + “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the + wall-paper. In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. + The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in + the corner was covered by a white quilt. There were neither texts nor + rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a + steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory + blacks. And the woman who showed this room was tall, with an understanding + eye and the quiet manner of the well-trained servant. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica brought her luggage in a cab from the hotel; she tipped the + hotel porter sixpence and overpaid the cabman eighteenpence, unpacked some + of her books and possessions, and so made the room a little homelike, and + then sat down in a by no means uncomfortable arm-chair before the fire. + She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned + peaches. She had discussed the general question of supplies with the + helpful landlady. “And now,” said Ann Veronica surveying her apartment + with an unprecedented sense of proprietorship, “what is the next step?” + </p> + <p> + She spent the evening in writing—it was a little difficult—to + her father and—which was easier—to the Widgetts. She was + greatly heartened by doing this. The necessity of defending herself and + assuming a confident and secure tone did much to dispell the sense of + being exposed and indefensible in a huge dingy world that abounded in + sinister possibilities. She addressed her letters, meditated on them for a + time, and then took them out and posted them. Afterward she wanted to get + her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it + tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. + </p> + <p> + He would know her address to-morrow. She reflected upon that with a thrill + of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. + </p> + <p> + “Dear old Daddy,” she said, “he’ll make a fearful fuss. Well, it had to + happen somewhen.... Somehow. I wonder what he’ll say?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE SIXTH + </h2> + <h3> + EXPOSTULATIONS + </h3> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + The next morning opened calmly, and Ann Veronica sat in her own room, her + very own room, and consumed an egg and marmalade, and read the + advertisements in the Daily Telegraph. Then began expostulations, preluded + by a telegram and headed by her aunt. The telegram reminded Ann Veronica + that she had no place for interviews except her bed-sitting-room, and she + sought her landlady and negotiated hastily for the use of the ground floor + parlor, which very fortunately was vacant. She explained she was expecting + an important interview, and asked that her visitor should be duly shown + in. Her aunt arrived about half-past ten, in black and with an unusually + thick spotted veil. She raised this with the air of a conspirator + unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face. For a moment she remained + silent. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at + once.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica closed the door quite softly and stood still. + </p> + <p> + “This has almost killed your father.... After Gwen!” + </p> + <p> + “I sent a telegram.” + </p> + <p> + “He cares so much for you. He did so care for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I sent a telegram to say I was all right.” + </p> + <p> + “All right! And I never dreamed anything of the sort was going on. I had + no idea!” She sat down abruptly and threw her wrists limply upon the + table. “Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” + </p> + <p> + She had been weeping. She was weeping now. Ann Veronica was overcome by + this amount of emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. “Why could you not confide in us?” + </p> + <p> + “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “What you have done.” + </p> + <p> + “But what have I done?” + </p> + <p> + “Elope! Go off in this way. We had no idea. We had such a pride in you, + such hope in you. I had no idea you were not the happiest girl. Everything + I could do! Your father sat up all night. Until at last I persuaded him to + go to bed. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look + for you—in London. We made sure it was just like Gwen. Only Gwen + left a letter on the pincushion. You didn’t even do that Vee; not even + that.” + </p> + <p> + “I sent a telegram, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Like a stab. You didn’t even put the twelve words.” + </p> + <p> + “I said I was all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Gwen said she was happy. Before that came your father didn’t even know + you were gone. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you + know his way—when it came. He opened it—just off-hand, and + then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon + flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go + after them and kill him. I’ll go after them and kill him.’ For the moment + I thought it was a telegram from Gwen.” + </p> + <p> + “But what did father imagine?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he imagined! Any one would! ‘What has happened, Peter?’ I + asked. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. He used + a most awful word! Then he said, ‘It’s Ann Veronica gone to join her + sister!’ ‘Gone!’ I said. ‘Gone!’ he said. ‘Read that,’ and threw the + telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. He swore when I tried to + get it out with the ladle, and told me what it said. Then he sat down + again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung + up. It was as much as I could do to prevent him flying out of the house + there and then and coming after you. Never since I was a girl have I seen + your father so moved. ‘Oh! little Vee!’ he cried, ‘little Vee!’ and put + his face between his hands and sat still for a long time before he broke + out again.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica had remained standing while her aunt spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with + some man?” + </p> + <p> + “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to + go off alone?” + </p> + <p> + “After—after what had happened the night before?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor + face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming + up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait + for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. He could hardly open + the envelope, he trembled so. Then he threw the letter at me. ‘Go and + fetch her home,’ he said; ‘it isn’t what we thought! It’s just a practical + joke of hers.’ And with that he went off to the City, stern and silent, + leaving his bacon on his plate—a great slice of bacon hardly + touched. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup—since + yesterday at tea.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped. Aunt and niece regarded each other silently. + </p> + <p> + “You must come home to him at once,” said Miss Stanley. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. + Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as + the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. Why + on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at + the bare thought of return. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I CAN do that,” she said. She looked up and said, a little + breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can.” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + Then it was the expostulations really began. + </p> + <p> + From first to last, on this occasion, her aunt expostulated for about two + hours. “But, my dear,” she began, “it is Impossible! It is quite out of + the Question. You simply can’t.” And to that, through vast rhetorical + meanderings, she clung. It reached her only slowly that Ann Veronica was + standing to her resolution. “How will you live?” she appealed. “Think of + what people will say!” That became a refrain. “Think of what Lady + Palsworthy will say! Think of what”—So-and-so—“will say! What + are we to tell people? + </p> + <p> + “Besides, what am I to tell your father?” + </p> + <p> + At first it had not been at all clear to Ann Veronica that she would + refuse to return home; she had had some dream of a capitulation that + should leave her an enlarged and defined freedom, but as her aunt put this + aspect and that of her flight to her, as she wandered illogically and + inconsistently from one urgent consideration to another, as she mingled + assurances and aspects and emotions, it became clearer and clearer to the + girl that there could be little or no change in the position of things if + she returned. “And what will Mr. Manning think?” said her aunt. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care what any one thinks,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t imagine what has come over you,” said her aunt. “I can’t conceive + what you want. You foolish girl!” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica took that in silence. At the back of her mind, dim and yet + disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she + wanted. And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you care for Mr. Manning?” said her aunt. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” + </p> + <p> + “He—he worships the ground you tread on. You don’t deserve it, but + he does. Or at least he did the day before yesterday. And here you are!” + </p> + <p> + Her aunt opened all the fingers of her gloved hand in a rhetorical + gesture. “It seems to me all madness—madness! Just because your + father—wouldn’t let you disobey him!” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + In the afternoon the task of expostulation was taken up by Mr. Stanley in + person. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and + forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas + chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in + Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. She + had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage + from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh + and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was + coming home submissively. In his desire to be emphatic and to avenge + himself for his over-night distresses, he speedily became brutal, more + brutal than she had ever known him before. + </p> + <p> + “A nice time of anxiety you’ve given me, young lady,” he said, as he + entered the room. “I hope you’re satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in + her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what + she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch. She said she hoped she + had not distressed him by the course she had felt obliged to take, and he + told her not to be a fool. She tried to keep her side up by declaring that + he had put her into an impossible position, and he replied by shouting, + “Nonsense! Nonsense! Any father in my place would have done what I did.” + </p> + <p> + Then he went on to say: “Well, you’ve had your little adventure, and I + hope now you’ve had enough of it. So go up-stairs and get your things + together while I look out for a hansom.” + </p> + <p> + To which the only possible reply seemed to be, “I’m not coming home.” + </p> + <p> + “Not coming home!” + </p> + <p> + “No!” And, in spite of her resolve to be a Person, Ann Veronica began to + weep with terror at herself. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when + she talked to her father. But he was always forcing her to say and do such + unexpectedly conclusive things. She feared he might take her tears as a + sign of weakness. So she said: “I won’t come home. I’d rather starve!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. Then Mr. + Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a + barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his + glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to + inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I + shall contrive to live.” + </p> + <p> + “But I AM anxious,” said Mr. Stanley, “I am anxious. Do you think it’s + nothing to me to have my daughter running about London looking for odd + jobs and disgracing herself?” + </p> + <p> + “Sha’n’t get odd jobs,” said Ann Veronica, wiping her eyes. + </p> + <p> + And from that point they went on to a thoroughly embittering wrangle. Mr. + Stanley used his authority, and commanded Ann Veronica to come home, to + which, of course, she said she wouldn’t; and then he warned her not to + defy him, warned her very solemnly, and then commanded her again. He then + said that if she would not obey him in this course she should “never + darken his doors again,” and was, indeed, frightfully abusive. This threat + terrified Ann Veronica so much that she declared with sobs and vehemence + that she would never come home again, and for a time both talked at once + and very wildly. He asked her whether she understood what she was saying, + and went on to say still more precisely that she should never touch a + penny of his money until she came home again—not one penny. Ann + Veronica said she didn’t care. + </p> + <p> + Then abruptly Mr. Stanley changed his key. “You poor child!” he said; + “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of + the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to + you. Think if your own mother was alive!” + </p> + <p> + He paused, deeply moved. + </p> + <p> + “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand.” + </p> + <p> + The talk became more and more inconclusive and exhausting. Ann Veronica + found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on + desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, + wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a + brother. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own + life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. Anything + else that was said she now regarded only as an aspect of or diversion from + that. + </p> + <p> + In the retrospect she was amazed to think how things had gone to pieces, + for at the outset she had been quite prepared to go home again upon terms. + While waiting for his coming she had stated her present and future + relations with him with what had seemed to her the most satisfactory + lucidity and completeness. She had looked forward to an explanation. + Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion + of threats and irrelevant appeals. It was not only that her father had + said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some + incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein. He + had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything + turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had + fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. + Moreover, atrociously and inexorably, he allowed it to appear ever and + again in horrible gleams that he suspected there was some man in the + case.... Some man! + </p> + <p> + And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving + her a last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken + at her to emphasize his point. + </p> + <p> + “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal + passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, + “I understand.” She controlled a sob. “Not a penny—not one penny—and + never darken your doors again!” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + The next day her aunt came again and expostulated, and was just saying it + was “an unheard-of thing” for a girl to leave her home as Ann Veronica had + done, when her father arrived, and was shown in by the pleasant-faced + landlady. + </p> + <p> + Her father had determined on a new line. He put down his hat and umbrella, + rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said, quietly, “it’s time we stopped this nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica was about to reply, when he went on, with a still more deadly + quiet: “I am not here to bandy words with you. Let us have no more of this + humbug. You are to come home.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I explained—” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you can have heard me,” said her father; “I have told you + to come home.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I explained—” + </p> + <p> + “Come home!” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said her father. + </p> + <p> + “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not for us to supplicate any more. She must learn wisdom—as + God pleases.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Peter!” said Miss Stanley. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said her brother, conclusively, “it’s not for a parent to go on + persuading a child.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Stanley rose and regarded Ann Veronica fixedly. The girl stood with + her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of + her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually + delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. + </p> + <p> + “She doesn’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “She does.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t imagine what makes you fly out against everything like this,” + said Miss Stanley to her niece. + </p> + <p> + “What is the good of talking?” said her brother. “She must go her own way. + A man’s children nowadays are not his own. That’s the fact of the matter. + Their minds are turned against him.... Rubbishy novels and pernicious + rascals. We can’t even protect them from themselves.” + </p> + <p> + An immense gulf seemed to open between father and daughter as he said + these words. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see,” gasped Ann Veronica, “why parents and children... shouldn’t + be friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Friends!” said her father. “When we see you going through disobedience to + the devil! Come, Molly, she must go her own way. I’ve tried to use my + authority. And she defies me. What more is there to be said? She defies + me!” + </p> + <p> + It was extraordinary. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous + pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make + some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that + had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever + to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” she cried, “I have to live!” + </p> + <p> + He misunderstood her. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the + door-handle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at + Morningside Park.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Stanley turned to her. “Vee,” she said, “come home. Before it is too + late.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Molly,” said Mr. Stanley, at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Vee!” said Miss Stanley, “you hear what your father says!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Stanley struggled with emotion. She made a curious movement toward + her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on + the table and turned to follow her brother. Ann Veronica stared for a + moment in amazement at this dark-green object that clashed as it was put + down. It was a purse. She made a step forward. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” + </p> + <p> + Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door + clicked upon them. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, and then the front door slammed.... + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica realized that she was alone with the world. And this time the + departure had a tremendous effect of finality. She had to resist an + impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in. + </p> + <p> + “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the + contents. + </p> + <p> + It contained three sovereigns, six and fourpence, two postage stamps, a + small key, and her aunt’s return half ticket to Morningside Park. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 5 + </h2> + <p> + After the interview Ann Veronica considered herself formally cut off from + home. If nothing else had clinched that, the purse had. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. Her brother Roddy, + who was in the motor line, came to expostulate; her sister Alice wrote. + And Mr. Manning called. + </p> + <p> + Her sister Alice seemed to have developed a religious sense away there in + Yorkshire, and made appeals that had no meaning for Ann Veronica’s mind. + She exhorted Ann Veronica not to become one of “those unsexed + intellectuals, neither man nor woman.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica meditated over that phrase. “That’s HIM,” said Ann Veronica, + in sound, idiomatic English. “Poor old Alice!” + </p> + <p> + Her brother Roddy came to her and demanded tea, and asked her to state a + case. “Bit thick on the old man, isn’t it?” said Roddy, who had developed + a bluff, straightforward style in the motor shop. + </p> + <p> + “Mind my smoking?” said Roddy. “I don’t see quite what your game is, Vee, + but I suppose you’ve got a game on somewhere. + </p> + <p> + “Rummy lot we are!” said Roddy. “Alice—Alice gone dotty, and all + over kids. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker + than ever. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher + Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. And now YOU’RE on + the war-path. I believe I’m the only sane member of the family left. The + G.V.‘s as mad as any of you, in spite of all his respectability; not a bit + of him straight anywhere, not one bit.” + </p> + <p> + “Straight?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it! He’s been out after eight per cent. since the beginning. + Eight per cent.! He’ll come a cropper one of these days, if you ask me. + He’s been near it once or twice already. That’s got his nerves to rags. I + suppose we’re all human beings really, but what price the sacred + Institution of the Family! Us as a bundle! Eh?... I don’t half disagree + with you, Vee, really; only thing is, I don’t see how you’re going to pull + it off. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. Gives + you a right to hang on to the old man until he busts—practically. + Jolly hard life for a girl, getting a living. Not MY affair.” + </p> + <p> + He asked questions and listened to her views for a time. + </p> + <p> + “I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said. “I’m five + years older than you, and no end wiser, being a man. What you’re after is + too risky. It’s a damned hard thing to do. It’s all very handsome starting + out on your own, but it’s too damned hard. That’s my opinion, if you ask + me. There’s nothing a girl can do that isn’t sweated to the bone. You + square the G.V., and go home before you have to. That’s my advice. If you + don’t eat humble-pie now you may live to fare worse later. <i>I</i> can’t + help you a cent. Life’s hard enough nowadays for an unprotected male. Let + alone a girl. You got to take the world as it is, and the only possible + trade for a girl that isn’t sweated is to get hold of a man and make him + do it for her. It’s no good flying out at that, Vee; <i>I</i> didn’t + arrange it. It’s Providence. That’s how things are; that’s the order of + the world. Like appendicitis. It isn’t pretty, but we’re made so. Rot, no + doubt; but we can’t alter it. You go home and live on the G.V., and get + some other man to live on as soon as possible. It isn’t sentiment but it’s + horse sense. All this Woman-who-Diddery—no damn good. After all, old + P.—Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep + you, more or less. He made the universe on those lines. You’ve got to take + what you can get.” + </p> + <p> + That was the quintessence of her brother Roddy. + </p> + <p> + He played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour. + </p> + <p> + “You go home,” he said, at parting; “you go home. It’s all very fine and + all that, Vee, this freedom, but it isn’t going to work. The world isn’t + ready for girls to start out on their own yet; that’s the plain fact of + the case. Babies and females have got to keep hold of somebody or go under—anyhow, + for the next few generations. You go home and wait a century, Vee, and + then try again. Then you may have a bit of a chance. Now you haven’t the + ghost of one—not if you play the game fair.” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 6 + </h2> + <p> + It was remarkable to Ann Veronica how completely Mr. Manning, in his + entirely different dialect, indorsed her brother Roddy’s view of things. + He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, + radiantly kind and good. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann + Veronica’s address. The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his + name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black + mustache. Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a + hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the ground-floor + apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. In the little + apartment, under the gas chandelier, his inches and his stoop were + certainly very effective. In the bad light he looked at once military and + sentimental and studious, like one of Ouida’s guardsmen revised by Mr. + Haldane and the London School of Economics and finished in the Keltic + school. + </p> + <p> + “It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in + a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be + friends.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s dreadful for you to be here,” he said, indicating the yellow + presence of the first fog of the year without, “but your aunt told me + something of what had happened. It’s just like your Splendid Pride to do + it. Quite!” + </p> + <p> + He sat in the arm-chair and took tea, and consumed several of the extra + cakes which she had sent out for and talked to her and expressed himself, + looking very earnestly at her with his deep-set eyes, and carefully + avoiding any crumbs on his mustache the while. Ann Veronica sat firelit by + her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. + </p> + <p> + “But how is it all going to end?” said Mr. Manning. + </p> + <p> + “Your father, of course,” he said, “must come to realize just how Splendid + you are! He doesn’t understand. I’ve seen him, and he doesn’t a bit + understand. <i>I</i> didn’t understand before that letter. It makes me + want to be just everything I CAN be to you. You’re like some splendid + Princess in Exile in these Dreadful Dingy apartments!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I’m anything but a Princess when it comes to earning a + salary,” said Ann Veronica. “But frankly, I mean to fight this through if + I possibly can.” + </p> + <p> + “My God!” said Manning, in a stage-aside. “Earning a salary!” + </p> + <p> + “You’re like a Princess in Exile!” he repeated, overruling her. “You come + into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them + sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter.... I + don’t think they do matter. I don’t think any surroundings could throw a + shadow on you.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica felt a slight embarrassment. “Won’t you have some more tea, + Mr. Manning?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “You know—,” said Mr. Manning, relinquishing his cup without + answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as + if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ + selling doves.... Forgive my daring. I couldn’t help the thought.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a very good image,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you wouldn’t mind.” + </p> + <p> + “But does it correspond with the facts of the case? You know, Mr. Manning, + all this sort of thing is very well as sentiment, but does it correspond + with the realities? Are women truly such angelic things and men so + chivalrous? You men have, I know, meant to make us Queens and Goddesses, + but in practice—well, look, for example, at the stream of girls one + meets going to work of a morning, round-shouldered, cheap, and underfed! + They aren’t queens, and no one is treating them as queens. And look, + again, at the women one finds letting lodgings.... I was looking for rooms + last week. It got on my nerves—the women I saw. Worse than any man. + Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful + dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose—dingier than the + last, dirty, you know, in grain. Their poor hands!” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Mr. Manning, with entirely suitable emotion. + </p> + <p> + “And think of the ordinary wives and mothers, with their anxiety, their + limitations, their swarms of children!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Manning displayed distress. He fended these things off from him with + the rump of his fourth piece of cake. “I know that our social order is + dreadful enough,” he said, “and sacrifices all that is best and most + beautiful in life. I don’t defend it.” + </p> + <p> + “And besides, when it comes to the idea of queens,” Ann Veronica went on, + “there’s twenty-one and a half million women to twenty million men. + Suppose our proper place is a shrine. Still, that leaves over a million + shrines short, not reckoning widows who re-marry. And more boys die than + girls, so that the real disproportion among adults is even greater.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Mr Manning, “I know these Dreadful Statistics. I know + there’s a sort of right in your impatience at the slowness of Progress. + But tell me one thing I don’t understand—tell me one thing: How can + you help it by coming down into the battle and the mire? That’s the thing + that concerns me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m not trying to help it,” said Ann Veronica. “I’m only arguing + against your position of what a woman should be, and trying to get it + clear in my own mind. I’m in this apartment and looking for work because—Well, + what else can I do, when my father practically locks me up?” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Mr. Manning, “I know. Don’t think I can’t sympathize and + understand. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. Ye gods! what a + wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every + one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one + bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and + making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and + smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the + corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, + and here you come into it to take your chances. It’s too valiant, Miss + Stanley, too valiant altogether!” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica meditated. She had had two days of employment-seeking now. “I + wonder if it is.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t,” said Mr. Manning, “that I mind Courage in a Woman—I love + and admire Courage. What could be more splendid than a beautiful girl + facing a great, glorious tiger? Una and the Lion again, and all that! But + this isn’t that sort of thing; this is just a great, ugly, endless + wilderness of selfish, sweating, vulgar competition!” + </p> + <p> + “That you want to keep me out of?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly!” said Mr. Manning. + </p> + <p> + “In a sort of beautiful garden-close—wearing lovely dresses and + picking beautiful flowers?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! If one could!” + </p> + <p> + “While those other girls trudge to business and those other women let + lodgings. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into + a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and + overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and + futility.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Manning relinquished his cup, and looked meaningly at Ann Veronica. + “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. My + garden-close would be a better thing than that.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE SEVENTH + </h2> + <h3> + IDEALS AND A REALITY + </h3> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + And now for some weeks Ann Veronica was to test her market value in the + world. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very + dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that + modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. She went + about, intent-looking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her + emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out + before her. Her little bed-sitting-room was like a lair, and she went out + from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring + streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under + skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to + seek food. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and + written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she + had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and + think. + </p> + <p> + Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is + called an “ideal.” There were no such girls and no such positions. No work + that offered was at all of the quality she had vaguely postulated for + herself. With such qualifications as she possessed, two chief channels of + employment lay open, and neither attracted her, neither seemed really to + offer a conclusive escape from that subjection to mankind against which, + in the person of her father, she was rebelling. One main avenue was for + her to become a sort of salaried accessory wife or mother, to be a + governess or an assistant schoolmistress, or a very high type of + governess-nurse. The other was to go into business—into a + photographer’s reception-room, for example, or a costumer’s or hat-shop. + The first set of occupations seemed to her to be altogether too domestic + and restricted; for the latter she was dreadfully handicapped by her want + of experience. And also she didn’t like them. She didn’t like the shops, + she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in + frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable + persons she had ever had to face. One called her very distinctly “My + dear!” + </p> + <p> + Two secretarial posts did indeed seem to offer themselves in which, at + least, there was no specific exclusion of womanhood; one was under a + Radical Member of Parliament, and the other under a Harley Street doctor, + and both men declined her proffered services with the utmost civility and + admiration and terror. There was also a curious interview at a big hotel + with a middle-aged, white-powdered woman, all covered with jewels and + reeking of scent, who wanted a Companion. She did not think Ann Veronica + would do as her companion. + </p> + <p> + And nearly all these things were fearfully ill-paid. They carried no more + than bare subsistence wages; and they demanded all her time and energy. + She had heard of women journalists, women writers, and so forth; but she + was not even admitted to the presence of the editors she demanded to see, + and by no means sure that if she had been she could have done any work + they might have given her. One day she desisted from her search and went + unexpectedly to the Tredgold College. Her place was not filled; she had + been simply noted as absent, and she did a comforting day of admirable + dissection upon the tortoise. She was so interested, and this was such a + relief from the trudging anxiety of her search for work, that she went on + for a whole week as if she was still living at home. Then a third + secretarial opening occurred and renewed her hopes again: a position as + amanuensis—with which some of the lighter duties of a nurse were + combined—to an infirm gentleman of means living at Twickenham, and + engaged upon a great literary research to prove that the “Faery Queen” was + really a treatise upon molecular chemistry written in a peculiar and + picturesquely handled cipher. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + Now, while Ann Veronica was taking these soundings in the industrial sea, + and measuring herself against the world as it is, she was also making + extensive explorations among the ideas and attitudes of a number of human + beings who seemed to be largely concerned with the world as it ought to + be. She was drawn first by Miss Miniver, and then by her own natural + interest, into a curious stratum of people who are busied with dreams of + world progress, of great and fundamental changes, of a New Age that is to + replace all the stresses and disorders of contemporary life. + </p> + <p> + Miss Miniver learned of her flight and got her address from the Widgetts. + She arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous + enthusiasm. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to + Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She + appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might + be. + </p> + <p> + There was a wild light in her eye, and her straight hair was out + demonstrating and suffragetting upon some independent notions of its own. + Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into + touch with Ann Veronica. “You’re Glorious!” said Miss Miniver in tones of + rapture, holding a hand in each of hers and peering up into Ann Veronica’s + face. “Glorious! You’re so calm, dear, and so resolute, so serene! + </p> + <p> + “It’s girls like you who will show them what We are,” said Miss Miniver; + “girls whose spirits have not been broken!” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica sunned herself a little in this warmth. + </p> + <p> + “I was watching you at Morningside Park, dear,” said Miss Miniver. “I am + getting to watch all women. I thought then perhaps you didn’t care, that + you were like so many of them. NOW it’s just as though you had grown up + suddenly.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped, and then suggested: “I wonder—I should love—if it + was anything <i>I</i> said.” + </p> + <p> + She did not wait for Ann Veronica’s reply. She seemed to assume that it + must certainly be something she had said. “They all catch on,” she said. + “It spreads like wildfire. This is such a grand time! Such a glorious + time! There never was such a time as this! Everything seems so close to + fruition, so coming on and leading on! The Insurrection of Women! They + spring up everywhere. Tell me all that happened, one sister-woman to + another.” + </p> + <p> + She chilled Ann Veronica a little by that last phrase, and yet the + magnetism of her fellowship and enthusiasm was very strong; and it was + pleasant to be made out a heroine after so much expostulation and so many + secret doubts. + </p> + <p> + But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk. She sat, crouched + together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported + the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, + and let herself go. “Let us put the lamp out,” she said; “the flames are + ever so much better for talking,” and Ann Veronica agreed. “You are coming + right out into life—facing it all.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica sat with her chin on her hand, red-lit and saying little, and + Miss Miniver discoursed. As she talked, the drift and significance of what + she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. It + presented itself in the likeness of a great, gray, dull world—a + brutal, superstitious, confused, and wrong-headed world, that hurt people + and limited people unaccountably. In remote times and countries its evil + tendencies had expressed themselves in the form of tyrannies, massacres, + wars, and what not; but just at present in England they shaped as + commercialism and competition, silk hats, suburban morals, the sweating + system, and the subjection of women. So far the thing was acceptable + enough. But over against the world Miss Miniver assembled a small but + energetic minority, the Children of Light—people she described as + “being in the van,” or “altogether in the van,” about whom Ann Veronica’s + mind was disposed to be more sceptical. + </p> + <p> + Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming + on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, + it was all the same really. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, + breathing it, being it. Hitherto in the world’s history there had been + precursors of this Progress at great intervals, voices that had spoken and + ceased, but now it was all coming on together in a rush. She mentioned, + with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and + Plato. Pioneers all of them. Such names shone brightly in the darkness, + with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in + the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the + real dawn. + </p> + <p> + “The women are taking it up,” said Miss Miniver; “the women and the common + people, all pressing forward, all roused.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica listened with her eyes on the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody is taking it up,” said Miss Miniver. “YOU had to come in. You + couldn’t help it. Something drew you. Something draws everybody. From + suburbs, from country towns—everywhere. I see all the Movements. As + far as I can, I belong to them all. I keep my finger on the pulse of + things.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like + pools of blood-red flame. + </p> + <p> + “I came to London,” said Ann Veronica, “rather because of my own + difficulty. I don’t know that I understand altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you don’t,” said Miss Miniver, gesticulating triumphantly with + her thin hand and thinner wrist, and patting Ann Veronica’s knee. “Of + course you don’t. That’s the wonder of it. But you will, you will. You + must let me take you to things—to meetings and things, to + conferences and talks. Then you will begin to see. You will begin to see + it all opening out. I am up to the ears in it all—every moment I can + spare. I throw up work—everything! I just teach in one school, one + good school, three days a week. All the rest—Movements! I can live + now on fourpence a day. Think how free that leaves me to follow things up! + I must take you everywhere. I must take you to the Suffrage people, and + the Tolstoyans, and the Fabians.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of the Fabians,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “It’s THE Society!” said Miss Miniver. “It’s the centre of the + intellectuals. Some of the meetings are wonderful! Such earnest, beautiful + women! Such deep-browed men!... And to think that there they are making + history! There they are putting together the plans of a new world. Almost + light-heartedly. There is Shaw, and Webb, and Wilkins the author, and + Toomer, and Doctor Tumpany—the most wonderful people! There you see + them discussing, deciding, planning! Just think—THEY ARE MAKING A + NEW WORLD!” + </p> + <p> + “But ARE these people going to alter everything?” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “What else can happen?” asked Miss Miniver, with a little weak gesture at + the glow. “What else can possibly happen—as things are going now?” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + Miss Miniver let Ann Veronica into her peculiar levels of the world with + so enthusiastic a generosity that it seemed ingratitude to remain + critical. Indeed, almost insensibly Ann Veronica became habituated to the + peculiar appearance and the peculiar manners of the people “in the van.” + The shock of their intellectual attitude was over, usage robbed it of the + first quaint effect of deliberate unreason. They were in many respects so + right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical + conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to + that rightness, absurd. + </p> + <p> + Very central in Miss Miniver’s universe were the Goopes. The Goopes were + the oddest little couple conceivable, following a fruitarian career upon + an upper floor in Theobald’s Road. They were childless and servantless, + and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. Mr. Goopes, + Ann Veronica gathered, was a mathematical tutor and visited schools, and + his wife wrote a weekly column in New Ideas upon vegetarian cookery, + vivisection, degeneration, the lacteal secretion, appendicitis, and the + Higher Thought generally, and assisted in the management of a fruit shop + in the Tottenham Court Road. Their very furniture had mysteriously a + high-browed quality, and Mr. Goopes when at home dressed simply in a + pajama-shaped suit of canvas sacking tied with brown ribbons, while his + wife wore a purple djibbah with a richly embroidered yoke. He was a small, + dark, reserved man, with a large inflexible-looking convex forehead, and + his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that + pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. Once a week, every Saturday, + they had a little gathering from nine till the small hours, just talk and + perhaps reading aloud and fruitarian refreshments—chestnut + sandwiches buttered with nut tose, and so forth—and lemonade and + unfermented wine; and to one of these symposia Miss Miniver after a good + deal of preliminary solicitude, conducted Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + She was introduced, perhaps a little too obviously for her taste, as a + girl who was standing out against her people, to a gathering that + consisted of a very old lady with an extremely wrinkled skin and a deep + voice who was wearing what appeared to Ann Veronica’s inexperienced eye to + be an antimacassar upon her head, a shy, blond young man with a narrow + forehead and glasses, two undistinguished women in plain skirts and + blouses, and a middle-aged couple, very fat and alike in black, Mr. and + Mrs. Alderman Dunstable, of the Borough Council of Marylebone. These were + seated in an imperfect semicircle about a very copper-adorned fireplace, + surmounted by a carved wood inscription: + </p> + <p> + “DO IT NOW.” + </p> + <p> + And to them were presently added a roguish-looking young man, with reddish + hair, an orange tie, and a fluffy tweed suit, and others who, in Ann + Veronica’s memory, in spite of her efforts to recall details, remained + obstinately just “others.” + </p> + <p> + The talk was animated, and remained always brilliant in form even when it + ceased to be brilliant in substance. There were moments when Ann Veronica + rather more than suspected the chief speakers to be, as school-boys say, + showing off at her. + </p> + <p> + They talked of a new substitute for dripping in vegetarian cookery that + Mrs. Goopes was convinced exercised an exceptionally purifying influence + on the mind. And then they talked of Anarchism and Socialism, and whether + the former was the exact opposite of the latter or only a higher form. The + reddish-haired young man contributed allusions to the Hegelian philosophy + that momentarily confused the discussion. Then Alderman Dunstable, who had + hitherto been silent, broke out into speech and went off at a tangent, and + gave his personal impressions of quite a number of his fellow-councillors. + He continued to do this for the rest of the evening intermittently, in and + out, among other topics. He addressed himself chiefly to Goopes, and spoke + as if in reply to long-sustained inquiries on the part of Goopes into the + personnel of the Marylebone Borough Council. “If you were to ask me,” he + would say, “I should say Blinders is straight. An ordinary type, of course—” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dunstable’s contributions to the conversation were entirely in the + form of nods; whenever Alderman Dunstable praised or blamed she nodded + twice or thrice, according to the requirements of his emphasis. And she + seemed always to keep one eye on Ann Veronica’s dress. Mrs. Goopes + disconcerted the Alderman a little by abruptly challenging the + roguish-looking young man in the orange tie (who, it seemed, was the + assistant editor of New Ideas) upon a critique of Nietzsche and Tolstoy + that had appeared in his paper, in which doubts had been cast upon the + perfect sincerity of the latter. Everybody seemed greatly concerned about + the sincerity of Tolstoy. + </p> + <p> + Miss Miniver said that if once she lost her faith in Tolstoy’s sincerity, + nothing she felt would really matter much any more, and she appealed to + Ann Veronica whether she did not feel the same; and Mr. Goopes said that + we must distinguish between sincerity and irony, which was often indeed no + more than sincerity at the sublimated level. + </p> + <p> + Alderman Dunstable said that sincerity was often a matter of opportunity, + and illustrated the point to the fair young man with an anecdote about + Blinders on the Dust Destructor Committee, during which the young man in + the orange tie succeeded in giving the whole discussion a daring and + erotic flavor by questioning whether any one could be perfectly sincere in + love. + </p> + <p> + Miss Miniver thought that there was no true sincerity except in love, and + appealed to Ann Veronica, but the young man in the orange tie went on to + declare that it was quite possible to be sincerely in love with two people + at the same time, although perhaps on different planes with each + individual, and deceiving them both. But that brought Mrs. Goopes down on + him with the lesson Titian teaches so beautifully in his “Sacred and + Profane Love,” and became quite eloquent upon the impossibility of any + deception in the former. + </p> + <p> + Then they discoursed on love for a time, and Alderman Dunstable, turning + back to the shy, blond young man and speaking in undertones of the utmost + clearness, gave a brief and confidential account of an unfounded rumor of + the bifurcation of the affections of Blinders that had led to a situation + of some unpleasantness upon the Borough Council. + </p> + <p> + The very old lady in the antimacassar touched Ann Veronica’s arm suddenly, + and said, in a deep, arch voice: + </p> + <p> + “Talking of love again; spring again, love again. Oh! you young people!” + </p> + <p> + The young man with the orange tie, in spite of Sisyphus-like efforts on + the part of Goopes to get the topic on to a higher plane, displayed great + persistence in speculating upon the possible distribution of the + affections of highly developed modern types. + </p> + <p> + The old lady in the antimacassar said, abruptly, “Ah! you young people, + you young people, if you only knew!” and then laughed and then mused in a + marked manner; and the young man with the narrow forehead and glasses + cleared his throat and asked the young man in the orange tie whether he + believed that Platonic love was possible. Mrs. Goopes said she believed in + nothing else, and with that she glanced at Ann Veronica, rose a little + abruptly, and directed Goopes and the shy young man in the handing of + refreshments. + </p> + <p> + But the young man with the orange tie remained in his place, disputing + whether the body had not something or other which he called its legitimate + claims. And from that they came back by way of the Kreutzer Sonata and + Resurrection to Tolstoy again. + </p> + <p> + So the talk went on. Goopes, who had at first been a little reserved, + resorted presently to the Socratic method to restrain the young man with + the orange tie, and bent his forehead over him, and brought out at last + very clearly from him that the body was only illusion and everything + nothing but just spirit and molecules of thought. It became a sort of duel + at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, + that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a + corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was + sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth + for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential + admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty + and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in + Marylebone. + </p> + <p> + So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and + certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and + then they were discussing the future of the theatre. Ann Veronica + intervened a little in the novelist discussion with a defence of Esmond + and a denial that the Egoist was obscure, and when she spoke every one + else stopped talking and listened. Then they deliberated whether Bernard + Shaw ought to go into Parliament. And that brought them to vegetarianism + and teetotalism, and the young man in the orange tie and Mrs. Goopes had a + great set-to about the sincerity of Chesterton and Belloc that was ended + by Goopes showing signs of resuming the Socratic method. + </p> + <p> + And at last Ann Veronica and Miss Miniver came down the dark staircase and + out into the foggy spaces of the London squares, and crossed Russell + Square, Woburn Square, Gordon Square, making an oblique route to Ann + Veronica’s lodging. They trudged along a little hungry, because of the + fruitarian refreshments, and mentally very active. And Miss Miniver fell + discussing whether Goopes or Bernard Shaw or Tolstoy or Doctor Tumpany or + Wilkins the author had the more powerful and perfect mind in existence at + the present time. She was clear there were no other minds like them in all + the world. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + Then one evening Ann Veronica went with Miss Miniver into the back seats + of the gallery at Essex Hall, and heard and saw the giant leaders of the + Fabian Society who are re-making the world: Bernard Shaw and Toomer and + Doctor Tumpany and Wilkins the author, all displayed upon a platform. The + place was crowded, and the people about her were almost equally made up of + very good-looking and enthusiastic young people and a great variety of + Goopes-like types. In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of + things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was + fine beyond dispute. In nearly every speech she heard was the same + implication of great and necessary changes in the world—changes to + be won by effort and sacrifice indeed, but surely to be won. And afterward + she saw a very much larger and more enthusiastic gathering, a meeting of + the advanced section of the woman movement in Caxton Hall, where the same + note of vast changes in progress sounded; and she went to a soiree of the + Dress Reform Association and visited a Food Reform Exhibition, where + imminent change was made even alarmingly visible. The women’s meeting was + much more charged with emotional force than the Socialists’. Ann Veronica + was carried off her intellectual and critical feet by it altogether, and + applauded and uttered cries that subsequent reflection failed to endorse. + “I knew you would feel it,” said Miss Miniver, as they came away flushed + and heated. “I knew you would begin to see how it all falls into place + together.” + </p> + <p> + It did begin to fall into place together. She became more and more alive, + not so much to a system of ideas as to a big diffused impulse toward + change, to a great discontent with and criticism of life as it is lived, + to a clamorous confusion of ideas for reconstruction—reconstruction + of the methods of business, of economic development, of the rules of + property, of the status of children, of the clothing and feeding and + teaching of every one; she developed a quite exaggerated consciousness of + a multitude of people going about the swarming spaces of London with their + minds full, their talk and gestures full, their very clothing charged with + the suggestion of the urgency of this pervasive project of alteration. + Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign + visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than + as the indigenous Londoners they were. For the most part these were + detached people: men practising the plastic arts, young writers, young men + in employment, a very large proportion of girls and women—self-supporting + women or girls of the student class. They made a stratum into which Ann + Veronica was now plunged up to her neck; it had become her stratum. + </p> + <p> + None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, + but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive + and articulate and insistent. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and + Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason + of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and + window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and + stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate + phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. + </p> + <p> + She was already a little prepared by her discursive reading and discussion + under the Widgett influence for ideas and “movements,” though + temperamentally perhaps she was rather disposed to resist and criticise + than embrace them. But the people among whom she was now thrown through + the social exertions of Miss Miniver and the Widgetts—for Teddy and + Hetty came up from Morningside Park and took her to an eighteen-penny + dinner in Soho and introduced her to some art students, who were also + Socialists, and so opened the way to an evening of meandering talk in a + studio—carried with them like an atmosphere this implication, not + only that the world was in some stupid and even obvious way WRONG, with + which indeed she was quite prepared to agree, but that it needed only a + few pioneers to behave as such and be thoroughly and indiscriminately + “advanced,” for the new order to achieve itself. + </p> + <p> + When ninety per cent. out of the ten or twelve people one meets in a month + not only say but feel and assume a thing, it is very hard not to fall into + the belief that the thing is so. Imperceptibly almost Ann Veronica began + to acquire the new attitude, even while her mind still resisted the felted + ideas that went with it. And Miss Miniver began to sway her. + </p> + <p> + The very facts that Miss Miniver never stated an argument clearly, that + she was never embarrassed by a sense of self-contradiction, and had little + more respect for consistency of statement than a washerwoman has for wisps + of vapor, which made Ann Veronica critical and hostile at their first + encounter in Morningside Park, became at last with constant association + the secret of Miss Miniver’s growing influence. The brain tires of + resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the + same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and + dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the + operation. There must be something, one feels, in ideas that achieve + persistently a successful resurrection. What Miss Miniver would have + called the Higher Truth supervenes. + </p> + <p> + Yet through these talks, these meetings and conferences, these movements + and efforts, Ann Veronica, for all that she went with her friend, and at + times applauded with her enthusiastically, yet went nevertheless with eyes + that grew more and more puzzled, and fine eyebrows more and more disposed + to knit. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at + times intensely—and yet something eluded her. Morningside Park had + been passive and defective; all this rushed about and was active, but it + was still defective. It still failed in something. It did seem germane to + the matter that so many of the people “in the van” were plain people, or + faded people, or tired-looking people. It did affect the business that + they all argued badly and were egotistical in their manners and + inconsistent in their phrases. There were moments when she doubted whether + the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not + simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection + by the glamour of its own assertions. It happened that at the extremest + point of Ann Veronica’s social circle from the Widgetts was the family of + the Morningside Park horse-dealer, a company of extremely dressy and + hilarious young women, with one equestrian brother addicted to fancy + waistcoats, cigars, and facial spots. These girls wore hats at remarkable + angles and bows to startle and kill; they liked to be right on the spot + every time and up to everything that was it from the very beginning and + they rendered their conception of Socialists and all reformers by the + words “positively frightening” and “weird.” Well, it was beyond dispute + that these words did convey a certain quality of the Movements in general + amid which Miss Miniver disported herself. They WERE weird. And yet for + all that— + </p> + <p> + It got into Ann Veronica’s nights at last and kept her awake, the + perplexing contrast between the advanced thought and the advanced thinker. + The general propositions of Socialism, for example, struck her as + admirable, but she certainly did not extend her admiration to any of its + exponents. She was still more stirred by the idea of the equal citizenship + of men and women, by the realization that a big and growing organization + of women were giving form and a generalized expression to just that + personal pride, that aspiration for personal freedom and respect which had + brought her to London; but when she heard Miss Miniver discoursing on the + next step in the suffrage campaign, or read of women badgering Cabinet + Ministers, padlocked to railings, or getting up in a public meeting to + pipe out a demand for votes and be carried out kicking and screaming, her + soul revolted. She could not part with dignity. Something as yet + unformulated within her kept her estranged from all these practical + aspects of her beliefs. + </p> + <p> + “Not for these things, O Ann Veronica, have you revolted,” it said; “and + this is not your appropriate purpose.” + </p> + <p> + It was as if she faced a darkness in which was something very beautiful + and wonderful as yet unimagined. The little pucker in her brows became + more perceptible. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 5 + </h2> + <p> + In the beginning of December Ann Veronica began to speculate privately + upon the procedure of pawning. She had decided that she would begin with + her pearl necklace. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it + was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair + of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking + over the economic situation and planning a course of action. Her aunt had + secretly sent on to Ann Veronica some new warm underclothing, a dozen + pairs of stockings, and her last winter’s jacket, but the dear lady had + overlooked those boots. + </p> + <p> + These things illuminated her situation extremely. Finally she decided upon + a step that had always seemed reasonable to her, but that hitherto she + had, from motives too faint for her to formulate, refrained from taking. + She resolved to go into the City to Ramage and ask for his advice. And + next morning she attired herself with especial care and neatness, found + his address in the Directory at a post-office, and went to him. + </p> + <p> + She had to wait some minutes in an outer office, wherein three young men + of spirited costume and appearance regarded her with ill-concealed + curiosity and admiration. Then Ramage appeared with effusion, and ushered + her into his inner apartment. The three young men exchanged expressive + glances. + </p> + <p> + The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine + Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls + were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern + picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. + </p> + <p> + “But this is a surprise!” said Ramage. “This is wonderful! I’ve been + feeling that you had vanished from my world. Have you been away from + Morningside Park?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not interrupting you?” + </p> + <p> + “You are. Splendidly. Business exists for such interruptions. There you + are, the best client’s chair.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica sat down, and Ramage’s eager eyes feasted on her. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been looking out for you,” he said. “I confess it.” + </p> + <p> + She had not, she reflected, remembered how prominent his eyes were. + </p> + <p> + “I want some advice,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked + about how a girl might get an independent living.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, something has happened at home.” + </p> + <p> + She paused. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing has happened to Mr. Stanley?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve fallen out with my father. It was about—a question of what I + might do or might not do. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my + room. Practically.” + </p> + <p> + Her breath left her for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I SAY!” said Mr. Ramage. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to go to an art-student ball of which he disapproved.” + </p> + <p> + “And why shouldn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I felt that sort of thing couldn’t go on. So I packed up and came to + London next day.” + </p> + <p> + “To a friend?” + </p> + <p> + “To lodgings—alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, you know, you have some pluck. You did it on your own?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica smiled. “Quite on my own,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “It’s magnificent!” He leaned back and regarded her with his head a little + on one side. “By Jove!” he said, “there is something direct about you. I + wonder if I should have locked you up if I’d been your father. Luckily I’m + not. And you started out forthwith to fight the world and be a citizen on + your own basis?” He came forward again and folded his hands under him on + his desk. + </p> + <p> + “How has the world taken it?” he asked. “If I was the world I think I + should have put down a crimson carpet, and asked you to say what you + wanted, and generally walk over me. But the world didn’t do that.” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “It presented a large impenetrable back, and went on thinking about + something else.” + </p> + <p> + “It offered from fifteen to two-and-twenty shillings a week—for + drudgery.” + </p> + <p> + “The world has no sense of what is due to youth and courage. It never has + had.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ann Veronica. “But the thing is, I want a job.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly! And so you came along to me. And you see, I don’t turn my back, + and I am looking at you and thinking about you from top to toe.” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think I ought to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly!” He lifted a paper-weight and dabbed it gently down again. “What + ought you to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve hunted up all sorts of things.” + </p> + <p> + “The point to note is that fundamentally you don’t want particularly to do + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “You want to be free and so forth, yes. But you don’t particularly want to + do the job that sets you free—for its own sake. I mean that it + doesn’t interest you in itself.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s one of our differences. We men are like children. We can get + absorbed in play, in games, in the business we do. That’s really why we do + them sometimes rather well and get on. But women—women as a rule + don’t throw themselves into things like that. As a matter of fact it isn’t + their affair. And as a natural consequence, they don’t do so well, and + they don’t get on—and so the world doesn’t pay them. They don’t + catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, + they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little + impatient of its—its outer aspects. At least that, I think, is what + makes a clever woman’s independent career so much more difficult than a + clever man’s.” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn’t develop a specialty.” Ann Veronica was doing her best to + follow him. + </p> + <p> + “She has one, that’s why. Her specialty is the central thing in life, it + is life itself, the warmth of life, sex—and love.” + </p> + <p> + He pronounced this with an air of profound conviction and with his eyes on + Ann Veronica’s face. He had an air of having told her a deep, personal + secret. She winced as he thrust the fact at her, was about to answer, and + checked herself. She colored faintly. + </p> + <p> + “That doesn’t touch the question I asked you,” she said. “It may be true, + but it isn’t quite what I have in mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” said Ramage, as one who rouses himself from deep + preoccupations And he began to question her in a business-like way upon + the steps she had taken and the inquiries she had made. He displayed none + of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. He was + helpful, but gravely dubious. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view + you’re grown up—you’re as old as all the goddesses and the + contemporary of any man alive. But from the—the economic point of + view you’re a very young and altogether inexperienced person.” + </p> + <p> + He returned to and developed that idea. “You’re still,” he said, “in the + educational years. From the point of view of most things in the world of + employment which a woman can do reasonably well and earn a living by, + you’re unripe and half-educated. If you had taken your degree, for + example.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke of secretarial work, but even there she would need to be able to + do typing and shorthand. He made it more and more evident to her that her + proper course was not to earn a salary but to accumulate equipment. “You + see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of + matter. You’re splendid stuff, you know, but you’ve got nothing ready to + sell. That’s the flat business situation.” + </p> + <p> + He thought. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the + air of a man struck by a brilliant idea. “Look here,” he said, protruding + his eyes; “why get anything to do at all just yet? Why, if you must be + free, why not do the sensible thing? Make yourself worth a decent freedom. + Go on with your studies at the Imperial College, for example, get a + degree, and make yourself good value. Or become a thorough-going typist + and stenographer and secretarial expert.” + </p> + <p> + “But I can’t do that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “You see, if I do go home my father objects to the College, and as for + typing—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t go home.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you forget; how am I to live?” + </p> + <p> + “Easily. Easily.... Borrow.... From me.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t do that,” said Ann Veronica, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I see no reason why you shouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “As one friend to another. Men are always doing it, and if you set up to + be a man—” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s absolutely out of the question, Mr. Ramage.” And Ann Veronica’s + face was hot. + </p> + <p> + Ramage pursed his rather loose lips and shrugged his shoulders, with his + eyes fixed steadily upon her. “Well anyhow—I don’t see the force of + your objection, you know. That’s my advice to you. Here I am. Consider + you’ve got resources deposited with me. Perhaps at the first blush—it + strikes you as odd. People are brought up to be so shy about money. As + though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. But here I am + to draw upon. Here I am as an alternative either to nasty work—or + going home.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s very kind of you—” began Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit. Just a friendly polite suggestion. I don’t suggest any + philanthropy. I shall charge you five per cent., you know, fair and + square.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica opened her lips quickly and did not speak. But the five per + cent. certainly did seem to improve the aspect of Ramage’s suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Well, anyhow, consider it open.” He dabbed with his paper-weight again, + and spoke in an entirely indifferent tone. “And now tell me, please, how + you eloped from Morningside Park. How did you get your luggage out of the + house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a + lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. I never ran away from + anywhere with anybody anywhen. And now—I suppose I should be + considered too old. I don’t feel it.... Didn’t you feel rather EVENTFUL—in + the train—coming up to Waterloo?” + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 6 + </h2> + <p> + Before Christmas Ann Veronica had gone to Ramage again and accepted this + offer she had at first declined. + </p> + <p> + Many little things had contributed to that decision. The chief influence + was her awakening sense of the need of money. She had been forced to buy + herself that pair of boots and a walking-skirt, and the pearl necklace at + the pawnbrokers’ had yielded very disappointingly. And, also, she wanted + to borrow that money. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said + it was—the sensible thing to do. There it was—to be borrowed. + It would put the whole adventure on a broader and better footing; it + seemed, indeed, almost the only possible way in which she might emerge + from her rebellion with anything like success. If only for the sake of her + argument with her home, she wanted success. And why, after all, should she + not borrow money from Ramage? + </p> + <p> + It was so true what he said; middle-class people WERE ridiculously + squeamish about money. Why should they be? + </p> + <p> + She and Ramage were friends, very good friends. If she was in a position + to help him she would help him; only it happened to be the other way + round. He was in a position to help her. What was the objection? + </p> + <p> + She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. So she + went to Ramage and came to the point almost at once. + </p> + <p> + “Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ramage controlled his expression and thought very quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Agreed,” he said, “certainly,” and drew a checkbook toward him. + </p> + <p> + “It’s best,” he said, “to make it a good round sum. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t give you a check though—Yes, I will. I’ll give you an + uncrossed check, and then you can get it at the bank here, quite close + by.... You’d better not have all the money on you; you had better open a + small account in the post-office and draw it out a fiver at a time. That + won’t involve references, as a bank account would—and all that sort + of thing. The money will last longer, and—it won’t bother you.” + </p> + <p> + He stood up rather close to her and looked into her eyes. He seemed to be + trying to understand something very perplexing and elusive. “It’s jolly,” + he said, “to feel you have come to me. It’s a sort of guarantee of + confidence. Last time—you made me feel snubbed.” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated, and went off at a tangent. “There’s no end of things I’d + like to talk over with you. It’s just upon my lunch-time. Come and have + lunch with me.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica fenced for a moment. “I don’t want to take up your time.” + </p> + <p> + “We won’t go to any of these City places. They’re just all men, and no one + is safe from scandal. But I know a little place where we’ll get a little + quiet talk.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica for some indefinable reason did not want to lunch with him, a + reason indeed so indefinable that she dismissed it, and Ramage went + through the outer office with her, alert and attentive, to the vivid + interest of the three clerks. The three clerks fought for the only window, + and saw her whisked into a hansom. Their subsequent conversation is + outside the scope of our story. + </p> + <p> + “Ritter’s!” said Ramage to the driver, “Dean Street.” + </p> + <p> + It was rare that Ann Veronica used hansoms, and to be in one was itself + eventful and exhilarating. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing + over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of + the teeming streets. She admitted her pleasure to Ramage. + </p> + <p> + And Ritter’s, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a little + rambling room with a number of small tables, with red electric light + shades and flowers. It was an overcast day, albeit not foggy, and the + electric light shades glowed warmly, and an Italian waiter with + insufficient English took Ramage’s orders, and waited with an appearance + of affection. Ann Veronica thought the whole affair rather jolly. Ritter + sold better food than most of his compatriots, and cooked it better, and + Ramage, with a fine perception of a feminine palate, ordered Vero Capri. + It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed + her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be + lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a + perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. + </p> + <p> + They talked across their meal in an easy and friendly manner about Ann + Veronica’s affairs. He was really very bright and clever, with a sort of + conversational boldness that was just within the limits of permissible + daring. She described the Goopes and the Fabians to him, and gave him a + sketch of her landlady; and he talked in the most liberal and entertaining + way of a modern young woman’s outlook. He seemed to know a great deal + about life. He gave glimpses of possibilities. He roused curiosities. He + contrasted wonderfully with the empty showing-off of Teddy. His friendship + seemed a thing worth having.... + </p> + <p> + But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and + baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. She doubted how she + stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. + She felt that perhaps, in her desire to play an adequate part in the + conversation, she had talked rather more freely than she ought to have + done, and given him a wrong impression of herself. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 7 + </h2> + <p> + That was two days before Christmas Eve. The next morning came a compact + letter from her father. + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of + forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. + I ask you, although it is not my place to ask you, to return home. This + roof is still open to you. You will not be taunted if you return and + everything that can be done will be done to make you happy. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I must implore you to return. This adventure of yours has gone on + altogether too long; it has become a serious distress to both your aunt + and myself. We fail altogether to understand your motives in doing what + you are doing, or, indeed, how you are managing to do it, or what you are + managing on. If you will think only of one trifling aspect—the + inconvenience it must be to us to explain your absence—I think you + may begin to realize what it all means for us. I need hardly say that your + aunt joins with me very heartily in this request. + </p> + <p> + “Please come home. You will not find me unreasonable with you. + </p> + <p> + “Your affectionate + </p> + <p> + “FATHER.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica sat over her fire with her father’s note in her hand. “Queer + letters he writes,” she said. “I suppose most people’s letters are queer. + Roof open—like a Noah’s Ark. I wonder if he really wants me to go + home. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he + feels.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder how he treated Gwen.” + </p> + <p> + Her mind drifted into a speculation about her sister. “I ought to look up + Gwen,” she said. “I wonder what happened.” + </p> + <p> + Then she fell to thinking about her aunt. “I would like to go home,” she + cried, “to please her. She has been a dear. Considering how little he lets + her have.” + </p> + <p> + The truth prevailed. “The unaccountable thing is that I wouldn’t go home + to please her. She is, in her way, a dear. One OUGHT to want to please + her. And I don’t. I don’t care. I can’t even make myself care.” + </p> + <p> + Presently, as if for comparison with her father’s letter, she got out + Ramage’s check from the box that contained her papers. For so far she had + kept it uncashed. She had not even endorsed it. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I chuck it,” she remarked, standing with the mauve slip in her + hand—“suppose I chuck it, and surrender and go home! Perhaps, after + all, Roddy was right! + </p> + <p> + “Father keeps opening the door and shutting it, but a time will come— + </p> + <p> + “I could still go home!” + </p> + <p> + She held Ramage’s check as if to tear it across. “No,” she said at last; + “I’m a human being—not a timid female. What could I do at home? The + other’s a crumple-up—just surrender. Funk! I’ll see it out.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE EIGHTH + </h2> + <h3> + BIOLOGY + </h3> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + January found Ann Veronica a student in the biological laboratory of the + Central Imperial College that towers up from among the back streets in the + angle between Euston Road and Great Portland Street. She was working very + steadily at the Advanced Course in Comparative Anatomy, wonderfully + relieved to have her mind engaged upon one methodically developing theme + in the place of the discursive uncertainties of the previous two months, + and doing her utmost to keep right in the back of her mind and out of + sight the facts, firstly, that she had achieved this haven of satisfactory + activity by incurring a debt to Ramage of forty pounds, and, secondly, + that her present position was necessarily temporary and her outlook quite + uncertain. + </p> + <p> + The biological laboratory had an atmosphere that was all its own. + </p> + <p> + It was at the top of the building, and looked clear over a clustering mass + of inferior buildings toward Regent’s Park. It was long and narrow, a + well-lit, well-ventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, + pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and + sterilized organic decay. Along the inner side was a wonderfully arranged + series of displayed specimens that Russell himself had prepared. The + supreme effect for Ann Veronica was its surpassing relevance; it made + every other atmosphere she knew seem discursive and confused. The whole + place and everything in it aimed at one thing—to illustrate, to + elaborate, to criticise and illuminate, and make ever plainer and plainer + the significance of animal and vegetable structure. It dealt from floor to + ceiling and end to end with the Theory of the Forms of Life; the very + duster by the blackboard was there to do its share in that work, the very + washers in the taps; the room was more simply concentrated in aim even + than a church. To that, perhaps, a large part of its satisfyingness was + due. Contrasted with the confused movement and presences of a Fabian + meeting, or the inexplicable enthusiasm behind the suffrage demand, with + the speeches that were partly egotistical displays, partly artful + manoeuvres, and partly incoherent cries for unsoundly formulated ends, + compared with the comings and goings of audiences and supporters that were + like the eddy-driven drift of paper in the street, this long, quiet, + methodical chamber shone like a star seen through clouds. + </p> + <p> + Day after day for a measured hour in the lecture-theatre, with elaborate + power and patience, Russell pieced together difficulty and suggestion, + instance and counter-instance, in the elaborate construction of the family + tree of life. And then the students went into the long laboratory and + followed out these facts in almost living tissue with microscope and + scalpel, probe and microtome, and the utmost of their skill and care, + making now and then a raid into the compact museum of illustration next + door, in which specimens and models and directions stood in disciplined + ranks, under the direction of the demonstrator Capes. There was a couple + of blackboards at each end of the aisle of tables, and at these Capes, + with quick and nervous speech that contrasted vividly with Russell’s slow, + definitive articulation, directed the dissection and made illuminating + comments on the structures under examination. Then he would come along the + laboratory, sitting down by each student in turn, checking the work and + discussing its difficulties, and answering questions arising out of + Russell’s lecture. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica had come to the Imperial College obsessed by the great figure + of Russell, by the part he had played in the Darwinian controversies, and + by the resolute effect of the grim-lipped, yellow, leonine face beneath + the mane of silvery hair. Capes was rather a discovery. Capes was + something superadded. Russell burned like a beacon, but Capes illuminated + by darting flashes and threw light, even if it was but momentary light, + into a hundred corners that Russell left steadfastly in the shade. + </p> + <p> + Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily + blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor + but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. He talked at the + blackboard in a pleasant, very slightly lisping voice with a curious + spontaneity, and was sometimes very clumsy in his exposition, and + sometimes very vivid. He dissected rather awkwardly and hurriedly, but, on + the whole, effectively, and drew with an impatient directness that made up + in significance what it lacked in precision. Across the blackboard the + colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram + after diagram flickered into being. + </p> + <p> + There happened that year to be an unusual proportion of girls and women in + the advanced laboratory, perhaps because the class as a whole was an + exceptionally small one. It numbered nine, and four of these were women + students. As a consequence of its small size, it was possible to get along + with the work on a much easier and more colloquial footing than a larger + class would have permitted. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at + four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful + girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess + instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. + </p> + <p> + Capes would come to these teas; he evidently liked to come, and he would + appear in the doorway of the preparation-room, a pleasing note of shyness + in his manner, hovering for an invitation. + </p> + <p> + From the first, Ann Veronica found him an exceptionally interesting man. + To begin with, he struck her as being the most variable person she had + ever encountered. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round + and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been + extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated + Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out. Sometimes he was + obviously irritable and uncomfortable and unfortunate in his efforts to + seem at ease. And sometimes he overflowed with a peculiarly malignant wit + that played, with devastating effect, upon any topics that had the courage + to face it. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable + types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always + authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. And most + of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. Goopes, + she was sure was always high-browed and slow and Socratic. And Ramage too—about + Ramage there would always be that air of avidity, that air of knowledge + and inquiry, the mixture of things in his talk that were rather good with + things that were rather poor. But one could not count with any confidence + upon Capes. + </p> + <p> + The five men students were a mixed company. There was a very white-faced + youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s + manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, + and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently + pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled + Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. + There was a short, red-faced, resolute youth who inherited an + authoritative attitude upon bacteriology from his father; a Japanese + student of unassuming manners who drew beautifully and had an imperfect + knowledge of English; and a dark, unwashed Scotchman with complicated + spectacles, who would come every morning as a sort of volunteer + supplementary demonstrator, look very closely at her work and her, tell + her that her dissections were “fairish,” or “very fairish indeed,” or + “high above the normal female standard,” hover as if for some outbreak of + passionate gratitude and with admiring retrospects that made the facetted + spectacles gleam like diamonds, return to his own place. + </p> + <p> + The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. + There were two school-mistresses, one of whom—Miss Klegg—might + have been a first cousin to Miss Miniver, she had so many Miniver traits; + there was a preoccupied girl whose name Ann Veronica never learned, but + who worked remarkably well; and Miss Garvice, who began by attracting her + very greatly—she moved so beautifully—and ended by giving her + the impression that moving beautifully was the beginning and end of her + being. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + The next few weeks were a time of the very liveliest thought and growth + for Ann Veronica. The crowding impressions of the previous weeks seemed to + run together directly her mind left the chaotic search for employment and + came into touch again with a coherent and systematic development of ideas. + The advanced work at the Central Imperial College was in the closest touch + with living interests and current controversies; it drew its illustrations + and material from Russell’s two great researches—upon the relation + of the brachiopods to the echinodermata, and upon the secondary and + tertiary mammalian and pseudo-mammalian factors in the free larval forms + of various marine organisms. Moreover, a vigorous fire of mutual criticism + was going on now between the Imperial College and the Cambridge Mendelians + and echoed in the lectures. From beginning to end it was first-hand stuff. + </p> + <p> + But the influence of the science radiated far beyond its own special field—beyond + those beautiful but highly technical problems with which we do not propose + for a moment to trouble the naturally terrified reader. Biology is an + extraordinarily digestive science. It throws out a number of broad + experimental generalizations, and then sets out to bring into harmony or + relation with these an infinitely multifarious collection of phenomena. + The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous + movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the + senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime + upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and + are illuminated. And not only did these tentacular generalizations gather + all the facts of natural history and comparative anatomy together, but + they seemed always stretching out further and further into a world of + interests that lay altogether outside their legitimate bounds. + </p> + <p> + It came to Ann Veronica one night after a long talk with Miss Miniver, as + a sudden remarkable thing, as a grotesque, novel aspect, that this slowly + elaborating biological scheme had something more than an academic interest + for herself. And not only so, but that it was after all, a more systematic + and particular method of examining just the same questions that underlay + the discussions of the Fabian Society, the talk of the West Central Arts + Club, the chatter of the studios and the deep, the bottomless discussions + of the simple-life homes. It was the same Bios whose nature and drift and + ways and methods and aspects engaged them all. And she, she in her own + person too, was this eternal Bios, beginning again its recurrent journey + to selection and multiplication and failure or survival. + </p> + <p> + But this was but a momentary gleam of personal application, and at this + time she followed it up no further. + </p> + <p> + And now Ann Veronica’s evenings were also becoming very busy. She pursued + her interest in the Socialist movement and in the Suffragist agitation in + the company of Miss Miniver. They went to various central and local Fabian + gatherings, and to a number of suffrage meetings. Teddy Widgett hovered on + the fringe of all these gatherings, blinking at Ann Veronica and + occasionally making a wildly friendly dash at her, and carrying her and + Miss Miniver off to drink cocoa with a choice diversity of other youthful + and congenial Fabians after the meetings. Then Mr. Manning loomed up ever + and again into her world, full of a futile solicitude, and almost always + declaring she was splendid, splendid, and wishing he could talk things out + with her. Teas he contributed to the commissariat of Ann Veronica’s + campaign—quite a number of teas. He would get her to come to tea + with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham + Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a + thousand devotions were she but to command him. And he would express + various artistic sensibilities and aesthetic appreciations in carefully + punctuated sentences and a large, clear voice. At Christmas he gave her a + set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in + flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he + intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. + </p> + <p> + There was something markedly and deliberately liberal-minded in his manner + in all their encounters. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme + want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far + as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had + flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. + </p> + <p> + And, in addition, she was now seeing and talking to Ramage almost weekly, + on a theory which she took very gravely, that they were exceptionally + friends. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little + Italian or semi-Bohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one + of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly + Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. Nor, indeed, did + she want to refuse. These dinners, from their lavish display of ambiguous + hors d’oeuvre to their skimpy ices in dishes of frilled paper, with their + Chianti flasks and Parmesan dishes and their polyglot waiters and polyglot + clientele, were very funny and bright; and she really liked Ramage, and + valued his help and advice. It was interesting to see how different and + characteristic his mode of approach was to all sorts of questions that + interested her, and it was amusing to discover this other side to the life + of a Morningside Park inhabitant. She had thought that all Morningside + Park householders came home before seven at the latest, as her father + usually did. Ramage talked always about women or some woman’s concern, and + very much about Ann Veronica’s own outlook upon life. He was always + drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a + wonderful new departure in this comparison. Ann Veronica liked their + relationship all the more because it was an unusual one. + </p> + <p> + After these dinners they would have a walk, usually to the Thames + Embankment to see the two sweeps of river on either side of Waterloo + Bridge; and then they would part at Westminster Bridge, perhaps, and he + would go on to Waterloo. Once he suggested they should go to a music-hall + and see a wonderful new dancer, but Ann Veronica did not feel she cared to + see a new dancer. So, instead, they talked of dancing and what it might + mean in a human life. Ann Veronica thought it was a spontaneous release of + energy expressive of well-being, but Ramage thought that by dancing, men, + and such birds and animals as dance, come to feel and think of their + bodies. + </p> + <p> + This intercourse, which had been planned to warm Ann Veronica to a + familiar affection with Ramage, was certainly warming Ramage to a + constantly deepening interest in Ann Veronica. He felt that he was getting + on with her very slowly indeed, but he did not see how he could get on + faster. He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain + curiosities and feelings in her. Until that was done a certain experience + of life assured him that a girl is a locked coldness against a man’s + approach. She had all the fascination of being absolutely perplexing in + this respect. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and + would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been + trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, + or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to + all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one + might have thought, would have made. He was always doing his best to call + her attention to the fact that he was a man of spirit and quality and + experience, and she a young and beautiful woman, and that all sorts of + constructions upon their relationship were possible, trusting her to go on + from that to the idea that all sorts of relationships were possible. She + responded with an unfaltering appearance of insensibility, and never as a + young and beautiful woman conscious of sex; always in the character of an + intelligent girl student. + </p> + <p> + His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each + encounter. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly + dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a + surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and + illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. Or he would + find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of + her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. + </p> + <p> + He was beginning to think about her inordinately. He would sit in his + inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, + illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved + to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. + And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. + </p> + <p> + He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental + adventure in which he had begun. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid + who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and + made his position in the world. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve had most of the things I wanted,” said Ramage, in the stillness of + the night. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + For a time Ann Veronica’s family had desisted from direct offers of a free + pardon; they were evidently waiting for her resources to come to an end. + Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in + early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and + dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s + welfare. “I had a dream in the night,” she said. “I saw you in a sort of + sloping, slippery place, holding on by your hands and slipping. You seemed + to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white. It was really + most vivid, most vivid! You seemed to be slipping and just going to tumble + and holding on. It made me wake up, and there I lay thinking of you, + spending your nights up here all alone, and no one to look after you. I + wondered what you could be doing and what might be happening to you. I + said to myself at once, ‘Either this is a coincidence or the caper sauce.’ + But I made sure it was you. I felt I MUST do something anyhow, and up I + came just as soon as I could to see you.” + </p> + <p> + She had spoken rather rapidly. “I can’t help saying it,” she said, with + the quality of her voice altering, “but I do NOT think it is right for an + unprotected girl to be in London alone as you are.” + </p> + <p> + “But I’m quite equal to taking care of myself, aunt.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be most uncomfortable here. It is most uncomfortable for every + one concerned.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke with a certain asperity. She felt that Ann Veronica had duped + her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as + well speak her mind. + </p> + <p> + “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know + what you are doing.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going on working for my degree.” + </p> + <p> + “Why couldn’t you do that at home?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m working at the Imperial College. You see, aunt, it’s the only + possible way for me to get a good degree in my subjects, and father won’t + hear of it. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home. And how could I + come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” + </p> + <p> + “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. “I do + wish you and your father could come to some agreement.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica responded with conviction: “I wish so, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t we arrange something? Can’t we make a sort of treaty?” + </p> + <p> + “He wouldn’t keep it. He would get very cross one evening and no one would + dare to remind him of it.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you say such things?” + </p> + <p> + “But he would!” + </p> + <p> + “Still, it isn’t your place to say so.” + </p> + <p> + “It prevents a treaty.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t <i>I</i> make a treaty?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica thought, and could not see any possible treaty that would + leave it open for her to have quasi-surreptitious dinners with Ramage or + go on walking round the London squares discussing Socialism with Miss + Miniver toward the small hours. She had tasted freedom now, and so far she + had not felt the need of protection. Still, there certainly was something + in the idea of a treaty. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see at all how you can be managing,” said Miss Stanley, and Ann + Veronica hastened to reply, “I do on very little.” Her mind went back to + that treaty. + </p> + <p> + “And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was + saying—a disagreeable question. + </p> + <p> + “There are a few fees.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how have you managed?” + </p> + <p> + “Bother!” said Ann Veronica to herself, and tried not to look guilty. “I + was able to borrow the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Borrow the money! But who lent you the money?” + </p> + <p> + “A friend,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + She felt herself getting into a corner. She sought hastily in her mind for + a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. Her aunt went + off at a tangent. “But my dear Ann Veronica, you will be getting into + debt!” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica at once, and with a feeling of immense relief, took refuge in + her dignity. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my + self-respect to keep me out of that.” + </p> + <p> + For the moment her aunt could not think of any reply to this + counterstroke, and Ann Veronica followed up her advantage by a sudden + inquiry about her abandoned boots. + </p> + <p> + But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. + </p> + <p> + “If she is borrowing money,” said Miss Stanley, “she MUST be getting into + debt. It’s all nonsense....” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + It was by imperceptible degrees that Capes became important in Ann + Veronica’s thoughts. But then he began to take steps, and, at last, + strides to something more and more like predominance. She began by being + interested in his demonstrations and his biological theory, then she was + attracted by his character, and then, in a manner, she fell in love with + his mind. + </p> + <p> + One day they were at tea in the laboratory and a discussion sprang up + about the question of women’s suffrage. The movement was then in its + earlier militant phases, and one of the women only, Miss Garvice, opposed + it, though Ann Veronica was disposed to be lukewarm. But a man’s + opposition always inclined her to the suffrage side; she had a curious + feeling of loyalty in seeing the more aggressive women through. Capes was + irritatingly judicial in the matter, neither absurdly against, in which + case one might have smashed him, or hopelessly undecided, but tepidly + sceptical. Miss Klegg and the youngest girl made a vigorous attack on Miss + Garvice, who had said she thought women lost something infinitely precious + by mingling in the conflicts of life. The discussion wandered, and was + punctuated with bread and butter. Capes was inclined to support Miss Klegg + until Miss Garvice cornered him by quoting him against himself, and citing + a recent paper in the Nineteenth Century, in which, following Atkinson, he + had made a vigorous and damaging attack on Lester Ward’s case for the + primitive matriarchate and the predominant importance of the female + throughout the animal kingdom. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica was not aware of this literary side of her teacher; she had a + little tinge of annoyance at Miss Garvice’s advantage. Afterwards she + hunted up the article in question, and it seemed to her quite delightfully + written and argued. Capes had the gift of easy, unaffected writing, + coupled with very clear and logical thinking, and to follow his written + thought gave her the sensation of cutting things with a perfectly new, + perfectly sharp knife. She found herself anxious to read more of him, and + the next Wednesday she went to the British Museum and hunted first among + the half-crown magazines for his essays and then through various + scientific quarterlies for his research papers. The ordinary research + paper, when it is not extravagant theorizing, is apt to be rather sawdusty + in texture, and Ann Veronica was delighted to find the same easy and + confident luminosity that distinguished his work for the general reader. + She returned to these latter, and at the back of her mind, as she looked + them over again, was a very distinct resolve to quote them after the + manner of Miss Garvice at the very first opportunity. + </p> + <p> + When she got home to her lodgings that evening she reflected with + something like surprise upon her half-day’s employment, and decided that + it showed nothing more nor less than that Capes was a really very + interesting person indeed. + </p> + <p> + And then she fell into a musing about Capes. She wondered why he was so + distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some + time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 5 + </h2> + <p> + Yet Ann Veronica was thinking a very great deal about love. A dozen + shynesses and intellectual barriers were being outflanked or broken down + in her mind. All the influences about her worked with her own + predisposition and against all the traditions of her home and upbringing + to deal with the facts of life in an unabashed manner. Ramage, by a + hundred skilful hints had led her to realize that the problem of her own + life was inseparably associated with, and indeed only one special case of, + the problems of any woman’s life, and that the problem of a woman’s life + is love. + </p> + <p> + “A young man comes into life asking how best he may place himself,” Ramage + had said; “a woman comes into life thinking instinctively how best she may + give herself.” + </p> + <p> + She noted that as a good saying, and it germinated and spread tentacles of + explanation through her brain. The biological laboratory, perpetually + viewing life as pairing and breeding and selection, and again pairing and + breeding, seemed only a translated generalization of that assertion. And + all the talk of the Miniver people and the Widgett people seemed always to + be like a ship in adverse weather on the lee shore of love. “For seven + years,” said Ann Veronica, “I have been trying to keep myself from + thinking about love.... + </p> + <p> + “I have been training myself to look askance at beautiful things.” + </p> + <p> + She gave herself permission now to look at this squarely. She made herself + a private declaration of liberty. “This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied + fear!” she said. “This is the slavery of the veiled life. I might as well + be at Morningside Park. This business of love is the supreme affair in + life, it is the woman’s one event and crisis that makes up for all her + other restrictions, and I cower—as we all cower—with a + blushing and paralyzed mind until it overtakes me!... + </p> + <p> + “I’ll be hanged if I do.” + </p> + <p> + But she could not talk freely about love, she found, for all that + manumission. + </p> + <p> + Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for + openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. But something + instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” + and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter + she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological + indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it + out for examination. In the biological laboratory that was their + invincible tone. But she disapproved more and more of her own mental + austerity. Here was an experienced man of the world, her friend, who + evidently took a great interest in this supreme topic and was willing to + give her the benefit of his experiences! Why should not she be at her ease + with him? Why should not she know things? It is hard enough anyhow for a + human being to learn, she decided, but it is a dozen times more difficult + than it need be because of all this locking of the lips and thoughts. + </p> + <p> + She contrived to break down the barriers of shyness at last in one + direction, and talked one night of love and the facts of love with Miss + Miniver. + </p> + <p> + But Miss Miniver was highly unsatisfactory. She repeated phrases of Mrs. + Goopes’s: “Advanced people,” she said, with an air of great elucidation, + “tend to GENERALIZE love. ‘He prayeth best who loveth best—all + things both great and small.’ For my own part I go about loving.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but men;” said Ann Veronica, plunging; “don’t you want the love of + men?” + </p> + <p> + For some seconds they remained silent, both shocked by this question. + </p> + <p> + Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. “NO!” + she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica + of a sprung tennis-racket. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been through all that,” she went on, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + She spoke slowly. “I have never yet met a man whose intellect I could + respect.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, and decided to + persist on principle. + </p> + <p> + “But if you had?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. “And think, think”—her + voice sank—“of the horrible coarseness!” + </p> + <p> + “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Vee!” Her voice became very low. “Don’t you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I know—” + </p> + <p> + “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica ignored her friend’s confusion. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t we all rather humbug about the coarseness? All we women, I mean,” + said she. She decided to go on, after a momentary halt. “We pretend bodies + are ugly. Really they are the most beautiful things in the world. We + pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried Miss Miniver, almost vehemently. “You are wrong! I did not + think you thought such things. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are + souls. Love lives on a higher plane. We are not animals. If ever I did + meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically.” + </p> + <p> + She made her glasses glint. “Absolutely platonically,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Soul to soul.” + </p> + <p> + She turned her face to the fire, gripped her hands upon her elbows, and + drew her thin shoulders together in a shrug. “Ugh!” she said. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica watched her and wondered about her. + </p> + <p> + “We do not want the men,” said Miss Miniver; “we do not want them, with + their sneers and loud laughter. Empty, silly, coarse brutes. Brutes! They + are the brute still with us! Science some day may teach us a way to do + without them. It is only the women matter. It is not every sort of + creature needs—these males. Some have no males.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s green-fly,” admitted Ann Veronica. “And even then—” + </p> + <p> + The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica readjusted her chin on her hand. “I wonder which of us is + right,” she said. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion.” + </p> + <p> + “Tolstoy is so good about this,” said Miss Miniver, regardless of her + friend’s attitude. “He sees through it all. The Higher Life and the Lower. + He sees men all defiled by coarse thoughts, coarse ways of living + cruelties. Simply because they are hardened by—by bestiality, and + poisoned by the juices of meat slain in anger and fermented drinks—fancy! + drinks that have been swarmed in by thousands and thousands of horrible + little bacteria!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s yeast,” said Ann Veronica—“a vegetable.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all the same,” said Miss Miniver. “And then they are swollen up and + inflamed and drunken with matter. They are blinded to all fine and subtle + things—they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. + They are arbitrary and unjust and dogmatic and brutish and lustful.” + </p> + <p> + “But do you really think men’s minds are altered by the food they eat?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” said Miss Miniver. “Experte credo. When I am leading a true + life, a pure and simple life free of all stimulants and excitements, I + think—I think—oh! with pellucid clearness; but if I so much as + take a mouthful of meat—or anything—the mirror is all + blurred.” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 6 + </h2> + <p> + Then, arising she knew not how, like a new-born appetite, came a craving + in Ann Veronica for the sight and sound of beauty. + </p> + <p> + It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed. Her mind turned and + accused itself of having been cold and hard. She began to look for beauty + and discover it in unexpected aspects and places. Hitherto she had seen it + chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing + taken out of life. Now the sense of beauty was spreading to a multitude of + hitherto unsuspected aspects of the world about her. + </p> + <p> + The thought of beauty became an obsession. It interwove with her + biological work. She found herself asking more and more curiously, “Why, + on the principle of the survival of the fittest, have I any sense of + beauty at all?” That enabled her to go on thinking about beauty when it + seemed to her right that she should be thinking about biology. + </p> + <p> + She was very greatly exercised by the two systems of values—the two + series of explanations that her comparative anatomy on the one hand and + her sense of beauty on the other, set going in her thoughts. She could not + make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its + values to the other. Was it that the struggle of things to survive + produced as a sort of necessary by-product these intense preferences and + appreciations, or was it that some mystical outer thing, some great force, + drove life beautyward, even in spite of expediency, regardless of survival + value and all the manifest discretions of life? She went to Capes with + that riddle and put it to him very carefully and clearly, and he talked + well—he always talked at some length when she took a difficulty to + him—and sent her to a various literature upon the markings of + butterflies, the incomprehensible elaboration and splendor of birds of + Paradise and humming-birds’ plumes, the patterning of tigers, and a + leopard’s spots. He was interesting and inconclusive, and the original + papers to which he referred her discursive were at best only suggestive. + Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside + her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. He + displayed a quite unprofessional vein of mysticism in the matter. He + contrasted with Russell, whose intellectual methods were, so to speak, + sceptically dogmatic. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they + took that up again at tea-time. + </p> + <p> + But as the students sat about Miss Garvice’s tea-pot and drank tea or + smoked cigarettes, the talk got away from Capes. The Scotchman informed + Ann Veronica that your view of beauty necessarily depended on your + metaphysical premises, and the young man with the Russell-like hair became + anxious to distinguish himself by telling the Japanese student that + Western art was symmetrical and Eastern art asymmetrical, and that among + the higher organisms the tendency was toward an external symmetry veiling + an internal want of balance. Ann Veronica decided she would have to go on + with Capes another day, and, looking up, discovered him sitting on a stool + with his hands in his pockets and his head a little on one side, regarding + her with a thoughtful expression. She met his eye for a moment in curious + surprise. + </p> + <p> + He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a + reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his + refuge, the preparation-room. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 7 + </h2> + <p> + Then one day a little thing happened that clothed itself in significance. + </p> + <p> + She had been working upon a ribbon of microtome sections of the developing + salamander, and he came to see what she had made of them. She stood up and + he sat down at the microscope, and for a time he was busy scrutinizing one + section after another. She looked down at him and saw that the sunlight + was gleaming from his cheeks, and that all over his cheeks was a fine + golden down of delicate hairs. And at the sight something leaped within + her. + </p> + <p> + Something changed for her. + </p> + <p> + She became aware of his presence as she had never been aware of any human + being in her life before. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of + the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his + brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his + brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely + beautiful things. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. Her + sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, + sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table. She felt him as + something solid and strong and trustworthy beyond measure. The perception + of him flooded her being. + </p> + <p> + He got up. “Here’s something rather good,” he said, and with a start and + an effort she took his place at the microscope, while he stood beside her + and almost leaning over her. + </p> + <p> + She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread + that he might touch her. She pulled herself together and put her eye to + the eye-piece. + </p> + <p> + “You see the pointer?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I see the pointer,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down + with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. Then he got up and + left her. + </p> + <p> + She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something + enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or + infinite relief.... + </p> + <p> + But now Ann Veronica knew what was the matter with her. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 8 + </h2> + <p> + And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began + to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under + her skin. She thought of the marvellous beauty of skin, and all the + delightfulness of living texture. Oh the back of her arm she found the + faintest down of hair in the world. “Etherialized monkey,” she said. She + held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and + that. + </p> + <p> + “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. “Why should one pretend? + </p> + <p> + “Think of all the beauty in the world that is covered up and overlaid.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced shyly at the mirror above her dressing-table, and then about + her at the furniture, as though it might penetrate to the thoughts that + peeped in her mind. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said Ann Veronica at last, “if I am beautiful? I wonder if I + shall ever shine like a light, like a translucent goddess?— + </p> + <p> + “I wonder— + </p> + <p> + “I suppose girls and women have prayed for this, have come to this—In + Babylon, in Nineveh. + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” + </p> + <p> + She stood up. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself + with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. “And, + after all, I am just one common person!” + </p> + <p> + She watched the throb of the arteries in the stem of her neck, and put her + hand at last gently and almost timidly to where her heart beat beneath her + breast. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 9 + </h2> + <p> + The realization that she was in love flooded Ann Veronica’s mind, and + altered the quality of all its topics. + </p> + <p> + She began to think persistently of Capes, and it seemed to her now that + for some weeks at least she must have been thinking persistently of him + unawares. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with + impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures + and little things that he had said. It occurred to her that it was absurd + and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she + made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions. + </p> + <p> + But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore + her to the thought of Capes again. And when she went to sleep, then always + Capes became the novel and wonderful guest of her dreams. + </p> + <p> + For a time it really seemed all-sufficient to her that she should love. + That Capes should love her seemed beyond the compass of her imagination. + Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her. She wanted to + think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have + him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of + her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. To think of him as + loving her would make all that different. Then he would turn his face to + her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. She would become + defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. He would + require things of her, and she would be passionately concerned to meet his + requirements. Loving was better than that. Loving was self-forgetfulness, + pure delighting in another human being. She felt that with Capes near to + her she would be content always to go on loving. + </p> + <p> + She went next day to the schools, and her world seemed all made of + happiness just worked up roughly into shapes and occasions and duties. She + found she could do her microscope work all the better for being in love. + She winced when first she heard the preparation-room door open and Capes + came down the laboratory; but when at last he reached her she was + self-possessed. She put a stool for him at a little distance from her own, + and after he had seen the day’s work he hesitated, and then plunged into a + resumption of their discussion about beauty. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other + day.” + </p> + <p> + “I like the mystical way,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Our business here is the right way. I’ve been thinking, you know—I’m + not sure that primarily the perception of beauty isn’t just intensity of + feeling free from pain; intensity of perception without any tissue + destruction.” + </p> + <p> + “I like the mystical way better,” said Ann Veronica, and thought. + </p> + <p> + “A number of beautiful things are not intense.” + </p> + <p> + “But delicacy, for example, may be intensely perceived.” + </p> + <p> + “But why is one face beautiful and another not?” objected Ann Veronica; + “on your theory any two faces side by side in the sunlight ought to be + equally beautiful. One must get them with exactly the same intensity.” + </p> + <p> + He did not agree with that. “I don’t mean simply intensity of sensation. I + said intensity of perception. You may perceive harmony, proportion, + rhythm, intensely. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as + physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose + the explosive. There’s the internal factor as well as the external.... I + don’t know if I express myself clearly. I mean that the point is that + vividness of perception is the essential factor of beauty; but, of course, + vividness may be created by a whisper.” + </p> + <p> + “That brings us back,” said Ann Veronica, “to the mystery. Why should some + things and not others open the deeps?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that might, after all, be an outcome of selection—like the + preference for blue flowers, which are not nearly so bright as yellow, of + some insects.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn’t explain sunsets.” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite so easily as it explains an insect alighting on colored paper. + But perhaps if people didn’t like clear, bright, healthy eyes—which + is biologically understandable—they couldn’t like precious stones. + One thing may be a necessary collateral of the others. And, after all, a + fine clear sky of bright colors is the signal to come out of hiding and + rejoice and go on with life.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” said Ann Veronica, and shook her head. + </p> + <p> + Capes smiled cheerfully with his eyes meeting hers. “I throw it out in + passing,” he said. “What I am after is that beauty isn’t a special + inserted sort of thing; that’s my idea. It’s just life, pure life, life + nascent, running clear and strong.” + </p> + <p> + He stood up to go on to the next student. + </p> + <p> + “There’s morbid beauty,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over + the boy who wore his hair like Russell. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her + microscope toward her. Then for a time she sat very still. She felt that + she had passed a difficult corner, and that now she could go on talking + with him again, just as she had been used to do before she understood what + was the matter with her.... + </p> + <p> + She had one idea, she found, very clear in her mind—that she would + get a Research Scholarship, and so contrive another year in the + laboratory. + </p> + <p> + “Now I see what everything means,” said Ann Veronica to herself; and it + really felt for some days as though the secret of the universe, that had + been wrapped and hidden from her so obstinately, was at last altogether + displayed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE NINTH + </h2> + <h3> + DISCORDS + </h3> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + One afternoon, soon after Ann Veronica’s great discovery, a telegram came + into the laboratory for her. It ran: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + —————————————————————————- + | Bored | and | nothing | to | do | + |—————|—————-|—————|————|————| + | will | you | dine | with | me | + |—————|—————-|—————|————|————| + | to-night | somewhere | and | talk | I | + |—————|—————-|—————|————|————| + | shall | be | grateful | Ramage | | + —————————————————————————- +</pre> + <p> + Ann Veronica was rather pleased by this. She had not seen Ramage for ten + or eleven days, and she was quite ready for a gossip with him. And now her + mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that + marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking + to him about it. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort + of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with + this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head + within a yard of him. + </p> + <p> + She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. + </p> + <p> + “I have made over seven hundred pounds in the last week,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “That’s exhilarating,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a score you can buy all sorts of things with.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing that one wants.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to the waiter, who held a wine-card. “Nothing can cheer me,” he + said, “except champagne.” He meditated. “This,” he said, and then: “No! Is + this sweeter? Very well.” + </p> + <p> + “Everything goes well with me,” he said, folding his arms under him and + regarding Ann Veronica with the slightly projecting eyes wide open. “And + I’m not happy. I believe I’m in love.” + </p> + <p> + He leaned back for his soup. + </p> + <p> + Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t be that,” said Ann Veronica, wisely. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it isn’t exactly a depressing state, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “YOU don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “One has theories,” said Ann Veronica, radiantly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, theories! Being in love is a fact.” + </p> + <p> + “It ought to make one happy.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had + intervened. “Parmesan—take it away!” + </p> + <p> + He glanced at Ann Veronica’s face, and it seemed to him that she really + was exceptionally radiant. He wondered why she thought love made people + happy, and began to talk of the smilax and pinks that adorned the table. + He filled her glass with champagne. “You MUST,” he said, “because of my + depression.” + </p> + <p> + They were eating quails when they returned to the topic of love. “What + made you think” he said, abruptly, with the gleam of avidity in his face, + “that love makes people happy?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it must.” + </p> + <p> + “But how?” + </p> + <p> + He was, she thought, a little too insistent. “Women know these things by + instinct,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my + doubts about feminine instinct. It’s one of our conventional + superstitions. A woman is supposed to know when a man is in love with her. + Do you think she does?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica picked among her salad with a judicial expression of face. “I + think she would,” she decided. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Ramage, impressively. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica looked up at him and found him regarding her with eyes that + were almost woebegone, and into which, indeed, he was trying to throw much + more expression than they could carry. There was a little pause between + them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said. “It’s a + way of avoiding explanations. And girls and women, perhaps, are different. + I don’t know. I don’t suppose a girl can tell if a man is in love with her + or not in love with her.” Her mind went off to Capes. Her thoughts took + words for themselves. “She can’t. I suppose it depends on her own state of + mind. If one wants a thing very much, perhaps one is inclined to think one + can’t have it. I suppose if one were to love some one, one would feel + doubtful. And if one were to love some one very much, it’s just so that + one would be blindest, just when one wanted most to see.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped abruptly, afraid that Ramage might be able to infer Capes from + the things she had said, and indeed his face was very eager. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica blushed. “That’s all,” she said “I’m afraid I’m a little + confused about these things.” + </p> + <p> + Ramage looked at her, and then fell into deep reflection as the waiter + came to paragraph their talk again. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever been to the opera, Ann Veronica?” said Ramage. + </p> + <p> + “Once or twice.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go now?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I would like to listen to music. What is there?” + </p> + <p> + “Tristan.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve never heard Tristan and Isolde.” + </p> + <p> + “That settles it. We’ll go. There’s sure to be a place somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s rather jolly of you,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “It’s jolly of you to come,” said Ramage. + </p> + <p> + So presently they got into a hansom together, and Ann Veronica sat back + feeling very luxurious and pleasant, and looked at the light and stir and + misty glitter of the street traffic from under slightly drooping eyelids, + while Ramage sat closer to her than he need have done, and glanced ever + and again at her face, and made to speak and said nothing. And when they + got to Covent Garden Ramage secured one of the little upper boxes, and + they came into it as the overture began. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica took off her jacket and sat down in the corner chair, and + leaned forward to look into the great hazy warm brown cavity of the house, + and Ramage placed his chair to sit beside her and near her, facing the + stage. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the + indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with + its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver + instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. She had never been + to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the + cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of + the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease + in her present position. The curtain rose out of the concluding bars of + the overture and revealed Isolde on the prow of the barbaric ship. The + voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the + story of the immortal lovers had begun. She knew the story only + imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. + The splendid voices sang on from phase to phase of love’s unfolding, the + ship drove across the sea to the beating rhythm of the rowers. The lovers + broke into passionate knowledge of themselves and each other, and then, a + jarring intervention, came King Mark amidst the shouts of the sailormen, + and stood beside them. + </p> + <p> + The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in + the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream + of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to + discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting + lightly on her waist. She made a quick movement, and the hand fell away. + </p> + <p> + “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. “This stirs one.” + </p> + <p> + She sat quite still looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food + of love. It makes me desire life beyond measure. Life! Life and love! It + makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and + dying splendidly.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very beautiful,” said Ann Veronica in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + They said no more for a moment, and each was now acutely aware of the + other. Ann Veronica was excited and puzzled, with a sense of a strange and + disconcerting new light breaking over her relations with Ramage. She had + never thought of him at all in that way before. It did not shock her; it + amazed her, interested her beyond measure. But also this must not go on. + She felt he was going to say something more—something still more + personal and intimate. She was curious, and at the same time clearly + resolved she must not hear it. She felt she must get him talking upon some + impersonal theme at any cost. She snatched about in her mind. “What is the + exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. “Before I heard much + Wagnerian music I heard enthusiastic descriptions of it from a mistress I + didn’t like at school. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched + quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped with an air of interrogation. + </p> + <p> + Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without + speaking. He seemed to be hesitating between two courses of action. “I + don’t know much about the technique of music,” he said at last, with his + eyes upon her. “It’s a matter of feeling with me.” + </p> + <p> + He contradicted himself by plunging into an exposition of motifs. + </p> + <p> + By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, + ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together + hitherto.... + </p> + <p> + All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of + Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded + with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to + say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible + tentacles about her. She tried to think what she should do in this + eventuality or that. Her mind had been and was full of the thought of + Capes, a huge generalized Capes-lover. And in some incomprehensible way, + Ramage was confused with Capes; she had a grotesque disposition to + persuade herself that this was really Capes who surrounded her, as it + were, with wings of desire. The fact that it was her trusted friend making + illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant + thing in her mind. The music confused and distracted her, and made her + struggle against a feeling of intoxication. Her head swam. That was the + inconvenience of it; her head was swimming. The music throbbed into the + warnings that preceded the king’s irruption. + </p> + <p> + Abruptly he gripped her wrist. “I love you, Ann Veronica. I love you—with + all my heart and soul.” + </p> + <p> + She put her face closer to his. She felt the warm nearness of his. + “DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. + </p> + <p> + “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my + God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” + </p> + <p> + His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. She answered in + whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping + beyond the partition within a yard of him. + </p> + <p> + “My hand! This isn’t the place.” + </p> + <p> + He released her hand and talked in eager undertones against an auditory + background of urgency and distress. + </p> + <p> + “Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. I love the soles of + your feet. I love your very breath. I have tried not to tell you—tried + to be simply your friend. It is no good. I want you. I worship you. I + would do anything—I would give anything to make you mine.... Do you + hear me? Do you hear what I am saying?... Love!” + </p> + <p> + He held her arm and abandoned it again at her quick defensive movement. + For a long time neither spoke again. + </p> + <p> + She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss + what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. It seemed to her that + it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest + against his advances as an insult. But she did not in the least want to do + that. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; + she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was + interested—she was profoundly interested. He was in love with her! + She tried to grasp all the welter of values in the situation + simultaneously, and draw some conclusion from their disorder. + </p> + <p> + He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly + hear. + </p> + <p> + “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and + talked. I have always loved you. I don’t care what divides us. I don’t + care what else there is in the world. I want you beyond measure or + reckoning....” + </p> + <p> + His voice rose and fell amidst the music and the singing of Tristan and + King Mark, like a voice heard in a badly connected telephone. She stared + at his pleading face. + </p> + <p> + She turned to the stage, and Tristan was wounded in Kurvenal’s arms, with + Isolde at his feet, and King Mark, the incarnation of masculine force and + obligation, the masculine creditor of love and beauty, stood over him, and + the second climax was ending in wreaths and reek of melodies; and then the + curtain was coming down in a series of short rushes, the music had ended, + and the people were stirring and breaking out into applause, and the + lights of the auditorium were resuming. The lighting-up pierced the + obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly + and sat back. This helped to restore Ann Veronica’s self-command. + </p> + <p> + She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and + trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, + babbling interesting inacceptable things. He looked eager and flushed and + troubled. His eyes caught at hers with passionate inquiries. “Tell me,” he + said; “speak to me.” She realized it was possible to be sorry for him—acutely + sorry for the situation. Of course this thing was absolutely impossible. + But she was disturbed, mysteriously disturbed. She remembered abruptly + that she was really living upon his money. She leaned forward and + addressed him. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ramage,” she said, “please don’t talk like this.” + </p> + <p> + He made to speak and did not. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want you to do it, to go on talking to me. I don’t want to hear + you. If I had known that you had meant to talk like this I wouldn’t have + come here.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can I help it? How can I keep silence?” + </p> + <p> + “Please!” she insisted. “Please not now.” + </p> + <p> + “I MUST talk with you. I must say what I have to say!” + </p> + <p> + “But not now—not here.” + </p> + <p> + “It came,” he said. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” + </p> + <p> + She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that + explanations were impossible that night. She wanted to think. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. Will you please—Not + now, or I must go.” + </p> + <p> + He stared at her, trying to guess at the mystery of her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t want to go?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But I must—I ought—” + </p> + <p> + “I MUST talk about this. Indeed I must.” + </p> + <p> + “Not now.” + </p> + <p> + “But I love you. I love you—unendurably.” + </p> + <p> + “Then don’t talk to me now. I don’t want you to talk to me now. There is a + place—This isn’t the place. You have misunderstood. I can’t explain—” + </p> + <p> + They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. “Forgive me,” he + decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and + he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. “I am the most foolish of men. I + was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in + this way. I—I am a love-sick idiot, and not accountable for my + actions. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Pretend,” he said, “that all I have said hasn’t been said. And let us go + on with our evening. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and + that I’ve come round.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, and abruptly she liked him enormously. She felt this was + the sensible way out of this oddly sinister situation. + </p> + <p> + He still watched her and questioned her. + </p> + <p> + “And let us have a talk about this—some other time. Somewhere, where + we can talk without interruption. Will you?” + </p> + <p> + She thought, and it seemed to him she had never looked so self-disciplined + and deliberate and beautiful. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to + do.” But now she doubted again of the quality of the armistice they had + just made. + </p> + <p> + He had a wild impulse to shout. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, + and his grip tightened on her hand. “And to-night we are friends?” + </p> + <p> + “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from + him. + </p> + <p> + “To-night we are as we have always been. Except that this music we have + been swimming in is divine. While I have been pestering you, have you + heard it? At least, you heard the first act. And all the third act is + love-sick music. Tristan dying and Isolde coming to crown his death. + Wagner had just been in love when he wrote it all. It begins with that + queer piccolo solo. Now I shall never hear it but what this evening will + come pouring back over me.” + </p> + <p> + The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music + rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers + separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went + reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd + crouching with his pipe. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + They had their explanations the next evening, but they were explanations + in quite other terms than Ann Veronica had anticipated, quite other and + much more startling and illuminating terms. Ramage came for her at her + lodgings, and she met him graciously and kindly as a queen who knows she + must needs give sorrow to a faithful liege. She was unusually soft and + gentle in her manner to him. He was wearing a new silk hat, with a + slightly more generous brim than its predecessor, and it suited his type + of face, robbed his dark eyes a little of their aggressiveness and gave + him a solid and dignified and benevolent air. A faint anticipation of + triumph showed in his manner and a subdued excitement. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. “Then—then + we can talk things out.” + </p> + <p> + So they went this time to the Rococo, in Germain Street, and up-stairs to + a landing upon which stood a bald-headed waiter with whiskers like a + French admiral and discretion beyond all limits in his manner. He seemed + to have expected them. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a + minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and + a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. + </p> + <p> + “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive + sofa. + </p> + <p> + “One can talk without undertones, so to speak,” said Ramage. “It’s—private.” + He stood looking at the preparations before them with an unusual + preoccupation of manner, then roused himself to take her jacket, a little + awkwardly, and hand it to the waiter who hung it in the corner of the + room. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the + whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to talk of indifferent themes,” said Ramage, a little fussily, + “until these interruptions of the service are over. Then—then we + shall be together.... How did you like Tristan?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica paused the fraction of a second before her reply came. + </p> + <p> + “I thought much of it amazingly beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it. And to think that man got it all out of the poorest little + love-story for a respectable titled lady! Have you read of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + “It gives in a nutshell the miracle of art and the imagination. You get + this queer irascible musician quite impossibly and unfortunately in love + with a wealthy patroness, and then out of his brain comes THIS, a tapestry + of glorious music, setting out love to lovers, lovers who love in spite of + all that is wise and respectable and right.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica thought. She did not want to seem to shrink from + conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her + mind. “I wonder why people in love are so defiant, so careless of other + considerations?” + </p> + <p> + “The very hares grow brave. I suppose because it IS the chief thing in + life.” He stopped and said earnestly: “It is the chief thing in life, and + everything else goes down before it. Everything, my dear, everything!... + But we have got to talk upon indifferent themes until we have done with + this blond young gentleman from Bavaria....” + </p> + <p> + The dinner came to an end at last, and the whiskered waiter presented his + bill and evacuated the apartment and closed the door behind him with an + almost ostentatious discretion. Ramage stood up, and suddenly turned the + key in the door in an off-hand manner. “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder + in upon us. We are alone and we can say and do what we please. We two.” He + stood still, looking at her. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica tried to seem absolutely unconcerned. The turning of the key + startled her, but she did not see how she could make an objection. She + felt she had stepped into a world of unknown usages. + </p> + <p> + “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her + until the silence became oppressive. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her + voice was flat and faint. Suddenly she had become afraid. She struggled + not to be afraid. After all, what could happen? + </p> + <p> + He was looking at her very hard and earnestly. “Ann Veronica,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Then before she could say a word to arrest him he was at her side. + “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her + and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed + her almost upon her lips. He seemed to do ten things before she could + think to do one, to leap upon her and take possession. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica’s universe, which had never been altogether so respectful to + her as she could have wished, gave a shout and whirled head over heels. + Everything in the world had changed for her. If hate could kill, Ramage + would have been killed by a flash of hate. “Mr. Ramage!” she cried, and + struggled to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “My darling!” he said, clasping her resolutely in his arms, “my dearest!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ramage!” she began, and his mouth sealed hers and his breath was + mixed with her breath. Her eye met his four inches away, and his was + glaring, immense, and full of resolution, a stupendous monster of an eye. + </p> + <p> + She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle + with him. She wrenched her head away from his grip and got her arm between + his chest and hers. They began to wrestle fiercely. Each became + frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong + muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. + “How dare you!” she panted, with her world screaming and grimacing insult + at her. “How dare you!” + </p> + <p> + They were both astonished at the other’s strength. Perhaps Ramage was the + more astonished. Ann Veronica had been an ardent hockey player and had had + a course of jiu-jitsu in the High School. Her defence ceased rapidly to be + in any sense ladylike, and became vigorous and effective; a strand of + black hair that had escaped its hairpins came athwart Ramage’s eyes, and + then the knuckles of a small but very hardly clinched fist had thrust + itself with extreme effectiveness and painfulness under his jawbone and + ear. + </p> + <p> + “Let go!” said Ann Veronica, through her teeth, strenuously inflicting + agony, and he cried out sharply and let go and receded a pace. + </p> + <p> + “NOW!” said Ann Veronica. “Why did you dare to do that?” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + Each of them stared at the other, set in a universe that had changed its + system of values with kaleidoscopic completeness. She was flushed, and her + eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all + abroad in wandering strands of black. He too was flushed and ruffled; one + side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the + corner of his jaw. + </p> + <p> + “You vixen!” said Mr. Ramage, speaking the simplest first thought of his + heart. + </p> + <p> + “You had no right—” panted Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Why on earth,” he asked, “did you hurt me like that?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica did her best to think she had not deliberately attempted to + cause him pain. She ignored his question. + </p> + <p> + “I never dreamt!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + Interpretation came pouring down upon her almost blindingly; she + understood now the room, the waiter, the whole situation. She understood. + She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. + She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to make love to you. + </p> + <p> + “You knew it,” he added, in her momentary silence. + </p> + <p> + “You said you were in love with me,” said Ann Veronica; “I wanted to + explain—” + </p> + <p> + “I said I loved and wanted you.” The brutality of his first astonishment + was evaporating. “I am in love with you. You know I am in love with you. + And then you go—and half throttle me.... I believe you’ve crushed a + gland or something. It feels like it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” said Ann Veronica. “What else was I to do?” + </p> + <p> + For some seconds she stood watching him and both were thinking very + quickly. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to + her grandmother. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at + all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged + dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. I would like to have to tell it + so. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude. She + was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within + limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low + adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, + going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her + mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only + words that express it—a very great lark indeed. At the bottom of her + heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage. She had unaccountable gleams of + sympathy with and liking for him. And the grotesquest fact was that she + did not so much loathe, as experience with a quite critical condemnation + this strange sensation of being kissed. Never before had any human being + kissed her lips.... + </p> + <p> + It was only some hours after that these ambiguous elements evaporated and + vanished and loathing came, and she really began to be thoroughly sick and + ashamed of the whole disgraceful quarrel and scuffle. + </p> + <p> + He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions + that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete. He had meant to be master of his + fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. It had, as it were, + blown up at the concussion of his first step. It dawned upon him that he + had been abominably used by Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he said, “I brought you here to make love to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t understand—your idea of making love. You had better let me + go again.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” he said. “I do love you. I love you all the more for the streak + of sheer devil in you.... You are the most beautiful, the most desirable + thing I have ever met in this world. It was good to kiss you, even at the + price. But, by Jove! you are fierce! You are like those Roman women who + carry stilettos in their hair.” + </p> + <p> + “I came here to talk reasonably, Mr. Ramage. It is abominable—” + </p> + <p> + “What is the use of keeping up this note of indignation, Ann Veronica? + Here I am! I am your lover, burning for you. I mean to have you! Don’t + frown me off now. Don’t go back into Victorian respectability and pretend + you don’t know and you can’t think and all the rest of it. One comes at + last to the step from dreams to reality. This is your moment. No one will + ever love you as I love you now. I have been dreaming of your body and you + night after night. I have been imaging—” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ramage, I came here—I didn’t suppose for one moment you would + dare—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! That is your mistake! You are too intellectual. You want to do + everything with your mind. You are afraid of kisses. You are afraid of the + warmth in your blood. It’s just because all that side of your life hasn’t + fairly begun.” + </p> + <p> + He made a step toward her. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ramage,” she said, sharply, “I have to make it plain to you. I don’t + think you understand. I don’t love you. I don’t. I can’t love you. I love + some one else. It is repulsive. It disgusts me that you should touch me.” + </p> + <p> + He stared in amazement at this new aspect of the situation. “You love some + one else?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I love some one else. I could not dream of loving you.” + </p> + <p> + And then he flashed his whole conception of the relations of men and women + upon her in one astonishing question. His hand went with an almost + instinctive inquiry to his jawbone again. “Then why the devil,” he + demanded, “do you let me stand you dinners and the opera—and why do + you come to a cabinet particuliar with me?” + </p> + <p> + He became radiant with anger. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you + have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” + </p> + <p> + This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. It + stunned her. She felt she must fly before it and could no longer do so. + She did not think for one moment what interpretation he might put upon the + word “lover.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ramage,” she said, clinging to her one point, “I want to get out of + this horrible little room. It has all been a mistake. I have been stupid + and foolish. Will you unlock that door?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” he said. “Confound your lover! Look here! Do you really think I + am going to run you while he makes love to you? No fear! I never heard of + anything so cool. If he wants you, let him get you. You’re mine. I’ve paid + for you and helped you, and I’m going to conquer you somehow—if I + have to break you to do it. Hitherto you’ve seen only my easy, kindly + side. But now confound it! how can you prevent it? I will kiss you.” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t!” said Ann Veronica; with the clearest note of determination. + </p> + <p> + He seemed to be about to move toward her. She stepped back quickly, and + her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the + floor. She caught at the idea. “If you come a step nearer to me,” she + said, “I will smash every glass on this table.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, by God!” he said, “you’ll be locked up!” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica was disconcerted for a moment. She had a vision of policemen, + reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace. She saw her aunt + in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit. “Don’t come nearer!” she + said. + </p> + <p> + There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Ramage’s face changed. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, under her breath, “you can’t face it.” And she knew that + she was safe. + </p> + <p> + He went to the door. “It’s all right,” he said, reassuringly to the + inquirer without. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica glanced at the mirror to discover a flushed and dishevelled + disorder. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage + parleyed with inaudible interrogations. “A glass slipped from the table,” + he explained.... “Non. Fas du tout. Non.... Niente.... Bitte!... Oui, dans + la note.... Presently. Presently.” That conversation ended and he turned + to her again. + </p> + <p> + “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. + </p> + <p> + She took her hat from the peg in the corner and began to put it on. He + regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Ann Veronica,” he began. “I want a plain word with you about + all this. Do you mean to tell me you didn’t understand why I wanted you to + come here?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it,” said Ann Veronica stoutly. + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” + </p> + <p> + “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when + there was nothing—no love?” + </p> + <p> + “How did I know there wasn’t love?” + </p> + <p> + That silenced her for a moment. “And what on earth,” he said, “do you + think the world is made of? Why do you think I have been doing things for + you? The abstract pleasure of goodness? Are you one of the members of that + great white sisterhood that takes and does not give? The good accepting + woman! Do you really suppose a girl is entitled to live at free quarters + on any man she meets without giving any return?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” said Ann Veronica, “you were my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Friend! What have a man and a girl in common to make them friends? Ask + that lover of yours! And even with friends, would you have it all Give on + one side and all Take on the other?... Does HE know I keep you?... You + won’t have a man’s lips near you, but you’ll eat out of his hand fast + enough.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica was stung to helpless anger. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ramage,” she cried, “you are outrageous! You understand nothing. You + are—horrible. Will you let me go out of this room?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried Ramage; “hear me out! I’ll have that satisfaction, anyhow. You + women, with your tricks of evasion, you’re a sex of swindlers. You have + all the instinctive dexterity of parasites. You make yourself charming for + help. You climb by disappointing men. This lover of yours—” + </p> + <p> + “He doesn’t know!” cried Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica could have wept with vexation. Indeed, a note of weeping + broke her voice for a moment as she burst out, “You know as well as I do + that money was a loan!” + </p> + <p> + “Loan!” + </p> + <p> + “You yourself called it a loan!” + </p> + <p> + “Euphuism. We both understood that.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have every penny of it back.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll frame it—when I get it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll pay you if I have to work at shirt-making at threepence an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll never pay me. You think you will. It’s your way of glossing over + the ethical position. It’s the sort of way a woman always does gloss over + her ethical positions. You’re all dependents—all of you. By + instinct. Only you good ones—shirk. You shirk a straightforward and + decent return for what you get from us—taking refuge in purity and + delicacy and such-like when it comes to payment.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ramage,” said Ann Veronica, “I want to go—NOW!” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 5 + </h2> + <p> + But she did not get away just then. + </p> + <p> + Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. “Oh, Ann + Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand. + You can’t possibly understand!” + </p> + <p> + He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for + his urgency and wrath. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to + have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and + senseless things. His vicious abusiveness vanished. He suddenly became + eloquent and plausible. He did make her perceive something of the acute, + tormenting desire for her that had arisen in him and possessed him. She + stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every + movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. + </p> + <p> + At any rate he made it very clear that night that there was an + ineradicable discord in life, a jarring something that must shatter all + her dreams of a way of living for women that would enable them to be free + and spacious and friendly with men, and that was the passionate + predisposition of men to believe that the love of women can be earned and + won and controlled and compelled. + </p> + <p> + He flung aside all his talk of help and disinterested friendship as though + it had never been even a disguise between them, as though from the first + it was no more than a fancy dress they had put quite understandingly upon + their relationship. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start. + And at the thought of that other lover—he was convinced that that + beloved person was a lover, and she found herself unable to say a word to + explain to him that this other person, the person she loved, did not even + know of her love—Ramage grew angry and savage once more, and + returned suddenly to gibe and insult. Men do services for the love of + women, and the woman who takes must pay. Such was the simple code that + displayed itself in all his thoughts. He left that arid rule clear of the + least mist of refinement or delicacy. + </p> + <p> + That he should pay forty pounds to help this girl who preferred another + man was no less in his eyes than a fraud and mockery that made her denial + a maddening and outrageous disgrace to him. And this though he was + evidently passionately in love with her. + </p> + <p> + For a while he threatened her. “You have put all your life in my hands,” + he declared. “Think of that check you endorsed. There it is—against + you. I defy you to explain it away. What do you think people will make of + that? What will this lover of yours make of that?” + </p> + <p> + At intervals Ann Veronica demanded to go, declaring her undying resolve to + repay him at any cost, and made short movements doorward. + </p> + <p> + But at last this ordeal was over, and Ramage opened the door. She emerged + with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing. She + went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters + down the thick-carpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that + remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and + crimson, into a cool, clear night. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 6 + </h2> + <p> + When Ann Veronica reached her little bed-sitting-room again, every nerve + in her body was quivering with shame and self-disgust. + </p> + <p> + She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into + indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to + do? + </p> + <p> + “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. I’m in a + mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable + mess! + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? + </p> + <p> + “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” + </p> + <p> + She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the + lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. + </p> + <p> + “This is what comes of being a young woman up to date. By Jove! I’m + beginning to have my doubts about freedom! + </p> + <p> + “You silly young woman, Ann Veronica! You silly young woman! The + smeariness of the thing! + </p> + <p> + “The smeariness of this sort of thing!... Mauled about!” + </p> + <p> + She fell to rubbing her insulted lips savagely with the back of her hand. + “Ugh!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of + scrape! At least—one thinks so.... I wonder if some of them did—and + it didn’t get reported. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. Most of them + didn’t, anyhow. They were properly brought up, and sat still and straight, + and took the luck fate brought them as gentlewomen should. And they had an + idea of what men were like behind all their nicety. They knew they were + all Bogey in disguise. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” + </p> + <p> + For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as + though it was the one desirable thing. That world of fine printed cambrics + and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined + allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a + lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if there is anything wrong with my manners,” she said. “I wonder + if I’ve been properly brought up. If I had been quite quiet and white and + dignified, wouldn’t it have been different? Would he have dared?...” + </p> + <p> + For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted + with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move + gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim. + </p> + <p> + Horrible details recurred to her. + </p> + <p> + “Why, among other things, did I put my knuckles in his neck—deliberately + to hurt him?” + </p> + <p> + She tried to sound the humorous note. + </p> + <p> + “Are you aware, Ann Veronica, you nearly throttled that gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + Then she reviled her own foolish way of putting it. + </p> + <p> + “You ass and imbecile, Ann Veronica! You female cad! Cad! Cad!... Why + aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to + be? What have you been doing with yourself?...” + </p> + <p> + She raked into the fire with the poker. + </p> + <p> + “All of which doesn’t help me in the slightest degree to pay back that + money.” + </p> + <p> + That night was the most intolerable one that Ann Veronica had ever spent. + She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed. This + time, there was no doubt, she did not sleep. The more she disentangled the + lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. Occasionally the + mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and + marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until + she hit against some article of furniture. + </p> + <p> + Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now + look here! Let me think it all out!” + </p> + <p> + For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s + position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it + permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man + under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. She had flung + away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal + independence. And here she was—in a mess because it had been + impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. She had thought—What + had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which + needed only to be denied to vanish. She had denied it with vigor, and here + she was! + </p> + <p> + She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her + insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” + </p> + <p> + She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. + But she had spent nearly half of it, and had no conception of how such a + sum could be made good again. She thought of all sorts of odd and + desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. + </p> + <p> + She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for + herself. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a + dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge + of her bed. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative + appeared in that darkness. + </p> + <p> + It seemed intolerable that she should go home and admit herself beaten. + She did most urgently desire to save her face in Morningside Park, and for + long hours she could think of no way of putting it that would not be in + the nature of unconditional admission of defeat. + </p> + <p> + “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. + </p> + <p> + She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but + it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort. There sprang + from that a vague hope that perhaps she might extort a capitulation from + her father by a threat to seek that position, and then with overwhelming + clearness it came to her that whatever happened she would never be able to + tell her father about her debt. The completest capitulation would not wipe + out that trouble. And she felt that if she went home it was imperative to + pay. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses + of Ramage, seeing him in trains.... + </p> + <p> + For a time she promenaded the room. + </p> + <p> + “Why did I ever take that loan? An idiot girl in an asylum would have + known better than that! + </p> + <p> + “Vulgarity of soul and innocence of mind—the worst of all + conceivable combinations. I wish some one would kill Ramage by + accident!... + </p> + <p> + “But then they would find that check endorsed in his bureau.... + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what he will do?” She tried to imagine situations that might + arise out of Ramage’s antagonism, for he had been so bitter and savage + that she could not believe that he would leave things as they were. + </p> + <p> + The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and + telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. + It amounted to two-and-twenty pounds. She addressed an envelope to Ramage, + and scrawled on a half-sheet of paper, “The rest shall follow.” The money + would be available in the afternoon, and she would send him four + five-pound notes. The rest she meant to keep for her immediate + necessities. A little relieved by this step toward reinstatement, she went + on to the Imperial College to forget her muddle of problems for a time, if + she could, in the presence of Capes. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 7 + </h2> + <p> + For a time the biological laboratory was full of healing virtue. Her + sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or + so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles. + </p> + <p> + Then, after Capes had been through her work and had gone on, it came to + her that the fabric of this life of hers was doomed to almost immediate + collapse; that in a little while these studies would cease, and perhaps + she would never set eyes on him again. After that consolations fled. + </p> + <p> + The overnight nervous strain began to tell; she became inattentive to the + work before her, and it did not get on. She felt sleepy and unusually + irritable. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the + day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a + drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her + position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. A girl of fifteen or sixteen gave + her a handbill that she regarded as a tract until she saw “Votes for + Women” at the top. That turned her mind to the more generalized aspects of + her perplexities again. She had never been so disposed to agree that the + position of women in the modern world is intolerable. + </p> + <p> + Capes joined the students at tea, and displayed himself in an impish mood + that sometimes possessed him. He did not notice that Ann Veronica was + preoccupied and heavy-eyed. Miss Klegg raised the question of women’s + suffrage, and he set himself to provoke a duel between her and Miss + Garvice. The youth with the hair brushed back and the spectacled Scotchman + joined in the fray for and against the women’s vote. + </p> + <p> + Ever and again Capes appealed to Ann Veronica. He liked to draw her in, + and she did her best to talk. But she did not talk readily, and in order + to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged. Capes scored + back with an uncompromising vigor that was his way of complimenting her + intelligence. But this afternoon it discovered an unusual vein of + irritability in her. He had been reading Belfort Bax, and declared himself + a convert. He contrasted the lot of women in general with the lot of men, + presented men as patient, self-immolating martyrs, and women as the + pampered favorites of Nature. A vein of conviction mingled with his + burlesque. + </p> + <p> + For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. + </p> + <p> + The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically + real for Ann Veronica. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s + freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the + way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he + seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all + this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their + conditions. + </p> + <p> + Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at + every discussion, her contribution to the great question. + </p> + <p> + She thought that women were not made for the struggle and turmoil of life—their + place was the little world, the home; that their power lay not in votes + but in influence over men and in making the minds of their children fine + and splendid. + </p> + <p> + “Women should understand men’s affairs, perhaps,” said Miss Garvice, “but + to mingle in them is just to sacrifice that power of influencing they can + exercise now.” + </p> + <p> + “There IS something sound in that position,” said Capes, intervening as if + to defend Miss Garvice against a possible attack from Ann Veronica. “It + may not be just and so forth, but, after all, it is how things are. Women + are not in the world in the same sense that men are—fighting + individuals in a scramble. I don’t see how they can be. Every home is a + little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in + which women and the future shelter.” + </p> + <p> + “A little pit!” said Ann Veronica; “a little prison!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s just as often a little refuge. Anyhow, that is how things are.” + </p> + <p> + “And the man stands as the master at the mouth of the den.” + </p> + <p> + “As sentinel. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and + instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. Nature is a mother; her + sympathies have always been feminist, and she has tempered the man to the + shorn woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” said Ann Veronica, with sudden anger, “that you could know what + it is to live in a pit!” + </p> + <p> + She stood up as she spoke, and put down her cup beside Miss Garvice’s. She + addressed Capes as though she spoke to him alone. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t endure it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Every one turned to her in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + She felt she had to go on. “No man can realize,” she said, “what that pit + can be. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we + are free in the world, to think we are queens.... Then we find out. We + find out no man will treat a woman fairly as man to man—no man. He + wants you—or he doesn’t; and then he helps some other woman against + you.... What you say is probably all true and necessary.... But think of + the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires + like men. We come out into the world, some of us—” + </p> + <p> + She paused. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, + and there was so much that struggled for expression. “Women are mocked,” + she said. “Whenever they try to take hold of life a man intervenes.” + </p> + <p> + She felt, with a sudden horror, that she might weep. She wished she had + not stood up. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. No one spoke, and + she was impelled to flounder on. “Think of the mockery!” she said. “Think + how dumb we find ourselves and stifled! I know we seem to have a sort of + freedom.... Have you ever tried to run and jump in petticoats, Mr. Capes? + Well, think what it must be to live in them—soul and mind and body! + It’s fun for a man to jest at our position.” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn’t jesting,” said Capes, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and + made her stop abruptly. She was sore and overstrung, and it was + intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her + unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. She + was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. She was sick + of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked + and hidden being was crying out. + </p> + <p> + She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of + what she was saying. In the pause she realized the attention of the others + converged upon her, and that the tears were brimming over her eyes. She + felt a storm of emotion surging up within her. She became aware of the + Scotch student regarding her with stupendous amazement, a tea-cup poised + in one hairy hand and his faceted glasses showing a various enlargement of + segments of his eye. + </p> + <p> + The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the + one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. + </p> + <p> + Capes flashed to an understanding of her intention, sprang to his feet, + and opened the door for her retreat. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 8 + </h2> + <p> + “Why should I ever come back?” she said to herself, as she went down the + staircase. + </p> + <p> + She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage. + And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that + she could not return directly to her lodgings. She wanted air—and + the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. The + evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. + She resolved to walk across the Park to the Zoological gardens, and so on + by way of Primrose Hill to Hampstead Heath. There she would wander about + in the kindly darkness. And think things out.... + </p> + <p> + Presently she became aware of footsteps hurrying after her, and glanced + back to find Miss Klegg, a little out of breath, in pursuit. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica halted a pace, and Miss Klegg came alongside. + </p> + <p> + “Do YOU go across the Park?” + </p> + <p> + “Not usually. But I’m going to-day. I want a walk.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not surprised at it. I thought Mr. Capes most trying.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it wasn’t that. I’ve had a headache all day.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought Mr. Capes most unfair,” Miss Klegg went on in a small, even + voice; “MOST unfair! I’m glad you spoke out as you did.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t mind that little argument.” + </p> + <p> + “You gave it him well. What you said wanted saying. After you went he got + up and took refuge in the preparation-room. Or else <i>I</i> would have + finished him.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica said nothing, and Miss Klegg went on: “He very often IS—most + unfair. He has a way of sitting on people. He wouldn’t like it if people + did it to him. He jumps the words out of your mouth; he takes hold of what + you have to say before you have had time to express it properly.” + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he’s frightfully clever,” said Miss Klegg. + </p> + <p> + “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” + said Miss Klegg. + </p> + <p> + “He writes very well,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “He can’t be more than thirty. He must have married when he was quite a + young man.” + </p> + <p> + “Married?” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t you know he was married?” asked Miss Klegg, and was struck by a + thought that made her glance quickly at her companion. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica had no answer for a moment. She turned her head away sharply. + Some automaton within her produced in a quite unfamiliar voice the remark, + “They’re playing football.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s too far for the ball to reach us,” said Miss Klegg. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know Mr. Capes was married,” said Ann Veronica, resuming the + conversation with an entire disappearance of her former lassitude. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” said Miss Klegg; “I thought every one knew.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Ann Veronica, offhandedly. “Never heard anything of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought every one knew. I thought every one had heard about it.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s married—and, I believe, living separated from his wife. There + was a case, or something, some years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “What case?” + </p> + <p> + “A divorce—or something—I don’t know. But I have heard that he + almost had to leave the schools. If it hadn’t been for Professor Russell + standing up for him, they say he would have had to leave.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he divorced, do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but he got himself mixed up in a divorce case. I forget the + particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable. It was among + artistic people.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica was silent for a while. + </p> + <p> + “I thought every one had heard,” said Miss Klegg. “Or I wouldn’t have said + anything about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose all men,” said Ann Veronica, in a tone of detached criticism, + “get some such entanglement. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us.” She + turned abruptly at right angles to the path they followed. “This is my way + back to my side of the Park,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were coming right across the Park.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” said Ann Veronica; “I have some work to do. I just wanted a + breath of air. And they’ll shut the gates presently. It’s not far from + twilight.” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 9 + </h2> + <p> + She was sitting brooding over her fire about ten o’clock that night when a + sealed and registered envelope was brought up to her. + </p> + <p> + She opened it and drew out a letter, and folded within it were the notes + she had sent off to Ramage that day. The letter began: + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” + </p> + <p> + She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a + passionate gesture flung them into the fire. Instantly she seized the + poker and made a desperate effort to get them out again. But she was only + able to save a corner of the letter. The twenty pounds burned with + avidity. + </p> + <p> + She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” she said, standing up at last, “that about finishes it, Ann + Veronica!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE TENTH + </h2> + <h3> + THE SUFFRAGETTES + </h3> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + “There is only one way out of all this,” said Ann Veronica, sitting up in + her little bed in the darkness and biting at her nails. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I was just up against Morningside Park and father, but it’s the + whole order of things—the whole blessed order of things....” + </p> + <p> + She shivered. She frowned and gripped her hands about her knees very + tightly. Her mind developed into savage wrath at the present conditions of + a woman’s life. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. But a woman’s life is all + chance. It’s artificially chance. Find your man, that’s the rule. All the + rest is humbug and delicacy. He’s the handle of life for you. He will let + you live if it pleases him.... + </p> + <p> + “Can’t it be altered? + </p> + <p> + “I suppose an actress is free?...” + </p> + <p> + She tried to think of some altered state of affairs in which these + monstrous limitations would be alleviated, in which women would stand on + their own feet in equal citizenship with men. For a time she brooded on + the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of + an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense + individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social + order. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant + qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. She would not + look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she + muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her + generalizations. + </p> + <p> + “It is true. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true. Unless women are + never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation + of martyrs.... Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most + of us, anyhow. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s + own....” + </p> + <p> + She repeated, as if she answered an objector: “A sort of blacklegging. + </p> + <p> + “A sex of blacklegging clients.” + </p> + <p> + Her mind diverged to other aspects, and another type of womanhood. + </p> + <p> + “Poor little Miniver! What can she be but what she is?... Because she + states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it + doesn’t alter the fact that she is right.” + </p> + <p> + That phrase about dragging the truth through swamps of nonsense she + remembered from Capes. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to + fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava + into glowing depths. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, + unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. + </p> + <p> + She let her mind run into dreams of that cloud paradise of an altered + world in which the Goopes and Minivers, the Fabians and reforming people + believed. Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of + Motherhood.” Suppose in some complex yet conceivable way women were + endowed, were no longer economically and socially dependent on men. “If + one was free,” she said, “one could go to him.... This vile hovering to + catch a man’s eye!... One could go to him and tell him one loved him. I + want to love him. A little love from him would be enough. It would hurt no + one. It would not burden him with any obligation.” + </p> + <p> + She groaned aloud and bowed her forehead to her knees. She floundered + deep. She wanted to kiss his feet. His feet would have the firm texture of + his hands. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly her spirit rose in revolt. “I will not have this slavery,” + she said. “I will not have this slavery.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her fist ceilingward. “Do you hear!” she said “whatever you are, + wherever you are! I will not be slave to the thought of any man, slave to + the customs of any time. Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will + get this under if I am killed in doing it!” + </p> + <p> + She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her. + </p> + <p> + “Manning,” she said, and contemplated a figure of inaggressive + persistence. “No!” Her thoughts had turned in a new direction. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd. + They mean something. They mean everything that women can mean—except + submission. The vote is only the beginning, the necessary beginning. If we + do not begin—” + </p> + <p> + She had come to a resolution. Abruptly she got out of bed, smoothed her + sheet and straightened her pillow and lay down, and fell almost instantly + asleep. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead + of early March. Ann Veronica woke rather later than usual, and lay awake + for some minutes before she remembered a certain resolution she had taken + in the small hours. Then instantly she got out of bed and proceeded to + dress. + </p> + <p> + She did not start for the Imperial College. She spent the morning up to + ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore + up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out + into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. She turned a resolute face + southward. + </p> + <p> + She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for + Chancery Lane. There she sought and at last found 107A, one of those + heterogeneous piles of offices which occupy the eastern side of the lane. + She studied the painted names of firms and persons and enterprises on the + wall, and discovered that the Women’s Bond of Freedom occupied several + contiguous suites on the first floor. She went up-stairs and hesitated + between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The + Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. She opened one and found + herself in a large untidy room set with chairs that were a little + disarranged as if by an overnight meeting. On the walls were notice-boards + bearing clusters of newspaper slips, three or four big posters of monster + meetings, one of which Ann Veronica had attended with Miss Miniver, and a + series of announcements in purple copying-ink, and in one corner was a + pile of banners. There was no one at all in this room, but through the + half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a + glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing + briskly. + </p> + <p> + She walked across to this apartment and, opening the door a little wider, + discovered a press section of the movement at work. + </p> + <p> + “I want to inquire,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with + an impatient indication of the direction. + </p> + <p> + In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a + tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters + while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered + industriously at a typewriter. The tired woman looked up in inquiring + silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry. + </p> + <p> + “I want to know more about this movement,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Are you with us?” said the tired woman. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. I want very much to do + something for women. But I want to know what you are doing.” + </p> + <p> + The tired woman sat still for a moment. “You haven’t come here to make a + lot of difficulties?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Ann Veronica, “but I want to know.” + </p> + <p> + The tired woman shut her eyes tightly for a moment, and then looked with + them at Ann Veronica. “What can you do?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Do?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you prepared to do things for us? Distribute bills? Write letters? + Interrupt meetings? Canvass at elections? Face dangers?” + </p> + <p> + “If I am satisfied—” + </p> + <p> + “If we satisfy you?” + </p> + <p> + “Then, if possible, I would like to go to prison.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t nice going to prison.” + </p> + <p> + “It would suit me.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t nice getting there.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a question of detail,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + The tired woman looked quietly at her. “What are your objections?” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t objections exactly. I want to know what you are doing; how you + think this work of yours really does serve women.” + </p> + <p> + “We are working for the equal citizenship of men and women,” said the + tired woman. “Women have been and are treated as the inferiors of men, we + want to make them their equals.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ann Veronica, “I agree to that. But—” + </p> + <p> + The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t the question more complicated than that?” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “You could have a talk to Miss Kitty Brett this afternoon, if you liked. + Shall I make an appointment for you?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Kitty Brett was one of the most conspicuous leaders of the movement. + Ann Veronica snatched at the opportunity, and spent most of the + intervening time in the Assyrian Court of the British Museum, reading and + thinking over a little book upon the feminist movement the tired woman had + made her buy. She got a bun and some cocoa in the little refreshment-room, + and then wandered through the galleries up-stairs, crowded with Polynesian + idols and Polynesian dancing-garments, and all the simple immodest + accessories to life in Polynesia, to a seat among the mummies. She was + trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being + even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. It generalized everything + she put to it. + </p> + <p> + “Why should women be dependent on men?” she asked; and the question was at + once converted into a system of variations upon the theme of “Why are + things as they are?”—“Why are human beings viviparous?”—“Why + are people hungry thrice a day?”—“Why does one faint at danger?” + </p> + <p> + She stood for a time looking at the dry limbs and still human face of that + desiccated unwrapped mummy from the very beginnings of social life. It + looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. It looked + as if it had taken its world for granted and prospered on that assumption—a + world in which children were trained to obey their elders and the wills of + women over-ruled as a matter of course. It was wonderful to think this + thing had lived, had felt and suffered. Perhaps once it had desired some + other human being intolerably. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that + was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held + that stringy neck with passionately living hands. But all of that was + forgotten. “In the end,” it seemed to be thinking, “they embalmed me with + the utmost respect—sound spices chosen to endure—the best! I + took my world as I found it. THINGS ARE SO!” + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + Ann Veronica’s first impression of Kitty Brett was that she was aggressive + and disagreeable; her next that she was a person of amazing persuasive + power. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and + healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her + business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, + gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. She had animated dark + blue-gray eyes under her fine eyebrows, and dark brown hair that rolled + back simply and effectively from her broad low forehead. And she was about + as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. She was a + trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. + </p> + <p> + She spoke with fluent enthusiasm. She did not so much deal with Ann + Veronica’s interpolations as dispose of them with quick and use-hardened + repartee, and then she went on with a fine directness to sketch the case + for her agitation, for that remarkable rebellion of the women that was + then agitating the whole world of politics and discussion. She assumed + with a kind of mesmeric force all the propositions that Ann Veronica + wanted her to define. + </p> + <p> + “What do we want? What is the goal?” asked Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Freedom! Citizenship! And the way to that—the way to everything—is + the Vote.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica said something about a general change of ideas. + </p> + <p> + “How can you change people’s ideas if you have no power?” said Kitty + Brett. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica was not ready enough to deal with that counter-stroke. + </p> + <p> + “One doesn’t want to turn the whole thing into a mere sex antagonism.” + </p> + <p> + “When women get justice,” said Kitty Brett, “there will be no sex + antagonism. None at all. Until then we mean to keep on hammering away.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me that much of a woman’s difficulties are economic.” + </p> + <p> + “That will follow,” said Kitty Brett—“that will follow.” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted as Ann Veronica was about to speak again, with a bright + contagious hopefulness. “Everything will follow,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ann Veronica, trying to think where they were, trying to get + things plain again that had seemed plain enough in the quiet of the night. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing was ever done,” Miss Brett asserted, “without a certain element + of Faith. After we have got the Vote and are recognized as citizens, then + we can come to all these other things.” + </p> + <p> + Even in the glamour of Miss Brett’s assurance it seemed to Ann Veronica + that this was, after all, no more than the gospel of Miss Miniver with a + new set of resonances. And like that gospel it meant something, something + different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in + spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely + essentially true. There was something holding women down, holding women + back, and if it wasn’t exactly man-made law, man-made law was an aspect of + it. There was something indeed holding the whole species back from the + imaginable largeness of life.... + </p> + <p> + “The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett. + </p> + <p> + She made an abrupt personal appeal. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! please don’t lose yourself in a wilderness of secondary + considerations,” she said. “Don’t ask me to tell you all that women can + do, all that women can be. There is a new life, different from the old + life of dependence, possible. If only we are not divided. If only we work + together. This is the one movement that brings women of different classes + together for a common purpose. If you could see how it gives them souls, + women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up + altogether to pettiness and vanity....” + </p> + <p> + “Give me something to do,” said Ann Veronica, interrupting her persuasions + at last. “It has been very kind of you to see me, but I don’t want to sit + and talk and use your time any longer. I want to do something. I want to + hammer myself against all this that pens women in. I feel that I shall + stifle unless I can do something—and do something soon.” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + It was not Ann Veronica’s fault that the night’s work should have taken + upon itself the forms of wild burlesque. She was in deadly earnest in + everything she did. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the + universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned + her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the + same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she + had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at + Morningside Park. + </p> + <p> + She was listed for the raid—she was informed it was to be a raid + upon the House of Commons, though no particulars were given her—and + told to go alone to 14, Dexter Street, Westminster, and not to ask any + policeman to direct her. 14, Dexter Street, Westminster, she found was not + a house but a yard in an obscure street, with big gates and the name of + Podgers & Carlo, Carriers and Furniture Removers, thereon. She was + perplexed by this, and stood for some seconds in the empty street + hesitating, until the appearance of another circumspect woman under the + street lamp at the corner reassured her. In one of the big gates was a + little door, and she rapped at this. It was immediately opened by a man + with light eyelashes and a manner suggestive of restrained passion. “Come + right in,” he hissed under his breath, with the true conspirator’s note, + closed the door very softly and pointed, “Through there!” + </p> + <p> + By the meagre light of a gas lamp she perceived a cobbled yard with four + large furniture vans standing with horses and lamps alight. A slender + young man, wearing glasses, appeared from the shadow of the nearest van. + “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “They told me D,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Through there,” he said, and pointed with the pamphlet he was carrying. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica found herself in a little stirring crowd of excited women, + whispering and tittering and speaking in undertones. + </p> + <p> + The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and + indistinctly. No one spoke to her. She stood among them, watching them and + feeling curiously alien to them. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them + oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. “It’s + Kitty’s idea,” said one, “we are to go in the vans.” + </p> + <p> + “Kitty is wonderful,” said another. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful!” + </p> + <p> + “I have always longed for prison service,” said a voice, “always. From the + beginning. But it’s only now I’m able to do it.” + </p> + <p> + A little blond creature close at hand suddenly gave way to a fit of + hysterical laughter, and caught up the end of it with a sob. + </p> + <p> + “Before I took up the Suffrage,” a firm, flat voice remarked, “I could + scarcely walk up-stairs without palpitations.” + </p> + <p> + Some one hidden from Ann Veronica appeared to be marshalling the assembly. + “We have to get in, I think,” said a nice little old lady in a bonnet to + Ann Veronica, speaking with a voice that quavered a little. “My dear, can + you see in this light? I think I would like to get in. Which is C?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica, with a curious sinking of the heart, regarded the black + cavities of the vans. Their doors stood open, and placards with big + letters indicated the section assigned to each. She directed the little + old woman and then made her way to van D. A young woman with a white badge + on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. + </p> + <p> + “When they tap the roof,” she said, in a voice of authority, “you are to + come out. You will be opposite the big entrance in Old Palace Yard. It’s + the public entrance. You are to make for that and get into the lobby if + you can, and so try and reach the floor of the House, crying ‘Votes for + Women!’ as you go.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke like a mistress addressing school-children. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t bunch too much as you come out,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “All right?” asked the man with the light eyelashes, suddenly appearing in + the doorway. He waited for an instant, wasting an encouraging smile in the + imperfect light, and then shut the doors of the van, leaving the women in + darkness.... + </p> + <p> + The van started with a jerk and rumbled on its way. + </p> + <p> + “It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. “It’s exactly like Troy!” + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 5 + </h2> + <p> + So Ann Veronica, enterprising and a little dubious as ever, mingled with + the stream of history and wrote her Christian name upon the police-court + records of the land. + </p> + <p> + But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some + one else. + </p> + <p> + Some day, when the rewards of literature permit the arduous research + required, the Campaign of the Women will find its Carlyle, and the + particulars of that marvellous series of exploits by which Miss Brett and + her colleagues nagged the whole Western world into the discussion of + women’s position become the material for the most delightful and amazing + descriptions. At present the world waits for that writer, and the confused + record of the newspapers remains the only resource of the curious. When he + comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; + he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature + in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and + broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the + reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of + those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams + up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben + shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of + Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the + bridge. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and + detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where + the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. Squads + reached to the very portal of that centre of disturbance. And through all + these defences and into Old Palace Yard, into the very vitals of the + defenders’ position, lumbered the unsuspected vans. + </p> + <p> + They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting + evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up + unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals. + </p> + <p> + And then they disgorged. + </p> + <p> + Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in + proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, + I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond + any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I + would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of + its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little + black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the + universe. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica was in their very forefront. + </p> + <p> + In an instant the expectant calm of Westminster was ended, and the very + Speaker in the chair blenched at the sound of the policemen’s whistles. + The bolder members in the House left their places to go lobbyward, + grinning. Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, and + feigned that all was right with the world. In Old Palace Yard everybody + ran. They either ran to see or ran for shelter. Even two Cabinet Ministers + took to their heels, grinning insincerely. At the opening of the van doors + and the emergence into the fresh air Ann Veronica’s doubt and depression + gave place to the wildest exhilaration. That same adventurousness that had + already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally + feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again. Before her + was a great Gothic portal. Through that she had to go. + </p> + <p> + Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, + but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange + threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out + of a garden—“B-r-r-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved + hands. The policemen were closing in from the sides to intervene. The + little old lady struck like a projectile upon the resounding chest of the + foremost of these, and then Ann Veronica had got past and was ascending + the steps. + </p> + <p> + Then most horribly she was clasped about the waist from behind and lifted + from the ground. + </p> + <p> + At that a new element poured into her excitement, an element of wild + disgust and terror. She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in + her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet. She screamed + involuntarily—she had never in her life screamed before—and + then she began to wriggle and fight like a frightened animal against the + men who were holding her. + </p> + <p> + The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and + disgust. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm + free to replace it. She felt she must suffocate if these men did not put + her down, and for a time they would not put her down. Then with an + indescribable relief her feet were on the pavement, and she was being + urged along by two policemen, who were gripping her wrists in an + irresistible expert manner. She was writhing to get her hands loose and + found herself gasping with passionate violence, “It’s damnable!—damnable!” + to the manifest disgust of the fatherly policeman on her right. + </p> + <p> + Then they had released her arms and were trying to push her away. + </p> + <p> + “You be off, missie,” said the fatherly policeman. “This ain’t no place + for you.” + </p> + <p> + He pushed her a dozen yards along the greasy pavement with flat, + well-trained hands that there seemed to be no opposing. Before her + stretched blank spaces, dotted with running people coming toward her, and + below them railings and a statue. She almost submitted to this ending of + her adventure. But at the word “home” she turned again. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the + fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction + of that big portal. “Steady on!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + A diversion was created by the violent struggles of the little old lady. + She seemed to be endowed with superhuman strength. A knot of three + policemen in conflict with her staggered toward Ann Veronica’s attendants + and distracted their attention. “I WILL be arrested! I WON’T go home!” the + little old lady was screaming over and over again. They put her down, and + she leaped at them; she smote a helmet to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll have to take her!” shouted an inspector on horseback, and she + echoed his cry: “You’ll have to take me!” They seized upon her and lifted + her, and she screamed. Ann Veronica became violently excited at the sight. + “You cowards!” said Ann Veronica, “put her down!” and tore herself from a + detaining hand and battered with her fists upon the big red ear and blue + shoulder of the policeman who held the little old lady. + </p> + <p> + So Ann Veronica also was arrested. + </p> + <p> + And then came the vile experience of being forced and borne along the + street to the police-station. Whatever anticipation Ann Veronica had + formed of this vanished in the reality. Presently she was going through a + swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the + light of the electric standards. “Go it, miss!” cried one. “Kick aht at + ‘em!” though, indeed, she went now with Christian meekness, resenting only + the thrusting policemen’s hands. Several people in the crowd seemed to be + fighting. Insulting cries became frequent and various, but for the most + part she could not understand what was said. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” + was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. A lean young man + in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” + Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. + Immeasurable disgust possessed her. She felt draggled and insulted beyond + redemption. + </p> + <p> + She could not hide her face. She attempted by a sheer act of will to end + the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. She had a horrible glimpse + of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still + faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling + over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. Her bonnet dropped + off and was trampled into the gutter. A little Cockney recovered it, and + made ridiculous attempts to get to her and replace it. + </p> + <p> + “You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a + point already carried; “you shall!” + </p> + <p> + The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from + unnamable disgraces. She hesitated about her name, and, being prompted, + gave it at last as Ann Veronica Smith, 107A, Chancery Lane.... + </p> + <p> + Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could + so entreat her. The arrested women were herded in a passage of the Panton + Street Police-station that opened upon a cell too unclean for occupation, + and most of them spent the night standing. Hot coffee and cakes were sent + in to them in the morning by some intelligent sympathizer, or she would + have starved all day. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the + circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate. + </p> + <p> + He was no doubt doing his best to express the attitude of society toward + these wearily heroic defendants, but he seemed to be merely rude and + unfair to Ann Veronica. He was not, it seemed, the proper stipendiary at + all, and there had been some demur to his jurisdiction that had ruffled + him. He resented being regarded as irregular. He felt he was human wisdom + prudentially interpolated.... “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over + again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy + hands. “You silly creatures! Ugh! Fie upon you!” The court was crowded + with people, for the most part supporters and admirers of the defendants, + and the man with the light eyelashes was conspicuously active and + omnipresent. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica’s appearance was brief and undistinguished. She had nothing + to say for herself. She was guided into the dock and prompted by a helpful + police inspector. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated + at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly + with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the + heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. On a high chair behind + a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently + over his glasses. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose + mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching + her. + </p> + <p> + She was interested by the swearing of the witnesses. The kissing of the + book struck her as particularly odd, and then the policemen gave their + evidence in staccato jerks and stereotyped phrases. + </p> + <p> + “Have you anything to ask the witness?” asked the helpful inspector. + </p> + <p> + The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged + various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the + witness had acquired his prose style. She controlled herself, and answered + meekly, “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Ann Veronica Smith,” the magistrate remarked when the case was all + before him, “you’re a good-looking, strong, respectable gell, and it’s a + pity you silly young wimmin can’t find something better to do with your + exuberance. Two-and-twenty! I can’t imagine what your parents can be + thinking about to let you get into these scrapes.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica’s mind was filled with confused unutterable replies. + </p> + <p> + “You are persuaded to come and take part in these outrageous proceedings—many + of you, I am convinced, have no idea whatever of their nature. I don’t + suppose you could tell me even the derivation of suffrage if I asked you. + No! not even the derivation! But the fashion’s been set and in it you must + be.” + </p> + <p> + The men at the reporter’s table lifted their eyebrows, smiled faintly, and + leaned back to watch how she took her scolding. One with the appearance of + a bald little gnome yawned agonizingly. They had got all this down already—they + heard the substance of it now for the fourteenth time. The stipendiary + would have done it all very differently. + </p> + <p> + She found presently she was out of the dock and confronted with the + alternative of being bound over in one surety for the sum of forty pounds—whatever + that might mean or a month’s imprisonment. + </p> + <p> + “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her. + She elected to go to prison. + </p> + <p> + At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she + reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. It was + bad luck to go to Canongate. + </p> + <p> + Prison was beastly. Prison was bleak without spaciousness, and pervaded by + a faint, oppressive smell; and she had to wait two hours in the sullenly + defiant company of two unclean women thieves before a cell could be + assigned to her. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, + was a discovery for her. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled + places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. Instead, they + appeared to be at the hygienic level of tramps’ lodging-houses. She was + bathed in turbid water that had already been used. She was not allowed to + bathe herself: another prisoner, with a privileged manner, washed her. + Conscientious objectors to that process are not permitted, she found, in + Canongate. Her hair was washed for her also. Then they dressed her in a + dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap, and took away her own clothes. The + dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; + even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. Horrible memories of + things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled + across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. She sat + on the edge of the bed—the wardress was too busy with the flood of + arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was + shivering from the contact of these garments. She surveyed accommodation + that seemed at first merely austere, and became more and more manifestly + inadequate as the moments fled by. She meditated profoundly through + several enormous cold hours on all that had happened and all that she had + done since the swirl of the suffrage movement had submerged her personal + affairs.... + </p> + <p> + Very slowly emerging out of a phase of stupefaction, these personal + affairs and her personal problem resumed possession of her mind. She had + imagined she had drowned them altogether. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH + </h2> + <h3> + THOUGHTS IN PRISON + </h3> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + The first night in prison she found it impossible to sleep. The bed was + hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and + insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. The little grating in the + door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. She kept opening her + eyes and looking at it. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and + neither mind nor body could rest. She became aware that at regular + intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, + and this, as the night wore on, became a torment.... + </p> + <p> + Capes came back into her mind. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming + and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. All through + the night an entirely impossible and monumental Capes confronted her, and + she argued with him about men and women. She visualized him as in a + policeman’s uniform and quite impassive. On some insane score she fancied + she had to state her case in verse. “We are the music and you are the + instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For men have reason, women rhyme + A man scores always, all the time.” + </pre> + <p> + This couplet sprang into her mind from nowhere, and immediately begot an + endless series of similar couplets that she began to compose and address + to Capes. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; + A man scores always, everywhere. + + “His dress for no man lays a snare; + A man scores always, everywhere. + For hats that fail and hats that flare; + Toppers their universal wear; + A man scores always, everywhere. + + “Men’s waists are neither here nor there; + A man scores always, everywhere. + + “A man can manage without hair; + A man scores always, everywhere. + + “There are no males at men to stare; + A man scores always, everywhere. + + “And children must we women bear— +</pre> + <p> + “Oh, damn!” she cried, as the hundred-and-first couplet or so presented + itself in her unwilling brain. + </p> + <p> + For a time she worried about that compulsory bath and cutaneous diseases. + </p> + <p> + Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she + had acquired. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A man can smoke, a man can swear; + A man scores always, everywhere.” + </pre> + <p> + She rolled over on her face, and stuffed her fingers in her ears to shut + out the rhythm from her mind. She lay still for a long time, and her mind + resumed at a more tolerable pace. She found herself talking to Capes in an + undertone of rational admission. + </p> + <p> + “There is something to be said for the lady-like theory after all,” she + admitted. “Women ought to be gentle and submissive persons, strong only in + virtue and in resistance to evil compulsion. My dear—I can call you + that here, anyhow—I know that. The Victorians over-did it a little, + I admit. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the + sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. But that doesn’t alter the fact + that there IS innocence. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and + looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. + </p> + <p> + “Smirched!... + </p> + <p> + “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is + it? One wants to be CLEAN. You want me to be clean. You would want me to + be clean, if you gave me a thought, that is.... + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if you give me a thought.... + </p> + <p> + “I’m not a good woman. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that + I’m not a GOOD woman. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what + I am saying. I mean I’m not a good specimen of a woman. I’ve got a streak + of male. Things happen to women—proper women—and all they have + to do is to take them well. They’ve just got to keep white. But I’m always + trying to make things happen. And I get myself dirty... + </p> + <p> + “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. + </p> + <p> + “The white unaggressive woman who corrects and nurses and serves, and is + worshipped and betrayed—the martyr-queen of men, the white + mother.... You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, + and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not gentle. Certainly not a gentlewoman. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not coarse—no! But I’ve got no purity of mind—no real + purity of mind. A good woman’s mind has angels with flaming swords at the + portals to keep out fallen thoughts.... + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if there are any good women really. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I didn’t swear. I do swear. It began as a joke.... It developed + into a sort of secret and private bad manners. It’s got to be at last like + tobacco-ash over all my sayings and doings.... + </p> + <p> + “‘Go it, missie,’ they said; “kick aht!’ + </p> + <p> + “I swore at that policeman—and disgusted him. Disgusted him! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For men policemen never blush; + A man in all things scores so much... +</pre> + <p> + “Damn! Things are getting plainer. It must be the dawn creeping in. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Now here hath been dawning another blue day; + I’m just a poor woman, please take it away. +</pre> + <p> + “Oh, sleep! Sleep! Sleep! Sleep!” + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + “Now,” said Ann Veronica, after the half-hour of exercise, and sitting on + the uncomfortable wooden seat without a back that was her perch by day, + “it’s no good staying here in a sort of maze. I’ve got nothing to do for a + month but think. I may as well think. I ought to be able to think things + out. + </p> + <p> + “How shall I put the question? What am I? What have I got to do with + myself?... + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if many people HAVE thought things out? + </p> + <p> + “Are we all just seizing hold of phrases and obeying moods? + </p> + <p> + “It wasn’t so with old-fashioned people, they knew right from wrong; they + had a clear-cut, religious faith that seemed to explain everything and + give a rule for everything. We haven’t. I haven’t, anyhow. And it’s no + good pretending there is one when there isn’t.... I suppose I believe in + God.... Never really thought about Him—people don’t.. .. I suppose + my creed is, ‘I believe rather indistinctly in God the Father Almighty, + substratum of the evolutionary process, and, in a vein of vague + sentimentality that doesn’t give a datum for anything at all, in Jesus + Christ, His Son.’... + </p> + <p> + “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one + doesn’t.... + </p> + <p> + “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as + near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. Aren’t I asking—asking + plainly now?... + </p> + <p> + “We’ve all been mixing our ideas, and we’ve got intellectual hot coppers—every + blessed one of us.... + </p> + <p> + “A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!... + </p> + <p> + “There is this absurd craving for Mr. Capes—the ‘Capes crave,’ they + would call it in America. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, + and think about him, and fail to get away from him? + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t all of me. + </p> + <p> + “The first person you love, Ann Veronica, is yourself—get hold of + that! The soul you have to save is Ann Veronica’s soul....” + </p> + <p> + She knelt upon the floor of her cell and clasped her hands, and remained + for a long time in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God!” she said at last, “how I wish I had been taught to pray!” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + She had some idea of putting these subtle and difficult issues to the + chaplain when she was warned of his advent. But she had not reckoned with + the etiquette of Canongate. She got up, as she had been told to do, at his + appearance, and he amazed her by sitting down, according to custom, on her + stool. He still wore his hat, to show that the days of miracles and Christ + being civil to sinners are over forever. She perceived that his + countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely + compressed. He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some + adjacent controversy. He classified her as he seated himself. + </p> + <p> + “Another young woman, I suppose,” he said, “who knows better than her + Maker about her place in the world. Have you anything to ask me?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica readjusted her mind hastily. Her back stiffened. She produced + from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern + district visitor. “Are you a special sort of clergyman,” she said, after a + pause, and looking down her nose at him, “or do you go to the + Universities?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said, profoundly. + </p> + <p> + He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful + gesture, got up and left the cell. + </p> + <p> + So that Ann Veronica was not able to get the expert advice she certainly + needed upon her spiritual state. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + After a day or so she thought more steadily. She found herself in a phase + of violent reaction against the suffrage movement, a phase greatly + promoted by one of those unreasonable objections people of Ann Veronica’s + temperament take at times—to the girl in the next cell to her own. + She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more + foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. She was + noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably + done. In the chapel she sang with an open-lunged gusto that silenced Ann + Veronica altogether, and in the exercising-yard slouched round with + carelessly dispersed feet. Ann Veronica decided that “hoydenish ragger” + was the only phrase to express her. She was always breaking rules, + whispering asides, intimating signals. She became at times an embodiment + for Ann Veronica of all that made the suffrage movement defective and + unsatisfying. + </p> + <p> + She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. Her greatest + exploit was the howling before the mid-day meal. This was an imitation of + the noises made by the carnivora at the Zoological Gardens at + feeding-time; the idea was taken up by prisoner after prisoner until the + whole place was alive with barkings, yappings, roarings, pelican + chatterings, and feline yowlings, interspersed with shrieks of hysterical + laughter. To many in that crowded solitude it came as an extraordinary + relief. It was better even than the hymn-singing. But it annoyed Ann + Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Idiots!” she said, when she heard this pandemonium, and with particular + reference to this young lady with the throaty contralto next door. + “Intolerable idiots!...” + </p> + <p> + It took some days for this phase to pass, and it left some scars and + something like a decision. “Violence won’t do it,” said Ann Veronica. + “Begin violence, and the woman goes under.... + </p> + <p> + “But all the rest of our case is right.... Yes.” + </p> + <p> + As the long, solitary days wore on, Ann Veronica found a number of + definite attitudes and conclusions in her mind. + </p> + <p> + One of these was a classification of women into women who are and women + who are not hostile to men. “The real reason why I am out of place here,” + she said, “is because I like men. I can talk with them. I’ve never found + them hostile. I’ve got no feminine class feeling. I don’t want any laws or + freedoms to protect me from a man like Mr. Capes. I know that in my heart + I would take whatever he gave.... + </p> + <p> + “A woman wants a proper alliance with a man, a man who is better stuff + than herself. She wants that and needs it more than anything else in the + world. It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so. It isn’t + law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. It is just how + things happen to be. She wants to be free—she wants to be legally + and economically free, so as not to be subject to the wrong man; but only + God, who made the world, can alter things to prevent her being slave to + the right one. + </p> + <p> + “And if she can’t have the right one? + </p> + <p> + “We’ve developed such a quality of preference!” + </p> + <p> + She rubbed her knuckles into her forehead. “Oh, but life is difficult!” + she groaned. “When you loosen the tangle in one place you tie a knot in + another.... Before there is any change, any real change, I shall be dead—dead—dead + and finished—two hundred years!...” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 5 + </h2> + <p> + One afternoon, while everything was still, the wardress heard her cry out + suddenly and alarmingly, and with great and unmistakable passion, “Why in + the name of goodness did I burn that twenty pounds?” + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 6 + </h2> + <p> + She sat regarding her dinner. The meat was coarse and disagreeably served. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose some one makes a bit on the food,” she said.... + </p> + <p> + “One has such ridiculous ideas of the wicked common people and the + beautiful machinery of order that ropes them in. And here are these + places, full of contagion! + </p> + <p> + “Of course, this is the real texture of life, this is what we refined + secure people forget. We think the whole thing is straight and noble at + bottom, and it isn’t. We think if we just defy the friends we have and go + out into the world everything will become easy and splendid. One doesn’t + realize that even the sort of civilization one has at Morningside Park is + held together with difficulty. By policemen one mustn’t shock. + </p> + <p> + “This isn’t a world for an innocent girl to walk about in. It’s a world of + dirt and skin diseases and parasites. It’s a world in which the law can be + a stupid pig and the police-stations dirty dens. One wants helpers and + protectors—and clean water. + </p> + <p> + “Am I becoming reasonable or am I being tamed? + </p> + <p> + “I’m simply discovering that life is many-sided and complex and puzzling. + I thought one had only to take it by the throat. + </p> + <p> + “It hasn’t GOT a throat!” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 7 + </h2> + <p> + One day the idea of self-sacrifice came into her head, and she made, she + thought, some important moral discoveries. + </p> + <p> + It came with an extreme effect of re-discovery, a remarkable novelty. + “What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just + stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of + religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of + conduct. She perceived she had never really thought of any one but herself + in all her acts and plans. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant + to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy + imaginative wallowings. She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free, + untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost either for + herself or others. + </p> + <p> + “I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. I have hurt and + snubbed poor Teddy. I’ve made no one happy. I deserve pretty much what + I’ve got.... + </p> + <p> + “If only because of the way one hurts others if one kicks loose and free, + one has to submit.... + </p> + <p> + “Broken-in people! I suppose the world is just all egotistical children + and broken-in people. + </p> + <p> + “Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann + Veronica.... + </p> + <p> + “Compromise—and kindness. + </p> + <p> + “Compromise and kindness. + </p> + <p> + “Who are YOU that the world should lie down at your feet? + </p> + <p> + “You’ve got to be a decent citizen, Ann Veronica. Take your half loaf with + the others. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that + isn’t even interested in you. That’s one thing clear. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve got to take the decent reasonable way. You’ve got to adjust + yourself to the people God has set about you. Every one else does.” + </p> + <p> + She thought more and more along that line. There was no reason why she + shouldn’t be Capes’ friend. He did like her, anyhow; he was always pleased + to be with her. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained + and dignified friend. After all, that was life. Nothing was given away, + and no one came so rich to the stall as to command all that it had to + offer. Every one has to make a deal with the world. + </p> + <p> + It would be very good to be Capes’ friend. + </p> + <p> + She might be able to go on with biology, possibly even work upon the same + questions that he dealt with.... + </p> + <p> + Perhaps her granddaughter might marry his grandson.... + </p> + <p> + It grew clear to her that throughout all her wild raid for independence + she had done nothing for anybody, and many people had done things for her. + She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and + of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help + of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born + charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss + Miniver’s devotion. + </p> + <p> + “And for me it has been Pride and Pride and Pride! + </p> + <p> + “I am the prodigal daughter. I will arise and go to my father, and will + say unto him— + </p> + <p> + “I suppose pride and self-assertion are sin? Sinned against heaven—Yes, + I have sinned against heaven and before thee.... + </p> + <p> + “Poor old daddy! I wonder if he’ll spend much on the fatted calf?... + </p> + <p> + “The wrappered life-discipline! One comes to that at last. I begin to + understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and + all the rest of it. One puts gloves on one’s greedy fingers. One learns to + sit up... + </p> + <p> + “And somehow or other,” she added, after a long interval, “I must pay Mr. + Ramage back his forty pounds.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE TWELFTH + </h2> + <h3> + ANN VERONICA PUTS THINGS IN ORDER + </h3> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + Ann Veronica made a strenuous attempt to carry out her good resolutions. + She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she + wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it. + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about + everything since I was sent to this prison. All these experiences have + taught me a great deal about life and realities. I see that compromise is + more necessary to life than I ignorantly supposed it to be, and I have + been trying to get Lord Morley’s book on that subject, but it does not + appear to be available in the prison library, and the chaplain seems to + regard him as an undesirable writer.” + </p> + <p> + At this point she had perceived that she was drifting from her subject. + </p> + <p> + “I must read him when I come out. But I see very clearly that as things + are a daughter is necessarily dependent on her father and bound while she + is in that position to live harmoniously with his ideals.” + </p> + <p> + “Bit starchy,” said Ann Veronica, and altered the key abruptly. Her + concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. + </p> + <p> + “Really, daddy, I am sorry for all I have done to put you out. May I come + home and try to be a better daughter to you? + </p> + <p> + “ANN VERONICA.” + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + Her aunt came to meet her outside Canongate, and, being a little confused + between what was official and what was merely a rebellious slight upon our + national justice, found herself involved in a triumphal procession to the + Vindicator Vegetarian Restaurant, and was specifically and personally + cheered by a small, shabby crowd outside that rendezvous. They decided + quite audibly, “She’s an Old Dear, anyhow. Voting wouldn’t do no ‘arm to + ‘er.” She was on the very verge of a vegetarian meal before she recovered + her head again. Obeying some fine instinct, she had come to the prison in + a dark veil, but she had pushed this up to kiss Ann Veronica and never + drawn it down again. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the + subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured + lady of good family. The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and + she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there + were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann + Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged + and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable + Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears. + </p> + <p> + “Dreadful women, my dear!” said Miss Stanley. “And some of them quite + pretty and well dressed. No need to do such things. We must never let your + father know we went. Why ever did you let me get into that wagonette?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought we had to,” said Ann Veronica, who had also been a little under + the compulsion of the marshals of the occasion. “It was very tiring.” + </p> + <p> + “We will have some tea in the drawing-room as soon as ever we can—and + I will take my things off. I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet + again. We’ll have some buttered toast. Your poor cheeks are quite sunken + and hollow....” + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + When Ann Veronica found herself in her father’s study that evening it + seemed to her for a moment as though all the events of the past six months + had been a dream. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, + shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with + its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms + with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. The study seemed + absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out + of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and + white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow + of the arm-chair, still the same father. He sat in much the same attitude, + and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to + the Fadden Dance. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the + dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have + discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain + hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the + daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a + bargain and every charity a discount. + </p> + <p> + “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and + looking over his slanting glasses at her. “Well, my girl, I wish you had + thought about all these things before these bothers began.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica perceived that she must not forget to remain eminently + reasonable. + </p> + <p> + “One has to live and learn,” she remarked, with a passable imitation of + her father’s manner. + </p> + <p> + “So long as you learn,” said Mr. Stanley. + </p> + <p> + Their conversation hung. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, daddy, you’ve no objection to my going on with my work at the + Imperial College?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “If it will keep you busy,” he said, with a faintly ironical smile. + </p> + <p> + “The fees are paid to the end of the session.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded twice, with his eyes on the fire, as though that was a formal + statement. + </p> + <p> + “You may go on with that work,” he said, “so long as you keep in harmony + with things at home. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations + are on wrong lines, unsound lines. Still—you must learn for + yourself. You’re of age—you’re of age.” + </p> + <p> + “The work’s almost essential for the B.Sc. exam.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s scandalous, but I suppose it is.” + </p> + <p> + Their agreement so far seemed remarkable, and yet as a home-coming the + thing was a little lacking in warmth. But Ann Veronica had still to get to + her chief topic. They were silent for a time. “It’s a period of crude + views and crude work,” said Mr. Stanley. “Still, these Mendelian fellows + seem likely to give Mr. Russell trouble, a good lot of trouble. Some of + their specimens—wonderfully selected, wonderfully got up.” + </p> + <p> + “Daddy,” said Ann Veronica, “these affairs—being away from home has—cost + money.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would find that out.” + </p> + <p> + “As a matter of fact, I happen to have got a little into debt.” + </p> + <p> + “NEVER!” + </p> + <p> + Her heart sank at the change in his expression. + </p> + <p> + “Well, lodgings and things! And I paid my fees at the College.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But how could you get—Who gave you credit? + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said Ann Veronica, “my landlady kept on my room while I was in + Holloway, and the fees for the College mounted up pretty considerably.” + She spoke rather quickly, because she found her father’s question the most + awkward she had ever had to answer in her life. + </p> + <p> + “Molly and you settled about the rooms. She said you HAD some money.” + </p> + <p> + “I borrowed it,” said Ann Veronica in a casual tone, with white despair in + her heart. + </p> + <p> + “But who could have lent you money?” + </p> + <p> + “I pawned my pearl necklace. I got three pounds, and there’s three on my + watch.” + </p> + <p> + “Six pounds. H’m. Got the tickets? Yes, but then—you said you + borrowed?” + </p> + <p> + “I did, too,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Who from?” + </p> + <p> + She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her. The truth was + impossible, indecent. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything + might happen. She lied. “The Widgetts,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut!” he said. “Really, Vee, you seem to have advertised our + relations pretty generally!” + </p> + <p> + “They—they knew, of course. Because of the Dance.” + </p> + <p> + “How much do you owe them?” + </p> + <p> + She knew forty pounds was a quite impossible sum for their neighbors. She + knew, too, she must not hesitate. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added + foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything.” She muttered + some unlady-like comment upon herself under her breath and engaged in + secret additions. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stanley determined to improve the occasion. He seemed to deliberate. + “Well,” he said at last slowly, “I’ll pay it. I’ll pay it. But I do hope, + Vee, I do hope—this is the end of these adventures. I hope you have + learned your lesson now and come to see—come to realize—how + things are. People, nobody, can do as they like in this world. Everywhere + there are limitations.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Ann Veronica (fifteen pounds!). “I have learned that. I + mean—I mean to do what I can.” (Fifteen pounds. Fifteen from forty + is twenty-five.) + </p> + <p> + He hesitated. She could think of nothing more to say. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she achieved at last. “Here goes for the new life!” + </p> + <p> + “Here goes for the new life,” he echoed and stood up. Father and daughter + regarded each other warily, each more than a little insecure with the + other. He made a movement toward her, and then recalled the circumstances + of their last conversation in that study. She saw his purpose and his + doubt hesitated also, and then went to him, took his coat lapels, and + kissed him on the cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Vee,” he said, “that’s better! and kissed her back rather clumsily. + </p> + <p> + “We’re going to be sensible.” + </p> + <p> + She disengaged herself from him and went out of the room with a grave, + preoccupied expression. (Fifteen pounds! And she wanted forty!) + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + It was, perhaps, the natural consequence of a long and tiring and exciting + day that Ann Veronica should pass a broken and distressful night, a night + in which the noble and self-subduing resolutions of Canongate displayed + themselves for the first time in an atmosphere of almost lurid dismay. Her + father’s peculiar stiffness of soul presented itself now as something + altogether left out of the calculations upon which her plans were based, + and, in particular, she had not anticipated the difficulty she would find + in borrowing the forty pounds she needed for Ramage. That had taken her by + surprise, and her tired wits had failed her. She was to have fifteen + pounds, and no more. She knew that to expect more now was like + anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. The chance had gone. It became + suddenly glaringly apparent to her that it was impossible to return + fifteen pounds or any sum less than twenty pounds to Ramage—absolutely + impossible. She realized that with a pang of disgust and horror. + </p> + <p> + Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to + him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. + She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. + Now if she sent fifteen pounds the suggestion that she had spent a + five-pound note in the meanwhile would be irresistible. No! That was + impossible. She would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until she could + make it twenty. That might happen on her birthday—in August. + </p> + <p> + She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half + dreams, of Ramage. He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her, threatening + her, assailing her. + </p> + <p> + “Confound sex from first to last!” said Ann Veronica. “Why can’t we + propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we + badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!... I MUST + pay off that forty pounds. I MUST.” + </p> + <p> + For a time there seemed no comfort for her even in Capes. She was to see + Capes to-morrow, but now, in this state of misery she had achieved, she + felt assured he would turn his back upon her, take no notice of her at + all. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? + </p> + <p> + “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. I + want him as my friend. I want to talk to him and go about with him. Just + go about with him.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent for a time, with her nose on the pillow, and that brought + her to: “What’s the good of pretending? + </p> + <p> + “I love him,” she said aloud to the dim forms of her room, and repeated + it, and went on to imagine herself doing acts of tragically dog-like + devotion to the biologist, who, for the purposes of the drama, remained + entirely unconscious of and indifferent to her proceedings. + </p> + <p> + At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with + eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning + pathos can distil, she fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 5 + </h2> + <p> + Pursuant to some altogether private calculations she did not go up to the + Imperial College until after mid-day, and she found the laboratory + deserted, even as she desired. She went to the table under the end window + at which she had been accustomed to work, and found it swept and garnished + with full bottles of re-agents. Everything was very neat; it had evidently + been straightened up and kept for her. She put down the sketch-books and + apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. As + she did so the preparation-room door opened behind her. She heard it open, + but as she felt unable to look round in a careless manner she pretended + not to hear it. Then Capes’ footsteps approached. She turned with an + effort. + </p> + <p> + “I expected you this morning,” he said. “I saw—they knocked off your + fetters yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is very good of me to come this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “I began to be afraid you might not come at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I’m glad you’re back for all sorts of reasons.” He spoke a little + nervously. “Among other things, you know, I didn’t understand quite—I + didn’t understand that you were so keenly interested in this suffrage + question. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” + </p> + <p> + “Offended me when?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. I was rude and stupid. We were + talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed.” + </p> + <p> + “You weren’t rude,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know you were so keen on this suffrage business.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I. You haven’t had it on your mind all this time?” + </p> + <p> + “I have rather. I felt somehow I’d hurt you.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t. I—I hurt myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean—” + </p> + <p> + “I behaved like an idiot, that’s all. My nerves were in rags. I was + worried. We’re the hysterical animal, Mr. Capes. I got myself locked up to + cool off. By a sort of instinct. As a dog eats grass. I’m right again + now.” + </p> + <p> + “Because your nerves were exposed, that was no excuse for my touching + them. I ought to have seen—” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t matter a rap—if you’re not disposed to resent the—the + way I behaved.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> resent!” + </p> + <p> + “I was only sorry I’d been so stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I take it we’re straight again,” said Capes with a note of relief, + and assumed an easier position on the edge of her table. “But if you + weren’t keen on the suffrage business, why on earth did you go to prison?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica reflected. “It was a phase,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He smiled. “It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked. “Everybody + seems to have it now. Everybody who’s going to develop into a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s Miss Garvice.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s coming on,” said Capes. “And, you know, you’re altering us all. I’M + shaken. The campaign’s a success.” He met her questioning eye, and + repeated, “Oh! it IS a success. A man is so apt to—to take women a + little too lightly. Unless they remind him now and then not to.... YOU + did.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I didn’t waste my time in prison altogether?” + </p> + <p> + “It wasn’t the prison impressed me. But I liked the things you said here. + I felt suddenly I understood you—as an intelligent person. If you’ll + forgive my saying that, and implying what goes with it. There’s something—puppyish + in a man’s usual attitude to women. That is what I’ve had on my + conscience.... I don’t think we’re altogether to blame if we don’t take + some of your lot seriously. Some of your sex, I mean. But we smirk a + little, I’m afraid, habitually when we talk to you. We smirk, and we’re a + bit—furtive.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, with his eyes studying her gravely. “You, anyhow, don’t deserve + it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at the + further door. When she saw Ann Veronica she stood for a moment as if + entranced, and then advanced with outstretched hands. “Veronique!” she + cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann + Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and + kissed her with profound emotion. “To think that you were going to do it—and + never said a word! You are a little thin, but except for that you look—you + look better than ever. Was it VERY horrible? I tried to get into the + police-court, but the crowd was ever so much too big, push as I would.... + </p> + <p> + “I mean to go to prison directly the session is over,” said Miss Klegg. + “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t + keep me out.” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 6 + </h2> + <p> + Capes lit things wonderfully for Ann Veronica all that afternoon, he was + so friendly, so palpably interested in her, and glad to have her back with + him. Tea in the laboratory was a sort of suffragette reception. Miss + Garvice assumed a quality of neutrality, professed herself almost won over + by Ann Veronica’s example, and the Scotchman decided that if women had a + distinctive sphere it was, at any rate, an enlarging sphere, and no one + who believed in the doctrine of evolution could logically deny the vote to + women “ultimately,” however much they might be disposed to doubt the + advisability of its immediate concession. It was a refusal of expediency, + he said, and not an absolute refusal. The youth with his hair like Russell + cleared his throat and said rather irrelevantly that he knew a man who + knew Thomas Bayard Simmons, who had rioted in the Strangers’ Gallery, and + then Capes, finding them all distinctly pro-Ann Veronica, if not + pro-feminist, ventured to be perverse, and started a vein of speculation + upon the Scotchman’s idea—that there were still hopes of women + evolving into something higher. + </p> + <p> + He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann + Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be + entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so + agreeable because she had come back again. She returned home through a + world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. + </p> + <p> + But as she got out of the train at Morningside Park Station she had a + shock. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad + back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. She dived at once behind the cover + of the lamp-room and affected serious trouble with her shoe-lace until he + was out of the station, and then she followed slowly and with extreme + discretion until the bifurcation of the Avenue from the field way insured + her escape. Ramage went up the Avenue, and she hurried along the path with + a beating heart and a disagreeable sense of unsolved problems in her mind. + </p> + <p> + “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. “Everything goes on, confound + it! One doesn’t change anything one has set going by making good + resolutions.” + </p> + <p> + And then ahead of her she saw the radiant and welcoming figure of Manning. + He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. She smiled + at the sight of him, and thereat his radiation increased. + </p> + <p> + “I missed the hour of your release,” he said, “but I was at the Vindicator + Restaurant. You did not see me, I know. I was among the common herd in the + place below, but I took good care to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you’re converted?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “To the view that all those Splendid Women in the movement ought to have + votes. Rather! Who could help it?” + </p> + <p> + He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way. + </p> + <p> + “To the view that all women ought to have votes whether they like it or + not.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head, and his eyes and the mouth under the black mustache + wrinkled with his smile. And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle + that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to + banish a disagreeable preoccupation. It seemed to her in her restored + geniality that she liked Manning extremely. The brightness Capes had + diffused over the world glorified even his rival. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 7 + </h2> + <p> + The steps by which Ann Veronica determined to engage herself to marry + Manning were never very clear to her. A medley of motives warred in her, + and it was certainly not one of the least of these that she knew herself + to be passionately in love with Capes; at moments she had a giddy + intimation that he was beginning to feel keenly interested in her. She + realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the + dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the + unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. “He + must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. Or + else—Else it will be impossible that I can be his friend.” + </p> + <p> + That simple statement of the case was by no means all that went on in Ann + Veronica’s mind. But it was the form of her ruling determination; it was + the only form that she ever allowed to see daylight. What else was there + lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out + into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into + hiding. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the + social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft + whisperings in her ear. But Manning seemed more and more clearly indicated + as a refuge, as security. Certain simple purposes emerged from the + disingenuous muddle of her feelings and desires. Seeing Capes from day to + day made a bright eventfulness that hampered her in the course she had + resolved to follow. She vanished from the laboratory for a week, a week of + oddly interesting days.... + </p> + <p> + When she renewed her attendance at the Imperial College the third finger + of her left hand was adorned with a very fine old ring with dark blue + sapphires that had once belonged to a great-aunt of Manning’s. + </p> + <p> + That ring manifestly occupied her thoughts a great deal. She kept pausing + in her work and regarding it, and when Capes came round to her, she first + put her hand in her lap and then rather awkwardly in front of him. But men + are often blind to rings. He seemed to be. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon she had considered certain doubts very carefully, and + decided on a more emphatic course of action. “Are these ordinary + sapphires?” she said. He bent to her hand, and she slipped off the ring + and gave it to him to examine. + </p> + <p> + “Very good,” he said. “Rather darker than most of them. But I’m generously + ignorant of gems. Is it an old ring?” he asked, returning it. + </p> + <p> + “I believe it is. It’s an engagement ring....” She slipped it on her + finger, and added, in a voice she tried to make matter-of-fact: “It was + given to me last week.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said, in a colorless tone, and with his eyes on her face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Last week.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced at him, and it was suddenly apparent for one instant of + illumination that this ring upon her finger was the crowning blunder of + her life. It was apparent, and then it faded into the quality of an + inevitable necessity. + </p> + <p> + “Odd!” he remarked, rather surprisingly, after a little interval. + </p> + <p> + There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. + </p> + <p> + She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and + then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. Their eyes met, and his + expressed perplexity and curiosity. “The fact is—I don’t know why—this + takes me by surprise. Somehow I haven’t connected the idea with you. You + seemed complete—without that.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know why. But this is like—like walking round a house that + looks square and complete and finding an unexpected long wing running out + behind.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him, and found he was watching her closely. For some + seconds of voluminous thinking they looked at the ring between them, and + neither spoke. Then Capes shifted his eyes to her microscope and the + little trays of unmounted sections beside it. “How is that carmine + working?” he asked, with a forced interest. + </p> + <p> + “Better,” said Ann Veronica, with an unreal alacrity. “But it still misses + the nucleolus.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH + </h2> + <h3> + THE SAPPHIRE RING + </h3> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + For a time that ring set with sapphires seemed to be, after all, the + satisfactory solution of Ann Veronica’s difficulties. It was like pouring + a strong acid over dulled metal. A tarnish of constraint that had recently + spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again. They embarked upon + an open and declared friendship. They even talked about friendship. They + went to the Zoological Gardens together one Saturday to see for themselves + a point of morphological interest about the toucan’s bill—that + friendly and entertaining bird—and they spent the rest of the + afternoon walking about and elaborating in general terms this theme and + the superiority of intellectual fellowship to all merely passionate + relationships. Upon this topic Capes was heavy and conscientious, but that + seemed to her to be just exactly what he ought to be. He was also, had she + known it, more than a little insincere. “We are only in the dawn of the + Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the + place of passions. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which + is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. Now, + more and more, we’re going to be interested in them, to be curious about + them and—quite mildly-experimental with them.” He seemed to be + elaborating ideas as he talked. They watched the chimpanzees in the new + apes’ house, and admired the gentle humanity of their eyes—“so much + more human than human beings”—and they watched the Agile Gibbon in + the next apartment doing wonderful leaps and aerial somersaults. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder which of us enjoys that most,” said Capes—“does he, or do + we?” + </p> + <p> + “He seems to get a zest—” + </p> + <p> + “He does it and forgets it. We remember it. These joyful bounds just lace + into the stuff of my memories and stay there forever. Living’s just + material.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s very good to be alive.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s better to know life than be life.” + </p> + <p> + “One may do both,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + She was in a very uncritical state that afternoon. When he said, “Let’s go + and see the wart-hog,” she thought no one ever had had so quick a flow of + good ideas as he; and when he explained that sugar and not buns was the + talisman of popularity among the animals, she marvelled at his practical + omniscience. + </p> + <p> + Finally, at the exit into Regent’s Park, they ran against Miss Klegg. It + was the expression of Miss Klegg’s face that put the idea into Ann + Veronica’s head of showing Manning at the College one day, an idea which + she didn’t for some reason or other carry out for a fortnight. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + When at last she did so, the sapphire ring took on a new quality in the + imagination of Capes. It ceased to be the symbol of liberty and a remote + and quite abstracted person, and became suddenly and very disagreeably the + token of a large and portentous body visible and tangible. + </p> + <p> + Manning appeared just at the end of the afternoon’s work, and the + biologist was going through some perplexities the Scotchman had created by + a metaphysical treatment of the skulls of Hyrax and a young African + elephant. He was clearing up these difficulties by tracing a partially + obliterated suture the Scotchman had overlooked when the door from the + passage opened, and Manning came into his universe. + </p> + <p> + Seen down the length of the laboratory, Manning looked a very handsome and + shapely gentleman indeed, and, at the sight of his eager advance to his + fiancee, Miss Klegg replaced one long-cherished romance about Ann Veronica + by one more normal and simple. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a + mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were + admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow + conveyed an eager solicitude. + </p> + <p> + “I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to + tea.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been clearing up,” said Ann Veronica, brightly. + </p> + <p> + “All your dreadful scientific things?” he said, with a smile that Miss + Klegg thought extraordinarily kindly. + </p> + <p> + “All my dreadful scientific things,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about + him at the business-like equipment of the room. The low ceiling made him + seem abnormally tall. Ann Veronica wiped a scalpel, put a card over a + watch-glass containing thin shreds of embryonic guinea-pig swimming in + mauve stain, and dismantled her microscope. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I understood more of biology,” said Manning. + </p> + <p> + “I’m ready,” said Ann Veronica, closing her microscope-box with a click, + and looking for one brief instant up the laboratory. “We have no airs and + graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage.” + </p> + <p> + She led the way to the door, and Manning passed behind her and round her + and opened the door for her. When Capes glanced up at them for a moment, + Manning seemed to be holding his arms all about her, and there was nothing + but quiet acquiescence in her bearing. + </p> + <p> + After Capes had finished the Scotchman’s troubles he went back into the + preparation-room. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his + arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness + of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. He was not + addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself + at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to + him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” + </p> + <p> + The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. + Then he stood up and repeated it again. “The fool I have been!” he cried; + and now speech was coming to him. He tried this sentence with expletives. + “Ass!” he went on, still warming. “Muck-headed moral ass! I ought to have + done anything. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to have done anything! + </p> + <p> + “What’s a man for? + </p> + <p> + “Friendship!” + </p> + <p> + He doubled up his fist, and seemed to contemplate thrusting it through the + window. He turned his back on that temptation. Then suddenly he seized a + new preparation bottle that stood upon his table and contained the better + part of a week’s work—a displayed dissection of a snail, beautifully + done—and hurled it across the room, to smash resoundingly upon the + cemented floor under the bookcase; then, without either haste or pause, he + swept his arm along a shelf of re-agents and sent them to mingle with the + debris on the floor. They fell in a diapason of smashes. “H’m!” he said, + regarding the wreckage with a calmer visage. “Silly!” he remarked after a + pause. “One hardly knows—all the time.” + </p> + <p> + He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he + went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, + save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the + embodiment of blond serenity. + </p> + <p> + “Gellett,” he called, “just come and clear up a mess, will you? I’ve + smashed some things.” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + There was one serious flaw in Ann Veronica’s arrangements for + self-rehabilitation, and that was Ramage. He hung over her—he and + his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a + vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. She could not + see any relief from this anxiety except repayment, and repayment seemed + impossible. The raising of twenty-five pounds was a task altogether beyond + her powers. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist + point, might give her another five pounds. + </p> + <p> + The thing rankled in her mind night and day. She would wake in the night + to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” + </p> + <p> + It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen + Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. + He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with + indecipherable meanings. + </p> + <p> + She felt she was bound in honor to tell the whole affair to Manning sooner + or later. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his + assistance, or not at all. And when Manning was not about the thing seemed + simple enough. She would compose extremely lucid and honorable + explanations. But when it came to broaching them, it proved to be much + more difficult than she had supposed. + </p> + <p> + They went down the great staircase of the building, and, while she sought + in her mind for a beginning, he broke into appreciation of her simple + dress and self-congratulations upon their engagement. + </p> + <p> + “It makes me feel,” he said, “that nothing is impossible—to have you + here beside me. I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in + life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s + pulling away at that oar. I will make her my Grail, and some day, perhaps, + if God wills, she shall become my wife!’” + </p> + <p> + He looked very hard before him as he said this, and his voice was full of + deep feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Grail!” said Ann Veronica, and then: “Oh, yes—of course! Anything + but a holy one, I’m afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Altogether holy, Ann Veronica. Ah! but you can’t imagine what you are to + me and what you mean to me! I suppose there is something mystical and + wonderful about all women.” + </p> + <p> + “There is something mystical and wonderful about all human beings. I don’t + see that men need bank it with the women.” + </p> + <p> + “A man does,” said Manning—“a true man, anyhow. And for me there is + only one treasure-house. By Jove! When I think of it I want to leap and + shout!” + </p> + <p> + “It would astonish that man with the barrow.” + </p> + <p> + “It astonishes me that I don’t,” said Manning, in a tone of intense + self-enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” began Ann Veronica, “that you don’t realize—” + </p> + <p> + He disregarded her entirely. He waved an arm and spoke with a peculiar + resonance. “I feel like a giant! I believe now I shall do great things. + Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty + lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you. It will be + altogether you. I will dedicate my books to you. I will lay them all at + your feet.” + </p> + <p> + He beamed upon her. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you realize,” Ann Veronica began again, “that I am rather a + defective human being.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to,” said Manning. “They say there are spots on the sun. Not + for me. It warms me, and lights me, and fills my world with flowers. Why + should I peep at it through smoked glass to see things that don’t affect + me?” He smiled his delight at his companion. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got bad faults.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head slowly, smiling mysteriously. + </p> + <p> + “But perhaps I want to confess them.” + </p> + <p> + “I grant you absolution.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want absolution. I want to make myself visible to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could make you visible to yourself. I don’t believe in the + faults. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more + beautiful than perfection. Like the flaws of an old marble. If you talk of + your faults, I shall talk of your splendors.” + </p> + <p> + “I do want to tell you things, nevertheless.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll have, thank God! ten myriad days to tell each other things. When I + think of it—” + </p> + <p> + “But these are things I want to tell you now!” + </p> + <p> + “I made a little song of it. Let me say it to you. I’ve no name for it + yet. Epithalamy might do. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Like him who stood on Darien + I view uncharted sea + Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights + Before my Queen and me. +</pre> + <p> + “And that only brings me up to about sixty-five! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A glittering wilderness of time + That to the sunset reaches + No keel as yet its waves has ploughed + Or gritted on its beaches. + + “And we will sail that splendor wide, + From day to day together, + From isle to isle of happiness + Through year’s of God’s own weather.” + </pre> + <p> + “Yes,” said his prospective fellow-sailor, “that’s very pretty.” She + stopped short, full of things un-said. Pretty! Ten thousand days, ten + thousand nights! + </p> + <p> + “You shall tell me your faults,” said Manning. “If they matter to you, + they matter.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t precisely faults,” said Ann Veronica. “It’s something that + bothers me.” Ten thousand! Put that way it seemed so different. + </p> + <p> + “Then assuredly!” said Manning. + </p> + <p> + She found a little difficulty in beginning. She was glad when he went on: + “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. I want to + stand between you and all the force and vileness of the world. I want to + make you feel that here is a place where the crowd does not clamor nor + ill-winds blow.” + </p> + <p> + “That is all very well,” said Ann Veronica, unheeded. + </p> + <p> + “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. “I want my life to be + beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. There + you will be, in an inner temple. I want to enrich it with hangings and + gladden it with verses. I want to fill it with fine and precious things. + And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you + shrink from my kisses, will vanish.... Forgive me if a certain warmth + creeps into my words! The Park is green and gray to-day, but I am glowing + pink and gold.... It is difficult to express these things.” + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + They sat with tea and strawberries and cream before them at a little table + in front of the pavilion in Regent’s Park. Her confession was still + unmade. Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the + probable brilliance of their married life. Ann Veronica sat back in an + attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind + perplexed and busy. She was recalling the circumstances under which she + had engaged herself to Manning, and trying to understand a curious + development of the quality of this relationship. + </p> + <p> + The particulars of her engagement were very clear in her memory. She had + taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat + commanded by the windows of the house. They had been playing tennis, with + his manifest intention looming over her. + </p> + <p> + “Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said. He made his speech a little + elaborately. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the + end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. + </p> + <p> + “You ask me to be engaged to you, Mr. Manning,” she began. + </p> + <p> + “I want to lay all my life at your feet.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Manning, I do not think I love you.... I want to be very plain with + you. I have nothing, nothing that can possibly be passion for you. I am + sure. Nothing at all.” + </p> + <p> + He was silent for some moments. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. “How can you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I think—perhaps I am rather a cold-blooded person.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped. He remained listening attentively. + </p> + <p> + “You have been very kind to me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I would give my life for you.” + </p> + <p> + Her heart had warmed toward him. It had seemed to her that life might be + very good indeed with his kindliness and sacrifice about her. She thought + of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of + protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own + life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her + irresponsive being. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. + </p> + <p> + “It seems so unfair,” she said, “to take all you offer me and give so + little in return.” + </p> + <p> + “It is all the world to me. And we are not traders looking at + equivalents.” + </p> + <p> + “You know, Mr. Manning, I do not really want to marry.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems so—so unworthy”—she picked among her phrases “of the + noble love you give—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped, through the difficulty she found in expressing herself. + </p> + <p> + “But I am judge of that,” said Manning. + </p> + <p> + “Would you wait for me?” + </p> + <p> + Manning was silent for a space. “As my lady wills.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you let me go on studying for a time?” + </p> + <p> + “If you order patience.” + </p> + <p> + “I think, Mr. Manning... I do not know. It is so difficult. When I think + of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love.” + </p> + <p> + “You like me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And I am grateful to you....” + </p> + <p> + Manning tapped with his racket on the turf through some moments of + silence. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, + frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. I am your servitor. I am ready to + wait for you, to wait your pleasure, to give all my life to winning it. + Let me only wear your livery. Give me but leave to try. You want to think + for a time, to be free for a time. That is so like you, Diana—Pallas + Athene! (Pallas Athene is better.) You are all the slender goddesses. I + understand. Let me engage myself. That is all I ask.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was handsome and + strong. Her gratitude swelled within her. + </p> + <p> + “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Then you—you will?” + </p> + <p> + A long pause. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t fair....” + </p> + <p> + “But will you?” + </p> + <p> + “YES.” + </p> + <p> + For some seconds he had remained quite still. + </p> + <p> + “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have + to shout. Let us walk about. Tum, tum, tirray, tum, tum, tum, te-tum—that + thing of Mendelssohn’s! If making one human being absolutely happy is any + satisfaction to you—” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hands, and she also stood up. + </p> + <p> + He drew her close up to him with a strong, steady pull. Then suddenly, in + front of all those windows, he folded her in his arms and pressed her to + him, and kissed her unresisting face. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t!” cried Ann Veronica, struggling faintly, and he released her. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” he said. “But I am at singing-pitch.” + </p> + <p> + She had a moment of sheer panic at the thing she had done. “Mr. Manning,” + she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our + secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” + </p> + <p> + “As you will,” he said. “But if my manner tells! I cannot help it if that + shows. You only mean a secret for a little time?” + </p> + <p> + “Just for a little time,” she said; “yes....” + </p> + <p> + But the ring, and her aunt’s triumphant eye, and a note of approval in her + father’s manner, and a novel disposition in him to praise Manning in a + just, impartial voice had soon placed very definite qualifications upon + that covenanted secrecy. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 5 + </h2> + <p> + At first the quality of her relationship to Manning seemed moving and + beautiful to Ann Veronica. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was + unfeignedly grateful to him. She even thought that perhaps she might come + to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that + pervaded his courtly bearing. She would never love him as she loved Capes, + of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. For Manning it + would be a more temperate love altogether. Much more temperate; the + discreet and joyless love of a virtuous, reluctant, condescending wife. + She had been quite convinced that an engagement with him and at last a + marriage had exactly that quality of compromise which distinguishes the + ways of the wise. It would be the wrappered world almost at its best. She + saw herself building up a life upon that—a life restrained, kindly, + beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great + disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves... + </p> + <p> + But the Ramage affair needed clearing up, of course; it was a flaw upon + that project. She had to explain about and pay off that forty pounds.... + </p> + <p> + Then, quite insensibly, her queenliness had declined. She was never able + to trace the changes her attitude had undergone, from the time when she + believed herself to be the pampered Queen of Fortune, the crown of a good + man’s love (and secretly, but nobly, worshipping some one else), to the + time when she realized she was in fact just a mannequin for her lover’s + imagination, and that he cared no more for the realities of her being, for + the things she felt and desired, for the passions and dreams that might + move her, than a child cares for the sawdust in its doll. She was the + actress his whim had chosen to play a passive part.... + </p> + <p> + It was one of the most educational disillusionments in Ann Veronica’s + career. + </p> + <p> + But did many women get anything better? + </p> + <p> + This afternoon, when she was urgent to explain her hampering and tainting + complication with Ramage, the realization of this alien quality in her + relationship with Manning became acute. Hitherto it had been qualified by + her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be + unexacting of life. But she perceived that to tell Manning of her Ramage + adventures as they had happened would be like tarring figures upon a + water-color. They were in different key, they had a different timbre. How + could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she + had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a + bait. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his + meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. + Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the + possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a + black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden.... She doubted + if Manning would even listen to that. He would refuse to listen and + absolve her unshriven. + </p> + <p> + Then it came to her with a shock, as an extraordinary oversight, that she + could never tell Manning about Ramage—never. + </p> + <p> + She dismissed the idea of doing so. But that still left the forty + pounds!... + </p> + <p> + Her mind went on generalizing. So it would always be between herself and + Manning. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the + wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of + make-believe, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine + sentiments. + </p> + <p> + But did any woman get anything better from a man? Perhaps every woman + conceals herself from a man perforce!... + </p> + <p> + She thought of Capes. She could not help thinking of Capes. Surely Capes + was different. Capes looked at one and not over one, spoke to one, treated + one as a visible concrete fact. Capes saw her, felt for her, cared for her + greatly, even if he did not love her. Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize + her. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens + whether, indeed, he did simply care for her. Little things, almost + impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner + had belied his words. Did he not look for her in the morning when she + entered—come very quickly to her? She thought of him as she had last + seen him looking down the length of the laboratory to see her go. Why had + he glanced up—quite in that way?... + </p> + <p> + The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking + again through clouds. It came to her like a dear thing rediscovered, that + she loved Capes. It came to her that to marry any one but Capes was + impossible. If she could not marry him, she would not marry any one. She + would end this sham with Manning. It ought never to have begun. It was + cheating, pitiful cheating. And then if some day Capes wanted her—saw + fit to alter his views upon friendship.... + </p> + <p> + Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself + gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind. + </p> + <p> + She leaped suddenly at a desperate resolution, and in one moment had made + it into a new self. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every + discretion. Of course, why not? She would be honest, anyhow! + </p> + <p> + She turned her eyes to Manning. + </p> + <p> + He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his + green chair and the other resting on the little table. He was smiling + under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he + looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. + His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible + thing. Ann Veronica pushed aside a tea-cup and the vestiges of her + strawberries and cream, and put her elbows before her on the table. “Mr. + Manning,” she said, “I HAVE a confession to make.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would use my Christian name,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She attended to that, and then dismissed it as unimportant. + </p> + <p> + Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity + to him. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she + had to confess. His smile faded. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think our engagement can go on,” she plunged, and felt exactly + that loss of breath that comes with a dive into icy water. + </p> + <p> + “But, how,” he said, sitting up astonished beyond measure, “not go on?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been thinking while you have been talking. You see—I didn’t + understand.” + </p> + <p> + She stared hard at her finger-nails. “It is hard to express one’s self, + but I do want to be honest with you. When I promised to marry you I + thought I could; I thought it was a possible arrangement. I did think it + could be done. I admired your chivalry. I was grateful.” + </p> + <p> + She paused. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She moved her elbow nearer to him and spoke in a still lower tone. “I told + you I did not love you.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Manning, nodding gravely. “It was fine and brave of you.” + </p> + <p> + “But there is something more.” + </p> + <p> + She paused again. + </p> + <p> + “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. These things are difficult. It + wasn’t clear to me that I had to explain.... I love some one else.” + </p> + <p> + They remained looking at each other for three or four seconds. Then + Manning flopped back in his chair and dropped his chin like a man shot. + There was a long silence between them. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” he said at last, with tremendous feeling, and then again, “My + God!” + </p> + <p> + Now that this thing was said her mind was clear and calm. She heard this + standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that + astonished herself. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing + behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with + an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. This mitigated her + remorse enormously. He rested his brow on his hand and conveyed + magnificent tragedy by his pose. + </p> + <p> + “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and + looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me + this before?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself.” + </p> + <p> + “And you can’t?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I ought to control myself.” + </p> + <p> + “And I have been dreaming and thinking—” + </p> + <p> + “I am frightfully sorry....” + </p> + <p> + “But—This bolt from the blue! My God! Ann Veronica, you don’t + understand. This—this shatters a world!” + </p> + <p> + She tried to feel sorry, but her sense of his immense egotism was strong + and clear. + </p> + <p> + He went on with intense urgency. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through + the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this + yet. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. + Tell me I haven’t heard. This is a joke of yours.” He made his voice very + low and full, and looked closely into her face. + </p> + <p> + She twisted her fingers tightly. “It isn’t a joke,” she said. “I feel + shabby and disgraced.... I ought never to have thought of it. Of you, I + mean....” + </p> + <p> + He fell back in his chair with an expression of tremendous desolation. “My + God!” he said again.... + </p> + <p> + They became aware of the waitress standing over them with book and pencil + ready for their bill. “Never mind the bill,” said Manning tragically, + standing up and thrusting a four-shilling piece into her hand, and turning + a broad back on her astonishment. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” + he said to Ann Veronica. “Just at present my mind simply won’t take hold + of this at all.... I tell you—never mind the bill. Keep it! Keep + it!” + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 6 + </h2> + <p> + They walked a long way that afternoon. They crossed the Park to the + westward, and then turned back and walked round the circle about the Royal + Botanical Gardens and then southwardly toward Waterloo. They trudged and + talked, and Manning struggled, as he said, to “get the hang of it all.” + </p> + <p> + It was a long, meandering talk, stupid, shameful, and unavoidable. Ann + Veronica was apologetic to the bottom of her soul. At the same time she + was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made + to her blunder. She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as + much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were + possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate + to the test. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in + accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care + for them. Then she realized that it was her business to let Manning talk + and impose his own interpretations upon the situation so far as he was + concerned. She did her best to do this. But about his unknown rival he was + acutely curious. + </p> + <p> + He made her tell him the core of the difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man.... + No! I do not even know that he cares for me. It is no good going into + that. Only I just want him. I just want him, and no one else will do. It + is no good arguing about a thing like that.” + </p> + <p> + “But you thought you could forget him.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I must have thought so. I didn’t understand. Now I do.” + </p> + <p> + “By God!” said Manning, making the most of the word, “I suppose it’s fate. + Fate! You are so frank so splendid! + </p> + <p> + “I’m taking this calmly now,” he said, almost as if he apologized, + “because I’m a little stunned.” + </p> + <p> + Then he asked, “Tell me! has this man, has he DARED to make love to you?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica had a vicious moment. “I wish he had,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her + nerves. “When one wants a thing more than anything else in the world,” she + said with outrageous frankness, “one naturally wishes one had it.” + </p> + <p> + She shocked him by that. She shattered the edifice he was building up of + himself as a devoted lover, waiting only his chance to win her from a + hopeless and consuming passion. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Manning,” she said, “I warned you not to idealize me. Men ought not + to idealize any woman. We aren’t worth it. We’ve done nothing to deserve + it. And it hampers us. You don’t know the thoughts we have; the things we + can do and say. You are a sisterless man; you have never heard the + ordinary talk that goes on at a girls’ boarding-school.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! but you ARE splendid and open and fearless! As if I couldn’t allow! + What are all these little things? Nothing! Nothing! You can’t sully + yourself. You can’t! I tell you frankly you may break off your engagement + to me—I shall hold myself still engaged to you, yours just the same. + As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing + laid upon you. It’s not you—not a bit. It’s a thing that’s happened + to you. It is like some accident. I don’t care. In a sense I don’t care. + It makes no difference.... All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the + throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that.... + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I should let go if I had. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. + </p> + <p> + “I’m rather a persistent person. I’m the sort of dog, if you turn it out + of the room it lies down on the mat at the door. I’m not a lovesick boy. + I’m a man, and I know what I mean. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but + it doesn’t kill me. And the situation it makes!—the situation!” + </p> + <p> + Thus Manning, egotistical, inconsecutive, unreal. And Ann Veronica walked + beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of + how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew + weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one + interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten + thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. Whatever happened she + need never return to that possibility. + </p> + <p> + “For me,” Manning went on, “this isn’t final. In a sense it alters + nothing. I shall still wear your favor—even if it is a stolen and + forbidden favor—in my casque.... I shall still believe in you. Trust + you.” + </p> + <p> + He repeated several times that he would trust her, though it remained + obscure just exactly where the trust came in. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he cried out of a silence, with a sudden flash of + understanding, “did you mean to throw me over when you came out with me + this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica hesitated, and with a startled mind realized the truth. “No,” + she answered, reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Manning. “Then I don’t take this as final. That’s all. + I’ve bored you or something.... You think you love this other man! No + doubt you do love him. Before you have lived—” + </p> + <p> + He became darkly prophetic. He thrust out a rhetorical hand. + </p> + <p> + “I will MAKE you love me! Until he has faded—faded into a memory...” + </p> + <p> + He saw her into the train at Waterloo, and stood, a tall, grave figure, + with hat upraised, as the carriage moved forward slowly and hid him. Ann + Veronica sat back with a sigh of relief. Manning might go on now + idealizing her as much as he liked. She was no longer a confederate in + that. He might go on as the devoted lover until he tired. She had done + forever with the Age of Chivalry, and her own base adaptations of its + traditions to the compromising life. She was honest again. + </p> + <p> + But when she turned her thoughts to Morningside Park she perceived the + tangled skein of life was now to be further complicated by his romantic + importunity. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH + </h2> + <h3> + THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT + </h3> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + Spring had held back that year until the dawn of May, and then spring and + summer came with a rush together. Two days after this conversation between + Manning and Ann Veronica, Capes came into the laboratory at lunch-time and + found her alone there standing by the open window, and not even pretending + to be doing anything. + </p> + <p> + He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of + depression in his bearing. He was engaged in detesting Manning and himself + in almost equal measure. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he + came toward her. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, and stared over her shoulder out of the + window. + </p> + <p> + “So am I.... Lassitude?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> can’t work.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the spring,” he said. “It’s the warming up of the year, the coming + of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and + begin new things. Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays. This + year—I’ve got it badly. I want to get away. I’ve never wanted to get + away so much.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you go?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!—Alps.” + </p> + <p> + “Climbing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s rather a fine sort of holiday!” + </p> + <p> + He made no answer for three or four seconds. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “I want to get away. I feel at moments as though I could + bolt for it.... Silly, isn’t it? Undisciplined.” + </p> + <p> + He went to the window and fidgeted with the blind, looking out to where + the tree-tops of Regent’s Park showed distantly over the houses. He turned + round toward her and found her looking at him and standing very still. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the stir of spring,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I believe it is.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced out of the window, and the distant trees were a froth of hard + spring green and almond blossom. She formed a wild resolution, and, lest + she should waver from it, she set about at once to realize it. “I’ve + broken off my engagement,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, and found + her heart thumping in her neck. He moved slightly, and she went on, with a + slight catching of her breath: “It’s a bother and disturbance, but you see—” + She had to go through with it now, because she could think of nothing but + her preconceived words. Her voice was weak and flat. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve fallen in love.” + </p> + <p> + He never helped her by a sound. + </p> + <p> + “I—I didn’t love the man I was engaged to,” she said. She met his + eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. They struck + her as cold and indifferent. + </p> + <p> + Her heart failed her and her resolution became water. She remained + standing stiffly, unable even to move. She could not look at him through + an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. But she felt his lax + figure become rigid. + </p> + <p> + At last his voice came to release her tension. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you weren’t keeping up to the mark. You—It’s jolly of you + to confide in me. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously + deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is + the man?” + </p> + <p> + Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen + upon her. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from + her. A fever of shame ran through her being. Horrible doubts assailed her. + She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her + table and covered her face with her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you SEE how things are?” she said. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + Before Capes could answer her in any way the door at the end of the + laboratory opened noisily and Miss Klegg appeared. She went to her own + table and sat down. At the sound of the door Ann Veronica uncovered a + tearless face, and with one swift movement assumed a conversational + attitude. Things hung for a moment in an awkward silence. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said Ann Veronica, staring before her at the window-sash, + “that’s the form my question takes at the present time.” + </p> + <p> + Capes had not quite the same power of recovery. He stood with his hands in + his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. His face was white. “It’s—it’s + a difficult question.” He appeared to be paralyzed by abstruse acoustic + calculations. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the + end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. He glanced at Miss Klegg again, + and spoke quickly and furtively, with eager eyes on Ann Veronica’s face. + </p> + <p> + “I had a faint idea once that things were as you say they are, but the + affair of the ring—of the unexpected ring—puzzled me. Wish + SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the + bottom of the sea.... I would like to talk to you about this—soon. + If you don’t think it would be a social outrage, perhaps I might walk with + you to your railway station.” + </p> + <p> + “I will wait,” said Ann Veronica, still not looking at him, “and we will + go into Regent’s Park. No—you shall come with me to Waterloo.” + </p> + <p> + “Right!” he said, and hesitated, and then got up and went into the + preparation-room. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + For a time they walked in silence through the back streets that lead + southward from the College. Capes bore a face of infinite perplexity. + </p> + <p> + “The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, + “is that this is very sudden.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s been coming on since first I came into the laboratory.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” he asked, bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “You!” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them + both unemotional. And neither had any of that theatricality which demands + gestures and facial expression. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued. + </p> + <p> + “You told me that in the Zoological Gardens.” + </p> + <p> + She found her muscles a-tremble. But there was nothing in her bearing that + a passer-by would have noted, to tell of the excitement that possessed + her. + </p> + <p> + “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. + I’ve told you that practically already. But I can give it its name now. + You needn’t be in any doubt about it. I tell you that because it puts us + on a footing....” + </p> + <p> + They went on for a time without another word. + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “Something. Not much.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m a married man. And my wife won’t live with me for reasons that I + think most women would consider sound.... Or I should have made love to + you long ago.” + </p> + <p> + There came a silence again. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “But if you knew anything of that—” + </p> + <p> + “I did. It doesn’t matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you tell me? I thought—I thought we were going to be + friends.” + </p> + <p> + He was suddenly resentful. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their + situation. “Why on earth did you TELL me?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t help it. It was an impulse. I HAD to.” + </p> + <p> + “But it changes things. I thought you understood.” + </p> + <p> + “I had to,” she repeated. “I was sick of the make-believe. I don’t care! + I’m glad I did. I’m glad I did.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” said Capes, “what on earth do you want? What do you think we + can do? Don’t you know what men are, and what life is?—to come to me + and talk to me like this!” + </p> + <p> + “I know—something, anyhow. But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of + shame. I don’t see any good in life if it hasn’t got you in it. I wanted + you to know. And now you know. And the fences are down for good. You can’t + look me in the eyes and say you don’t care for me.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve told you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Ann Veronica, with an air of concluding the discussion. + </p> + <p> + They walked side by side for a time. + </p> + <p> + “In that laboratory one gets to disregard these passions,” began Capes. + “Men are curious animals, with a trick of falling in love readily with + girls about your age. One has to train one’s self not to. I’ve accustomed + myself to think of you—as if you were like every other girl who + works at the schools—as something quite outside these possibilities. + If only out of loyalty to co-education one has to do that. Apart from + everything else, this meeting of ours is a breach of a good rule.” + </p> + <p> + “Rules are for every day,” said Ann Veronica. “This is not every day. This + is something above all rules.” + </p> + <p> + “For you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not for you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. No; I’m going to stick to the rules.... It’s odd, but nothing but + cliche seems to meet this case. You’ve placed me in a very exceptional + position, Miss Stanley.” The note of his own voice exasperated him. “Oh, + damn!” he said. + </p> + <p> + She made no answer, and for a time he debated some problems with himself. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he said aloud at last. + </p> + <p> + “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly + be lovers in the ordinary sense. That, I think, is manifest. You know, + I’ve done no work at all this afternoon. I’ve been smoking cigarettes in + the preparation-room and thinking this out. We can’t be lovers in the + ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends.” + </p> + <p> + “We are,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve interested me enormously....” + </p> + <p> + He paused with a sense of ineptitude. “I want to be your friend,” he said. + “I said that at the Zoo, and I mean it. Let us be friends—as near + and close as friends can be.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica gave him a pallid profile. + </p> + <p> + “What is the good of pretending?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “We don’t pretend.” + </p> + <p> + “We do. Love is one thing and friendship quite another. Because I’m + younger than you.... I’ve got imagination.... I know what I am talking + about. Mr. Capes, do you think... do you think I don’t know the meaning of + love?” + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + Capes made no answer for a time. + </p> + <p> + “My mind is full of confused stuff,” he said at length. “I’ve been + thinking—all the afternoon. Oh, and weeks and months of thought and + feeling there are bottled up too.... I feel a mixture of beast and uncle. + I feel like a fraudulent trustee. Every rule is against me—Why did I + let you begin this? I might have told—” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see that you could help—” + </p> + <p> + “I might have helped—” + </p> + <p> + “You couldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “I ought to have—all the same. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. “You know about my + scandalous past?” + </p> + <p> + “Very little. It doesn’t seem to matter. Does it?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it does. Profoundly.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “It prevents our marrying. It forbids—all sorts of things.” + </p> + <p> + “It can’t prevent our loving.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid it can’t. But, by Jove! it’s going to make our loving a + fiercely abstract thing.” + </p> + <p> + “You are separated from your wife?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but do you know how?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “Why on earth—? A man ought to be labelled. You see, I’m separated + from my wife. But she doesn’t and won’t divorce me. You don’t understand + the fix I am in. And you don’t know what led to our separation. And, in + fact, all round the problem you don’t know and I don’t see how I could + possibly have told you before. I wanted to, that day in the Zoo. But I + trusted to that ring of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor old ring!” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “I ought never have gone to the Zoo, I suppose. I asked you to go. But a + man is a mixed creature.... I wanted the time with you. I wanted it + badly.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about yourself,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “To begin with, I was—I was in the divorce court. I was—I was + a co-respondent. You understand that term?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica smiled faintly. “A modern girl does understand these terms. + She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. Did you + really doubt if I knew?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But I don’t suppose you can understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why I shouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “To know things by name is one thing; to know them by seeing them and + feeling them and being them quite another. That is where life takes + advantage of youth. You don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t. That’s the difficulty. If I told you the facts, I expect, + since you are in love with me, you’d explain the whole business as being + very fine and honorable for me—the Higher Morality, or something of + that sort.... It wasn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t deal very much,” said Ann Veronica, “in the Higher Morality, or + the Higher Truth, or any of those things.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you don’t. But a human being who is young and clean, as you are, + is apt to ennoble—or explain away.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve had a biological training. I’m a hard young woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Nice clean hardness, anyhow. I think you are hard. There’s something—something + ADULT about you. I’m talking to you now as though you had all the wisdom + and charity in the world. I’m going to tell you things plainly. Plainly. + It’s best. And then you can go home and think things over before we talk + again. I want you to be clear what you’re really and truly up to, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mind knowing,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “It’s precious unromantic.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “I married pretty young,” said Capes. “I’ve got—I have to tell you + this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my + composition. I married—I married a woman whom I still think one of + the most beautiful persons in the world. She is a year or so older than I + am, and she is, well, of a very serene and proud and dignified + temperament. If you met her you would, I am certain, think her as fine as + I do. She has never done a really ignoble thing that I know of—never. + I met her when we were both very young, as young as you are. I loved her + and made love to her, and I don’t think she quite loved me back in the + same way.” + </p> + <p> + He paused for a time. Ann Veronica said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “These are the sort of things that aren’t supposed to happen. They leave + them out of novels—these incompatibilities. Young people ignore them + until they find themselves up against them. My wife doesn’t understand, + doesn’t understand now. She despises me, I suppose.... We married, and for + a time we were happy. She was fine and tender. I worshipped her and + subdued myself.” + </p> + <p> + He left off abruptly. “Do you understand what I am talking about? It’s no + good if you don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” said Ann Veronica, and colored. “In fact, yes, I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think of these things—these matters—as belonging to + our Higher Nature or our Lower?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t deal in Higher Things, I tell you,” said Ann Veronica, “or Lower, + for the matter of that. I don’t classify.” She hesitated. “Flesh and + flowers are all alike to me.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s the comfort of you. Well, after a time there came a fever in my + blood. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit + beautiful. It wasn’t. Quite soon, after we were married—it was just + within a year—I formed a friendship with the wife of a friend, a + woman eight years older than myself.... It wasn’t anything splendid, you + know. It was just a shabby, stupid, furtive business that began between + us. Like stealing. We dressed it in a little music.... I want you to + understand clearly that I was indebted to the man in many small ways. I + was mean to him.... It was the gratification of an immense necessity. We + were two people with a craving. We felt like thieves. We WERE thieves.... + We LIKED each other well enough. Well, my friend found us out, and would + give no quarter. He divorced her. How do you like the story?” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said Ann Veronica, a little hoarsely, “tell me all of it.” + </p> + <p> + “My wife was astounded—wounded beyond measure. She thought me—filthy. + All her pride raged at me. One particularly humiliating thing came out—humiliating + for me. There was a second co-respondent. I hadn’t heard of him before the + trial. I don’t know why that should be so acutely humiliating. There’s no + logic in these things. It was.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor you!” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “My wife refused absolutely to have anything more to do with me. She could + hardly speak to me; she insisted relentlessly upon a separation. She had + money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need + to squabble about that. She has given herself up to social work.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all. Practically all. And yet—Wait a little, you’d better + have every bit of it. One doesn’t go about with these passions allayed + simply because they have made wreckage and a scandal. There one is! The + same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut + off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. A man has more freedom + to do evil than a woman. Irregularly, in a quite inglorious and unromantic + way, you know, I am a vicious man. That’s—that’s my private life. + Until the last few months. It isn’t what I have been but what I am. I + haven’t taken much account of it until now. My honor has been in my + scientific work and public discussion and the things I write. Lots of us + are like that. But, you see, I’m smirched. For the sort of love-making you + think about. I’ve muddled all this business. I’ve had my time and lost my + chances. I’m damaged goods. And you’re as clean as fire. You come with + those clear eyes of yours, as valiant as an angel....” + </p> + <p> + He stopped abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s so strange to think of you—troubled by such things. I didn’t + think—I don’t know what I thought. Suddenly all this makes you + human. Makes you real.” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you see how I must stand to you? Don’t you see how it bars us + from being lovers—You can’t—at first. You must think it over. + It’s all outside the world of your experience.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it makes a rap of difference, except for one thing. I love + you more. I’ve wanted you—always. I didn’t dream, not even in my + wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me.” + </p> + <p> + He made a little noise in his throat as if something had cried out within + him, and for a time they were both too full for speech. + </p> + <p> + They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station. + </p> + <p> + “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it + to-morrow. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything. As for loving you, + I do. I do—with all my heart. It’s no good hiding it any more. I + could never have talked to you like this, forgetting everything that parts + us, forgetting even your age, if I did not love you utterly. If I were a + clean, free man—We’ll have to talk of all these things. Thank + goodness there’s plenty of opportunity! And we two can talk. Anyhow, now + you’ve begun it, there’s nothing to keep us in all this from being the + best friends in the world. And talking of every conceivable thing. Is + there?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, with a radiant face. + </p> + <p> + “Before this there was a sort of restraint—a make-believe. It’s + gone.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Friendship and love being separate things. And that confounded + engagement!” + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” + </p> + <p> + They came upon a platform, and stood before her compartment. + </p> + <p> + He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against + himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be very glad to have you for a friend,” he said, “loving friend. + I had never dreamed of such a friend as you.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled, sure of herself beyond any pretending, into his troubled eyes. + Hadn’t they settled that already? + </p> + <p> + “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed + something. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 5 + </h2> + <p> + The next morning she waited in the laboratory at the lunch-hour in the + reasonable certainty that he would come to her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you have thought it over?” he said, sitting down beside her. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been thinking of you all night,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care a rap for all these things.” + </p> + <p> + He said nothing for a space. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see there’s any getting away from the fact that you and I love + each other,” he said, slowly. “So far you’ve got me and I you.... You’ve + got me. I’m like a creature just wakened up. My eyes are open to you. I + keep on thinking of you. I keep on thinking of little details and aspects + of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back + from the side of your forehead. I believe I have always been in love with + you. Always. Before ever I knew you.” + </p> + <p> + She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, + and he, too, said no more. She began to tremble violently. + </p> + <p> + He stood up abruptly and went to the window. + </p> + <p> + “We have,” he said, “to be the utmost friends.” + </p> + <p> + She stood up and held her arms toward him. “I want you to kiss me,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + He gripped the window-sill behind him. + </p> + <p> + “If I do,” he said.... “No! I want to do without that. I want to do + without that for a time. I want to give you time to think. I am a man—of + a sort of experience. You are a girl with very little. Just sit down on + that stool again and let’s talk of this in cold blood. People of your sort—I + don’t want the instincts to—to rush our situation. Are you sure what + it is you want of me?” + </p> + <p> + “I want you. I want you to be my lover. I want to give myself to you. I + want to be whatever I can to you.” She paused for a moment. “Is that + plain?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “If I didn’t love you better than myself,” said Capes, “I wouldn’t fence + like this with you. + </p> + <p> + “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on. “You do not + know what such a relation means. We are in love. Our heads swim with the + thought of being together. But what can we do? Here am I, fixed to + respectability and this laboratory; you’re living at home. It means... + just furtive meetings.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care how we meet,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “It will spoil your life.” + </p> + <p> + “It will make it. I want you. I am clear I want you. You are different + from all the world for me. You can think all round me. You are the one + person I can understand and feel—feel right with. I don’t idealize + you. Don’t imagine that. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may + be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and + understanding in you. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and + pines when we are separated. You see, I’m selfish. I’m rather scornful. I + think too much about myself. You’re the only person I’ve really given + good, straight, unselfish thought to. I’m making a mess of my life—unless + you come in and take it. I am. In you—if you can love me—there + is salvation. Salvation. I know what I am doing better than you do. Think—think + of that engagement!” + </p> + <p> + Their talk had come to eloquent silences that contradicted all he had to + say. + </p> + <p> + She stood up before him, smiling faintly. + </p> + <p> + “I think we’ve exhausted this discussion,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I think we have,” he answered, gravely, and took her in his arms, and + smoothed her hair from her forehead, and very tenderly kissed her lips. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 6 + </h2> + <p> + They spent the next Sunday in Richmond Park, and mingled the happy + sensation of being together uninterruptedly through the long sunshine of a + summer’s day with the ample discussion of their position. “This has all + the clean freshness of spring and youth,” said Capes; “it is love with the + down on; it is like the glitter of dew in the sunlight to be lovers such + as we are, with no more than one warm kiss between us. I love everything + to-day, and all of you, but I love this, this—this innocence upon us + most of all. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair + can be. + </p> + <p> + “This isn’t furtive,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it. And we won’t make it so.... We mustn’t make it so.” + </p> + <p> + They loitered under trees, they sat on mossy banks they gossiped on + friendly benches, they came back to lunch at the “Star and Garter,” and + talked their afternoon away in the garden that looks out upon the crescent + of the river. They had a universe to talk about—two universes. + </p> + <p> + “What are we going to do?” said Capes, with his eyes on the broad + distances beyond the ribbon of the river. + </p> + <p> + “I will do whatever you want,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “My first love was all blundering,” said Capes. + </p> + <p> + He thought for a moment, and went on: “Love is something that has to be + taken care of. One has to be so careful.... It’s a beautiful plant, but a + tender one.... I didn’t know. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, + becoming mean and ugly. How can I tell you all I feel? I love you beyond + measure. And I’m afraid.... I’m anxious, joyfully anxious, like a man when + he has found a treasure.” + </p> + <p> + “YOU know,” said Ann Veronica. “I just came to you and put myself in your + hands.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s why, in a way, I’m prudish. I’ve—dreads. I don’t want to + tear at you with hot, rough hands.” + </p> + <p> + “As you will, dear lover. But for me it doesn’t matter. Nothing is wrong + that you do. Nothing. I am quite clear about this. I know exactly what I + am doing. I give myself to you.” + </p> + <p> + “God send you may never repent it!” cried Capes. + </p> + <p> + She put her hand in his to be squeezed. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry. Very doubtful. I + have been thinking—I will go to my wife again. I will do my utmost. + But for a long time, anyhow, we lovers have to be as if we were no more + than friends.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. She answered slowly. “That is as you will,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Why should it matter?” he said. + </p> + <p> + And then, as she answered nothing, “Seeing that we are lovers.” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 7 + </h2> + <p> + It was rather less than a week after that walk that Capes came and sat + down beside Ann Veronica for their customary talk in the lunch hour. He + took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for + both these young people had given up the practice of going out for + luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. He + did not speak for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I say!” he said, without any movement. “Let’s go.” + </p> + <p> + “Go!” She did not understand him at first, and then her heart began to + beat very rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “Stop this—this humbugging,” he explained. “It’s like the Picture + and the Bust. I can’t stand it. Let’s go. Go off and live together—until + we can marry. Dare you?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean NOW?” + </p> + <p> + “At the end of the session. It’s the only clean way for us. Are you + prepared to do it?” + </p> + <p> + Her hands clenched. “Yes,” she said, very faintly. And then: “Of course! + Always. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant all along.” + </p> + <p> + She stared before her, trying to keep back a rush of tears. + </p> + <p> + Capes kept obstinately stiff, and spoke between his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “There’s endless reasons, no doubt, why we shouldn’t,” he said. “Endless. + It’s wrong in the eyes of most people. For many of them it will smirch us + forever.... You DO understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Who cares for most people?” she said, not looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “I do. It means social isolation—struggle.” + </p> + <p> + “If you dare—I dare,” said Ann Veronica. “I was never so clear in + all my life as I have been in this business.” She lifted steadfast eyes to + him. “Dare!” she said. The tears were welling over now, but her voice was + steady. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. You’re + just a particular being with nothing else in the world to class with you. + You are just necessary to life for me. I’ve never met any one like you. To + have you is all important. Nothing else weighs against it. Morals only + begin when that is settled. I sha’n’t care a rap if we can never marry. + I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle.... I + rather want them. I do want them.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll get them,” he said. “This means a plunge.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “Only for you! Most of my income will vanish. Even unbelieving biological + demonstrators must respect decorum; and besides, you see—you were a + student. We shall have—hardly any money.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care.” + </p> + <p> + “Hardship and danger.” + </p> + <p> + “With you!” + </p> + <p> + “And as for your people?” + </p> + <p> + “They don’t count. That is the dreadful truth. This—all this swamps + them. They don’t count, and I don’t care.” + </p> + <p> + Capes suddenly abandoned his attitude of meditative restraint. “By Jove!” + he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. I don’t quite know + why. But this is a great lark, Ann Veronica! This turns life into a + glorious adventure!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she cried in triumph. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to give up biology, anyhow. I’ve always had a sneaking + desire for the writing-trade. That is what I must do. I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you can.” + </p> + <p> + “And biology was beginning to bore me a bit. One research is very like + another.... Latterly I’ve been doing things.... Creative work appeals to + me wonderfully. Things seem to come rather easily.... But that, and that + sort of thing, is just a day-dream. For a time I must do journalism and + work hard.... What isn’t a day-dream is this: that you and I are going to + put an end to flummery—and go!” + </p> + <p> + “Go!” said Ann Veronica, clenching her hands. + </p> + <p> + “For better or worse.” + </p> + <p> + “For richer or poorer.” + </p> + <p> + She could not go on, for she was laughing and crying at the same time. “We + were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. + “We have been all this time—Only your queer code of honor—Honor! + Once you begin with love you have to see it through.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH + </h2> + <h3> + THE LAST DAYS AT HOME + </h3> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + They decided to go to Switzerland at the session’s end. “We’ll clean up + everything tidy,” said Capes.... + </p> + <p> + For her pride’s sake, and to save herself from long day-dreams and an + unappeasable longing for her lover, Ann Veronica worked hard at her + biology during those closing weeks. She was, as Capes had said, a hard + young woman. She was keenly resolved to do well in the school examination, + and not to be drowned in the seas of emotion that threatened to submerge + her intellectual being. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the + new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and + delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence. + Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering + bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it + passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, + golden joy. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her + fellow-students, friends, and neighbors—moving about outside this + glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond + the barrier of the footlights. They might applaud, or object, or + interfere, but the drama was her very own. She was going through with + that, anyhow. + </p> + <p> + The feeling of last days grew stronger with her as their number + diminished. She went about the familiar home with a clearer and clearer + sense of inevitable conclusions. She became exceptionally considerate and + affectionate with her father and aunt, and more and more concerned about + the coming catastrophe that she was about to precipitate upon them. Her + aunt had a once exasperating habit of interrupting her work with demands + for small household services, but now Ann Veronica rendered them with a + queer readiness of anticipatory propitiation. She was greatly exercised by + the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked + away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made + some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed + to mark. But she did not bother her head very much about her relations + with these sympathizers. + </p> + <p> + And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. She + got up early, and walked about the garden in the dewy June sunshine and + revived her childhood. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and + her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this + time there would be no returning. She was at the end of girlhood and on + the eve of a woman’s crowning experience. She visited the corner that had + been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long + since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the + raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little + boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her + secret letters. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to + hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous + perennials under whose stems was fairyland. The back of the house had been + the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. The knots + and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to + the fields behind, were still to be traced. And here against a wall were + the plum-trees. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen + plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had + realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown + grass, beneath the elm-trees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured + out her soul in weeping. + </p> + <p> + Remote little Ann Veronica! She would never know the heart of that child + again! That child had loved fairy princes with velvet suits and golden + locks, and she was in love with a real man named Capes, with little gleams + of gold on his cheek and a pleasant voice and firm and shapely hands. She + was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms. + She was going through a new world with him side by side. She had been so + busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given + no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood. Now, + abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to + say farewell to them across one sundering year. + </p> + <p> + She was unusually helpful at breakfast, and unselfish about the eggs: and + then she went off to catch the train before her father’s. She did this to + please him. He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he + never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his + daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing. So he + liked to go by a different train. And in the Avenue she had an encounter + with Ramage. + </p> + <p> + It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions + in her mind. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure + on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he + crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. + </p> + <p> + “I MUST speak to you,” he said. “I can’t keep away from you.” + </p> + <p> + She made some inane response. She was struck by a change in his + appearance. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost + something of its ruddy freshness. + </p> + <p> + He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the + station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. She quickened her + pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. She made lumpish + and inadequate interruptions rather than replies. At times he seemed to be + claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and + exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the + end, he always got what he wanted. He said that his life was boring and + stupid without her. Something or other—she did not catch what—he + was damned if he could stand. He was evidently nervous, and very anxious + to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate. The crowning + aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her + indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. Its importance had + vanished with her abandonment of compromise. Even her debt to him was a + triviality now. + </p> + <p> + And of course! She had a brilliant idea. It surprised her she hadn’t + thought of it before! She tried to explain that she was going to pay him + forty pounds without fail next week. She said as much to him. She repeated + this breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “I was glad you did not send it back again,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly + trying to explain—the inexplicable. “It’s because I mean to send it + back altogether,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He ignored her protests in order to pursue some impressive line of his + own. + </p> + <p> + “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began. “We have to be—modern.” + </p> + <p> + Her heart leaped within her as she caught that phrase. That knot also + would be cut. Modern, indeed! She was going to be as primordial as chipped + flint. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the + dinner-table, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an + affectation of great deliberation. + </p> + <p> + “I want to speak to you about a little thing, Vee,” said Mr. Stanley. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica’s tense nerves started, and she stood still with her eyes + upon him, wondering what it might be that impended. + </p> + <p> + “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. + Walking to the station with him.” + </p> + <p> + So that was it! + </p> + <p> + “He came and talked to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye—e—es.” Mr. Stanley considered. “Well, I don’t want you to + talk to him,” he said, very firmly. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica paused before she answered. “Don’t you think I ought to?” she + asked, very submissively. + </p> + <p> + “No.” Mr. Stanley coughed and faced toward the house. “He is not—I + don’t like him. I think it inadvisable—I don’t want an intimacy to + spring up between you and a man of that type.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica reflected. “I HAVE—had one or two talks with him, + daddy.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let there be any more. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose he comes and talks to me?” + </p> + <p> + “A girl can always keep a man at a distance if she cares to do it. She—She + can snub him.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica picked a cornflower. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t make this objection,” Mr. Stanley went on, “but there are + things—there are stories about Ramage. He’s—He lives in a + world of possibilities outside your imagination. His treatment of his wife + is most unsatisfactory. Most unsatisfactory. A bad man, in fact. A + dissipated, loose-living man.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll try not to see him again,” said Ann Veronica. “I didn’t know you + objected to him, daddy.” + </p> + <p> + “Strongly,” said Mr. Stanley, “very strongly.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation hung. Ann Veronica wondered what her father would do if + she were to tell him the full story of her relations with Ramage. + </p> + <p> + “A man like that taints a girl by looking at her, by his mere + conversation.” He adjusted his glasses on his nose. There was another + little thing he had to say. “One has to be so careful of one’s friends and + acquaintances,” he remarked, by way of transition. “They mould one + insensibly.” His voice assumed an easy detached tone. “I suppose, Vee, you + don’t see much of those Widgetts now?” + </p> + <p> + “I go in and talk to Constance sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” + </p> + <p> + “We were great friends at school.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt.... Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something + ramshackle about those people, Vee. While I am talking about your friends, + I feel—I think you ought to know how I look at it.” His voice + conveyed studied moderation. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her + sometimes, still there are differences—differences in social + atmospheres. One gets drawn into things. Before you know where you are you + find yourself in a complication. I don’t want to influence you unduly—But—They’re + artistic people, Vee. That’s the fact about them. We’re different.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose we are,” said Vee, rearranging the flowers in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Friendships that are all very well between school-girls don’t always go + on into later life. It’s—it’s a social difference.” + </p> + <p> + “I like Constance very much.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt. Still, one has to be reasonable. As you admitted to me—one + has to square one’s self with the world. You don’t know. With people of + that sort all sorts of things may happen. We don’t want things to happen.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica made no answer. + </p> + <p> + A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. “I may seem unduly—anxious. + I can’t forget about your sister. It’s that has always made me—SHE, + you know, was drawn into a set—didn’t discriminate Private + theatricals.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica remained anxious to hear more of her sister’s story from her + father’s point of view, but he did not go on. Even so much allusion as + this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her + ripening years. She glanced at him. He stood a little anxious and fussy, + bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life + was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of + every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not + understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror + of bothers and undesirable situations. “We don’t want things to happen!” + Never had he shown his daughter so clearly that the womenkind he was + persuaded he had to protect and control could please him in one way, and + in one way only, and that was by doing nothing except the punctual + domestic duties and being nothing except restful appearances. He had quite + enough to see to and worry about in the City without their doing things. + He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she + had been too old to sit upon his knee. Nothing but the constraint of + social usage now linked him to her. And the less “anything” happened the + better. The less she lived, in fact, the better. These realizations rushed + into Ann Veronica’s mind and hardened her heart against him. She spoke + slowly. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she + said. “I don’t think I shall.” + </p> + <p> + “Some little tiff?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but I don’t think I shall see them.” + </p> + <p> + Suppose she were to add, “I am going away!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad to hear you say it,” said Mr. Stanley, and was so evidently + pleased that Ann Veronica’s heart smote her. + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad to hear you say it,” he repeated, and refrained from + further inquiry. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said. “I think you + are getting to understand me better.” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated, and walked away from her toward the house. Her eyes followed + him. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed + relief at her apparent obedience. “Thank goodness!” said that retreating + aspect, “that’s said and over. Vee’s all right. There’s nothing happened + at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, + and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just + finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and + absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his + microtome without bothering about her in the least. + </p> + <p> + The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating + disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her + case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. + She felt a cheat and a sneak to his unsuspecting retreating back. + </p> + <p> + “But what can one do?” asked Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + She dressed carefully for dinner in a black dress that her father liked, + and that made her look serious and responsible. Dinner was quite + uneventful. Her father read a draft prospectus warily, and her aunt + dropped fragments of her projects for managing while the cook had a + holiday. After dinner Ann Veronica went into the drawing-room with Miss + Stanley, and her father went up to his den for his pipe and pensive + petrography. Later in the evening she heard him whistling, poor man! + </p> + <p> + She felt very restless and excited. She refused coffee, though she knew + that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. She took up one of her + father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some + work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really + abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Her + aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the + newly lit lamp. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica sat down in the other arm-chair and darned badly for a minute + or so. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the + careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines + of mouth and chin and cheek. + </p> + <p> + Her thought spoke aloud. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had + ceased to work. “What makes you ask such a question, Vee?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I wondered.” + </p> + <p> + Her aunt answered in a low voice: “I was engaged to him, dear, for seven + years, and then he died.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica made a sympathetic little murmur. + </p> + <p> + “He was in holy orders, and we were to have been married when he got a + living. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family.” + </p> + <p> + She sat very still. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica hesitated with a question that had leaped up in her mind, and + that she felt was cruel. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. + </p> + <p> + Her aunt was a long time before she answered. “His stipend forbade it,” + she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought. “It would have been + rash and unwise,” she said at the end of a meditation. “What he had was + altogether insufficient.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica looked at the mildly pensive gray eyes and the comfortable, + rather refined face with a penetrating curiosity. Presently her aunt + sighed deeply and looked at the clock. “Time for my Patience,” she said. + She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went + to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. Ann Veronica + jumped up to get her the card-table. “I haven’t seen the new Patience, + dear,” she said. “May I sit beside you?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a very difficult one,” said her aunt. “Perhaps you will help me + shuffle?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica did, and also assisted nimbly with the arrangements of the + rows of eight with which the struggle began. Then she sat watching the + play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her + attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her + knees just below the edge of the table. She was feeling extraordinarily + well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a + realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. Then she + glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, + and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its + operations. + </p> + <p> + It came to Ann Veronica that life was wonderful beyond measure. It seemed + incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same + blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad + interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, + Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. The + love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night + stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the + closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses + in the dusk. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a + puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and + flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if + Dionysius and her curate had died together. A faint buzz above the ceiling + witnessed that petrography, too, was active. Gray and tranquil world! + Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in + which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until + the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, + “disagreeable.” It was her last evening in that wrappered life against + which she had rebelled. Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it + beating in her ears. Away in London even now Capes was packing and + preparing; Capes, the magic man whose touch turned one to trembling fire. + What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less + than twenty hours. Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. She glanced at the + soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble + mantel, and made a rapid calculation. To be exact, it was just sixteen + hours and twenty minutes. The slow stars circled on to the moment of their + meeting. The softly glittering summer stars! She saw them shining over + mountains of snow, over valleys of haze and warm darkness.... There would + be no moon. + </p> + <p> + “I believe after all it’s coming out!” said Miss Stanley. “The aces made + it easy.” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica started from her reverie, sat up in her chair, became + attentive. “Look, dear,” she said presently, “you can put the ten on the + Jack.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH + </h2> + <h3> + IN THE MOUNTAINS + </h3> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + Next day Ann Veronica and Capes felt like newborn things. It seemed to + them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly + anticipating existence. They sat face to face beneath an + experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather + handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to + Folkestone for Boulogne. They tried to read illustrated papers in an + unconcerned manner and with forced attention, lest they should catch the + leaping exultation in each other’s eyes. And they admired Kent sedulously + from the windows. + </p> + <p> + They crossed the Channel in sunshine and a breeze that just ruffled the + sea to glittering scales of silver. Some of the people who watched them + standing side by side thought they must be newly wedded because of their + happy faces, and others that they were an old-established couple because + of their easy confidence in each other. + </p> + <p> + At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted + together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the + Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen. There was no + railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to + Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to + that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying + branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees + clamber among gigantic boulders. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles + under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched + and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. And + later they paddled in a boat above the mysterious deeps of the See, and + peered down into the green-blues and the blue-greens together. By that + time it seemed to them they had lived together twenty years. + </p> + <p> + Except for one memorable school excursion to Paris, Ann Veronica had never + yet been outside England. So that it seemed to her the whole world had + changed—the very light of it had changed. Instead of English villas + and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; + there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such + sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had + never seen before. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly + manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her + boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. And Capes + had changed into the easiest and jolliest companion in the world. The mere + fact that he was there in the train alongside her, helping her, sitting + opposite to her in the dining-car, presently sleeping on a seat within a + yard of her, made her heart sing until she was afraid their fellow + passengers would hear it. It was too good to be true. She would not sleep + for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity. To walk beside + him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in + itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the + threshold of heaven. + </p> + <p> + One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth + of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of + her father. + </p> + <p> + She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done + wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had + done right. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with + her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just + one day intervened. She felt as if she had struck them unawares. The + thought of them distressed her without subtracting at all from the oceans + of happiness in which she swam. But she wished she could put the thing she + had done in some way to them so that it would not hurt them so much as the + truth would certainly do. The thought of their faces, and particularly of + her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact—disconcerted, unfriendly, + condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things.” + </p> + <p> + Capes watched the limpid water dripping from his oar. “I wish they did,” + he said, “but they don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “I feel—All this is the rightest of all conceivable things. I want + to tell every one. I want to boast myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I know.” + </p> + <p> + “I told them a lie. I told them lies. I wrote three letters yesterday and + tore them up. It was so hopeless to put it to them. At last—I told a + story.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t tell them our position?” + </p> + <p> + “I implied we had married.” + </p> + <p> + “They’ll find out. They’ll know.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Sooner or later.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly—bit by bit.... But it was hopelessly hard to put. I said I + knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared + all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we + couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. What else could one say? I + left him to suppose—a registry perhaps....” + </p> + <p> + Capes let his oar smack on the water. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind very much?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “But it makes me feel inhuman,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “And me....” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the perpetual trouble,” he said, “of parent and child. They can’t + help seeing things in the way they do. Nor can we. WE don’t think they’re + right, but they don’t think we are. A deadlock. In a very definite sense + we are in the wrong—hopelessly in the wrong. But—It’s just + this: who was to be hurt?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish no one had to be hurt,” said Ann Veronica. “When one is happy—I + don’t like to think of them. Last time I left home I felt as hard as + nails. But this is all different. It is different.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s a sort of instinct of rebellion,” said Capes. “It isn’t anything + to do with our times particularly. People think it is, but they are wrong. + It’s to do with adolescence. Long before religion and Society heard of + Doubt, girls were all for midnight coaches and Gretna Green. It’s a sort + of home-leaving instinct.” + </p> + <p> + He followed up a line of thought. + </p> + <p> + “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, + unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct.... I wonder.... + There’s no family uniting instinct, anyhow; it’s habit and sentiment and + material convenience hold families together after adolescence. There’s + always friction, conflict, unwilling concessions. Always! I don’t believe + there is any strong natural affection at all between parents and + growing-up children. There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. I + didn’t allow myself to see things as they were in those days; now I do. I + bored him. I hated him. I suppose that shocks one’s ideas.... It’s + true.... There are sentimental and traditional deferences and reverences, + I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents the + development of an easy friendship. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal—and + they’re no good. No good at all. One’s got to be a better man than one’s + father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, + or nothing.” + </p> + <p> + He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and + die away. At last he took up his thoughts again: “I wonder if, some day, + one won’t need to rebel against customs and laws? If this discord will + have gone? Some day, perhaps—who knows?—the old won’t coddle + and hamper the young, and the young won’t need to fly in the faces of the + old. They’ll face facts as facts, and understand. Oh, to face facts! Gods! + what a world it might be if people faced facts! Understanding! + Understanding! There is no other salvation. Some day older people, + perhaps, will trouble to understand younger people, and there won’t be + these fierce disruptions; there won’t be barriers one must defy or + perish.... That’s really our choice now, defy—or futility.... The + world, perhaps, will be educated out of its idea of fixed standards.... I + wonder, Ann Veronica, if, when our time comes, we shall be any wiser?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica watched a water-beetle fussing across the green depths. “One + can’t tell. I’m a female thing at bottom. I like high tone for a flourish + and stars and ideas; but I want my things.” + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + Capes thought. + </p> + <p> + “It’s odd—I have no doubt in my mind that what we are doing is + wrong,” he said. “And yet I do it without compunction.” + </p> + <p> + “I never felt so absolutely right,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “You ARE a female thing at bottom,” he admitted. “I’m not nearly so sure + as you. As for me, I look twice at it.... Life is two things, that’s how I + see it; two things mixed and muddled up together. Life is morality—life + is adventure. Squire and master. Adventure rules, and morality—looks + up the trains in the Bradshaw. Morality tells you what is right, and + adventure moves you. If morality means anything it means keeping bounds, + respecting implications, respecting implicit bounds. If individuality + means anything it means breaking bounds—adventure. + </p> + <p> + “Will you be moral and your species, or immoral and yourself? We’ve + decided to be immoral. We needn’t try and give ourselves airs. We’ve + deserted the posts in which we found ourselves, cut our duties, exposed + ourselves to risks that may destroy any sort of social usefulness in + us.... I don’t know. One keeps rules in order to be one’s self. One + studies Nature in order not to be blindly ruled by her. There’s no sense + in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral.” + </p> + <p> + She watched his face as he traced his way through these speculative + thickets. + </p> + <p> + “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. “No power on earth + will persuade me we’re not two rather disreputable persons. You desert + your home; I throw up useful teaching, risk every hope in your career. + Here we are absconding, pretending to be what we are not; shady, to say + the least of it. It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher + Truth or wonderful principle in this business. There isn’t. We never + started out in any high-browed manner to scandalize and Shelleyfy. When + first you left your home you had no idea that <i>I</i> was the hidden + impulse. I wasn’t. You came out like an ant for your nuptial flight. It + was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing + predestined about it. We just hit against each other, and here we are + flying off at a tangent, a little surprised at what we are doing, all our + principles abandoned, and tremendously and quite unreasonably proud of + ourselves. Out of all this we have struck a sort of harmony.... And it’s + gorgeous!” + </p> + <p> + “Glorious!” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Would YOU like us—if some one told you the bare outline of our + story?—and what we are doing?” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t mind,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “But if some one else asked your advice? If some one else said, ‘Here is + my teacher, a jaded married man on the verge of middle age, and he and I + have a violent passion for one another. We propose to disregard all our + ties, all our obligations, all the established prohibitions of society, + and begin life together afresh.’ What would you tell her?” + </p> + <p> + “If she asked advice, I should say she wasn’t fit to do anything of the + sort. I should say that having a doubt was enough to condemn it.” + </p> + <p> + “But waive that point.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be different all the same. It wouldn’t be you.” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t be you either. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing.” + He stared at a little eddy. “The rule’s all right, so long as there isn’t + a case. Rules are for established things, like the pieces and positions of + a game. Men and women are not established things; they’re experiments, all + of them. Every human being is a new thing, exists to do new things. Find + the thing you want to do most intensely, make sure that’s it, and do it + with all your might. If you live, well and good; if you die, well and + good. Your purpose is done.... Well, this is OUR thing.” + </p> + <p> + He woke the glassy water to swirling activity again, and made the + deep-blue shapes below writhe and shiver. + </p> + <p> + “This is MY thing,” said Ann Veronica, softly, with thoughtful eyes upon + him. + </p> + <p> + Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs + and the high heaven above and then back to his face. She drew in a deep + breath of the sweet mountain air. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there + was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + Later they loitered along a winding path above the inn, and made love to + one another. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, + and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. The flowers and turf, a + wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had + become more interesting than mountains. Their flitting hands were always + touching. Deep silences came between them.... + </p> + <p> + “I had thought to go on to Kandersteg,” said Capes, “but this is a + pleasant place. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. Let us stay + the night here. Then we can loiter and gossip to our heart’s content.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “After all, it’s our honeymoon.” + </p> + <p> + “All we shall get,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “This place is very beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Any place would be beautiful,” said Ann Veronica, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + For a time they walked in silence. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so + much?... I know now what it is to be an abandoned female. I AM an + abandoned female. I’m not ashamed—of the things I’m doing. I want to + put myself into your hands. You know—I wish I could roll my little + body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. + Tight. I want you to hold me and have me SO.... Everything. Everything. + It’s a pure joy of giving—giving to YOU. I have never spoken of + these things to any human being. Just dreamed—and ran away even from + my dreams. It is as if my lips had been sealed about them. And now I break + the seals—for you. Only I wish—I wish to-day I was a thousand + times, ten thousand times more beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + Capes lifted her hand and kissed it. + </p> + <p> + “You are a thousand times more beautiful,” he said, “than anything else + could be.... You are you. You are all the beauty in the world. Beauty + doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. It + heralded you, promised you....” + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 4 + </h2> + <p> + They lay side by side in a shallow nest of turf and mosses among bowlders + and stunted bushes on a high rock, and watched the day sky deepen to + evening between the vast precipices overhead and looked over the tree-tops + down the widening gorge. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of + the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. + </p> + <p> + Capes spoke casually of their plans for work. “It’s a flabby, loose-willed + world we have to face. It won’t even know whether to be scandalized at us + or forgiving. It will hold aloof, a little undecided whether to pelt or + not—” + </p> + <p> + “That depends whether we carry ourselves as though we expected pelting,” + said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “We won’t.” + </p> + <p> + “No fear!” + </p> + <p> + “Then, as we succeed, it will begin to sidle back to us. It will do its + best to overlook things—” + </p> + <p> + “If we let it, poor dear.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s if we succeed. If we fail,” said Capes, “then—” + </p> + <p> + “We aren’t going to fail,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + Life seemed a very brave and glorious enterprise to Ann Veronica that day. + She was quivering with the sense of Capes at her side and glowing with + heroic love; it seemed to her that if they put their hands jointly against + the Alps and pushed they would be able to push them aside. She lay and + nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. + </p> + <p> + “FAIL!” she said. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 5 + </h2> + <p> + Presently it occurred to Ann Veronica to ask about the journey he had + planned. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, + and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay + prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” he said, “is this Blau See, and here we rest until to-morrow. I + think we rest here until to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + There was a brief silence. + </p> + <p> + “It is a very pleasant place,” said Ann Veronica, biting a rhododendron + stalk through, and with that faint shadow of a smile returning to her + lips.... + </p> + <p> + “And then?” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Then we go on to this place, the Oeschinensee. It’s a lake among + precipices, and there is a little inn where we can stay, and sit and eat + our dinner at a pleasant table that looks upon the lake. For some days we + shall be very idle there among the trees and rocks. There are boats on the + lake and shady depths and wildernesses of pine-wood. After a day or so, + perhaps, we will go on one or two little excursions and see how good your + head is—a mild scramble or so; and then up to a hut on a pass just + here, and out upon the Blumlis-alp glacier that spreads out so and so.” + </p> + <p> + She roused herself from some dream at the word. “Glaciers?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Under the Wilde Frau—which was named after you.” + </p> + <p> + He bent and kissed her hair and paused, and then forced his attention back + to the map. “One day,” he resumed, “we will start off early and come down + into Kandersteg and up these zigzags and here and here, and so past this + Daubensee to a tiny inn—it won’t be busy yet, though; we may get it + all to ourselves—on the brim of the steepest zigzag you can imagine, + thousands of feet of zigzag; and you will sit and eat lunch with me and + look out across the Rhone Valley and over blue distances beyond blue + distances to the Matterhorn and Monte Rosa and a long regiment of sunny, + snowy mountains. And when we see them we shall at once want to go to them—that’s + the way with beautiful things—and down we shall go, like flies down + a wall, to Leukerbad, and so to Leuk Station, here, and then by train up + the Rhone Valley and this little side valley to Stalden; and there, in the + cool of the afternoon, we shall start off up a gorge, torrents and cliffs + below us and above us, to sleep in a half-way inn, and go on next day to + Saas Fee, Saas of the Magic, Saas of the Pagan People. And there, about + Saas, are ice and snows again, and sometimes we will loiter among the + rocks and trees about Saas or peep into Samuel Butler’s chapels, and + sometimes we will climb up out of the way of the other people on to the + glaciers and snow. And, for one expedition at least, we will go up this + desolate valley here to Mattmark, and so on to Monte Moro. There indeed + you see Monte Rosa. Almost the best of all.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it very beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “When I saw it there it was very beautiful. It was wonderful. It was the + crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. It towered up + high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and + white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly + clouds. And then presently these clouds began to wear thin and expose + steep, deep slopes, going down and down, with grass and pine-trees, down + and down, and at last, through a great rent in the clouds, bare roofs, + shining like very minute pin-heads, and a road like a fibre of white + silk-Macugnana, in Italy. That will be a fine day—it will have to + be, when first you set eyes on Italy.... That’s as far as we go.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t we go down into Italy?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said; “it won’t run to that now. We must wave our hands at the + blue hills far away there and go back to London and work.” + </p> + <p> + “But Italy—” + </p> + <p> + “Italy’s for a good girl,” he said, and laid his hand for a moment on her + shoulder. “She must look forward to Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “I say,” she reflected, “you ARE rather the master, you know.” + </p> + <p> + The idea struck him as novel. “Of course I’m manager for this expedition,” + he said, after an interval of self-examination. + </p> + <p> + She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. “Nice sleeve,” she + said, and came to his hand and kissed it. + </p> + <p> + “I say!” he cried. “Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this + is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves. You mustn’t do things + like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Free woman—and equal.” + </p> + <p> + “I do it—of my own free will,” said Ann Veronica, kissing his hand + again. “It’s nothing to what I WILL do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” he said, a little doubtfully, “it’s just a phase,” and bent + down and rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment, with his heart + beating and his nerves a-quiver. Then as she lay very still, with her + hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still + closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck.... + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 6 + </h2> + <p> + Most of the things that he had planned they did. But they climbed more + than he had intended because Ann Veronica proved rather a good climber, + steady-headed and plucky, rather daring, but quite willing to be cautious + at his command. + </p> + <p> + One of the things that most surprised him in her was her capacity for + blind obedience. She loved to be told to do things. + </p> + <p> + He knew the circle of mountains about Saas Fee fairly well: he had been + there twice before, and it was fine to get away from the straggling + pedestrians into the high, lonely places, and sit and munch sandwiches and + talk together and do things together that were just a little difficult and + dangerous. And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did + their meaning and intention hitch. They were enormously pleased with one + another; they found each other beyond measure better than they had + expected, if only because of the want of substance in mere expectation. + Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of + self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. + </p> + <p> + “You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. “You’re splendid.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t that you’re splendid or I,” said Capes. “But we satisfy one + another. Heaven alone knows why. So completely! The oddest fitness! What + is it made of? Texture of skin and texture of mind? Complexion and voice. + I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you.... If I had never met anything + of you at all but a scrap of your skin binding a book, Ann Veronica, I + know I would have kept that somewhere near to me.... All your faults are + just jolly modelling to make you real and solid.” + </p> + <p> + “The faults are the best part of it,” said Ann Veronica; “why, even our + little vicious strains run the same way. Even our coarseness.” + </p> + <p> + “Coarse?” said Capes, “We’re not coarse.” + </p> + <p> + “But if we were?” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “I can talk to you and you to me without a scrap of effort,” said Capes; + “that’s the essence of it. It’s made up of things as small as the diameter + of hairs and big as life and death.... One always dreamed of this and + never believed it. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible + accident. Most people, every one I know else, seem to have mated with + foreigners and to talk uneasily in unfamiliar tongues, to be afraid of the + knowledge the other one has, of the other one’s perpetual misjudgment and + misunderstandings. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t they wait?” he added. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica had one of her flashes of insight. + </p> + <p> + “One doesn’t wait,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + She expanded that. “<i>I</i> shouldn’t have waited,” she said. “I might + have muddled for a time. But it’s as you say. I’ve had the rarest luck and + fallen on my feet.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ve both fallen on our feet! We’re the rarest of mortals! The real + thing! There’s not a compromise nor a sham nor a concession between us. We + aren’t afraid; we don’t bother. We don’t consider each other; we needn’t. + That wrappered life, as you call it—we’ve burned the confounded + rags! Danced out of it! We’re stark!” + </p> + <p> + “Stark!” echoed Ann Veronica. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 7 + </h2> + <p> + As they came back from that day’s climb—it was up the Mittaghorn—they + had to cross a shining space of wet, steep rocks between two grass slopes + that needed a little care. There were a few loose, broken fragments of + rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much + work as toes. They used the rope—not that a rope was at all + necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact + of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death + in the event of some remotely possibly mischance. Capes went first, + finding footholds and, where the drops in the strata-edges came like long, + awkward steps, placing Ann Veronica’s feet. About half-way across this + interval, when everything seemed going well, Capes had a shock. + </p> + <p> + “Heavens!” exclaimed Ann Veronica, with extraordinary passion. “My God!” + and ceased to move. + </p> + <p> + Capes became rigid and adhesive. Nothing ensued. “All right?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have to pay it.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve forgotten something. Oh, cuss it!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “He said I would.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s the devil of it!” + </p> + <p> + “Devil of what?... You DO use vile language!” + </p> + <p> + “Forget about it like this.” + </p> + <p> + “Forget WHAT?” + </p> + <p> + “And I said I wouldn’t. I said I’d do anything. I said I’d make shirts.” + </p> + <p> + “Shirts?” + </p> + <p> + “Shirts at one—and—something a dozen. Oh, goodness! Bilking! + Ann Veronica, you’re a bilker!” + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell me what all this is about?” said Capes. + </p> + <p> + “It’s about forty pounds.” + </p> + <p> + Capes waited patiently. + </p> + <p> + “G. I’m sorry.... But you’ve got to lend me forty pounds.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s some sort of delirium,” said Capes. “The rarefied air? I thought you + had a better head.” + </p> + <p> + “No! I’ll explain lower. It’s all right. Let’s go on climbing now. It’s a + thing I’ve unaccountably overlooked. All right really. It can wait a bit + longer. I borrowed forty pounds from Mr. Ramage. Thank goodness you’ll + understand. That’s why I chucked Manning.... All right, I’m coming. But + all this business has driven it clean out of my head.... That’s why he was + so annoyed, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was annoyed?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ramage—about the forty pounds.” She took a step. “My dear,” she + added, by way of afterthought, “you DO obliterate things!” + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 8 + </h2> + <p> + They found themselves next day talking love to one another high up on some + rocks above a steep bank of snow that overhung a precipice on the eastern + side of the Fee glacier. By this time Capes’ hair had bleached nearly + white, and his skin had become a skin of red copper shot with gold. They + were now both in a state of unprecedented physical fitness. And such + skirts as Ann Veronica had had when she entered the valley of Saas were + safely packed away in the hotel, and she wore a leather belt and loose + knickerbockers and puttees—a costume that suited the fine, long + lines of her limbs far better than any feminine walking-dress could do. + Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only + deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. She had pushed + aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under + her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, + the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of + quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. The sky was + cloudless, effulgent blue. + </p> + <p> + Capes sat watching and admiring her, and then he fell praising the day and + fortune and their love for each other. + </p> + <p> + “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a + stained-glass window. With this air in our blood, this sunlight soaking + us.... Life is so good. Can it ever be so good again?” + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica put out a firm hand and squeezed his arm. “It’s very good,” + she said. “It’s glorious good!” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep + beyond—do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a + thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but + ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. See? Down we + should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a + dream. All the rest of our lives would be together then, Ann Veronica. + Every moment. And no ill-chances.” + </p> + <p> + “If you tempt me too much,” she said, after a silence, “I shall do it. I + need only just jump up and throw myself upon you. I’m a desperate young + woman. And then as we went down you’d try to explain. And that would spoil + it.... You know you don’t mean it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t. But I liked to say it.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather! But I wonder why you don’t mean it?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, I suppose, the other thing is better. What other reason could + there be? It’s more complex, but it’s better. THIS, this glissade, would + be damned scoundrelism. You know that, and I know that, though we might be + put to it to find a reason why. It would be swindling. Drawing the pay of + life and then not living. And besides—We’re going to live, Ann + Veronica! Oh, the things we’ll do, the life we’ll lead! There’ll be + trouble in it at times—you and I aren’t going to run without + friction. But we’ve got the brains to get over that, and tongues in our + heads to talk to each other. We sha’n’t hang up on any misunderstanding. + Not us. And we’re going to fight that old world down there. That old world + that had shoved up that silly old hotel, and all the rest of it.... If we + don’t live it will think we are afraid of it.... Die, indeed! We’re going + to do work; we’re going to unfold about each other; we’re going to have + children.” + </p> + <p> + “Girls!” cried Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “Boys!” said Capes. + </p> + <p> + “Both!” said Ann Veronica. “Lots of ‘em!” + </p> + <p> + Capes chuckled. “You delicate female!” + </p> + <p> + “Who cares,” said Ann Veronica, “seeing it’s you? Warm, soft little + wonders! Of course I want them.” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 9 + </h2> + <p> + “All sorts of things we’re going to do,” said Capes; “all sorts of times + we’re going to have. Sooner or later we’ll certainly do something to clean + those prisons you told me about—limewash the underside of life. You + and I. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of + whitewash. Love anywhere. Anywhere! Moonlight and music—pleasing, + you know, but quite unnecessary. We met dissecting dogfish.... Do you + remember your first day with me?... Do you indeed remember? The smell of + decay and cheap methylated spirit!... My dear! we’ve had so many moments! + I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like + a rosary of beads. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a + West African trader. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s + hand. One doesn’t want to lose a grain. And one must—some of it must + slip through one’s fingers.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care if it does,” said Ann Veronica. “I don’t care a rap for + remembering. I care for you. This moment couldn’t be better until the next + moment comes. That’s how it takes me. Why should WE hoard? We aren’t going + out presently, like Japanese lanterns in a gale. It’s the poor dears who + do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at + way-side flowers. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. Flattened + flowers aren’t for the likes of us. Moments, indeed! We like each other + fresh and fresh. It isn’t illusions—for us. We two just love each + other—the real, identical other—all the time.” + </p> + <p> + “The real, identical other,” said Capes, and took and bit the tip of her + little finger. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no delusions, so far as I know,” said Ann Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe there is one. If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s + better underneath. It’s only as if I’d begun to know you the day before + yesterday or there-abouts. You keep on coming truer, after you have seemed + to come altogether true. You... brick!” + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 10 + </h2> + <p> + “To think,” he cried, “you are ten years younger than I!... There are + times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, + silly, protected thing. Do you know, Ann Veronica, it is all a lie about + your birth certificate; a forgery—and fooling at that. You are one + of the Immortals. Immortal! You were in the beginning, and all the men in + the world who have known what love is have worshipped at your feet. You + have converted me to—Lester Ward! You are my dear friend, you are a + slip of a girl, but there are moments when my head has been on your + breast, when your heart has been beating close to my ears, when I have + known you for the goddess, when I have wished myself your slave, when I + have wished that you could kill me for the joy of being killed by you. You + are the High Priestess of Life....” + </p> + <p> + “Your priestess,” whispered Ann Veronica, softly. “A silly little + priestess who knew nothing of life at all until she came to you.” + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 11 + </h2> + <p> + They sat for a time without speaking a word, in an enormous shining globe + of mutual satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Capes, at length, “we’ve to go down, Ann Veronica. Life waits + for us.” + </p> + <p> + He stood up and waited for her to move. + </p> + <p> + “Gods!” cried Ann Veronica, and kept him standing. “And to think that it’s + not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, + distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of + love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they + were no more than love’s birth-pangs. I felt—I felt living in a + masked world. I felt as though I had bandaged eyes. I felt—wrapped + in thick cobwebs. They blinded me. They got in my mouth. And now—Dear! + Dear! The dayspring from on high hath visited me. I love. I am loved. I + want to shout! I want to sing! I am glad! I am glad to be alive because + you are alive! I am glad to be a woman because you are a man! I am glad! I + am glad! I am glad! I thank God for life and you. I thank God for His + sunlight on your face. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults + you love. I thank God for the very skin that is peeling from your nose, + for all things great and small that make us what we are. This is grace I + am saying! Oh! my dear! all the joy and weeping of life are mixed in me + now and all the gratitude. Never a new-born dragon-fly that spread its + wings in the morning has felt as glad as I!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH + </h2> + <h3> + IN PERSPECTIVE + </h3> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> + <p> + About four years and a quarter later—to be exact, it was four years + and four months—Mr. and Mrs. Capes stood side by side upon an old + Persian carpet that did duty as a hearthrug in the dining-room of their + flat and surveyed a shining dinner-table set for four people, lit by + skilfully-shaded electric lights, brightened by frequent gleams of silver, + and carefully and simply adorned with sweet-pea blossom. Capes had altered + scarcely at all during the interval, except for a new quality of smartness + in the cut of his clothes, but Ann Veronica was nearly half an inch + taller; her face was at once stronger and softer, her neck firmer and + rounder, and her carriage definitely more womanly than it had been in the + days of her rebellion. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she + had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a + quarter ago. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, + with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her + style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the + control of a simple ribbon of silver. A silver necklace enhanced the dusky + beauty of her neck. Both husband and wife affected an unnatural ease of + manner for the benefit of the efficient parlor-maid, who was putting the + finishing touches to the sideboard arrangements. + </p> + <p> + “It looks all right,” said Capes. + </p> + <p> + “I think everything’s right,” said Ann Veronica, with the roaming eye of a + capable but not devoted house-mistress. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if they will seem altered,” she remarked for the third time. + </p> + <p> + “There I can’t help,” said Capes. + </p> + <p> + He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, + into the apartment that served as a reception-room. Ann Veronica, after a + last survey of the dinner appointments, followed him, rustling, came to + his side by the high brass fender, and touched two or three ornaments on + the mantel above the cheerful fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. + </p> + <p> + “My charm of manner, I suppose. But, indeed, he’s very human.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell him of the registry office?” + </p> + <p> + “No—o—certainly not so emphatically as I did about the play.” + </p> + <p> + “It was an inspiration—your speaking to him?” + </p> + <p> + “I felt impudent. I believe I am getting impudent. I had not been near the + Royal Society since—since you disgraced me. What’s that?” + </p> + <p> + They both stood listening. It was not the arrival of the guests, but + merely the maid moving about in the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful man!” said Ann Veronica, reassured, and stroking his cheek with + her finger. + </p> + <p> + Capes made a quick movement as if to bite that aggressive digit, but it + withdrew to Ann Veronica’s side. + </p> + <p> + “I was really interested in his stuff. I WAS talking to him before I saw + his name on the card beside the row of microscopes. Then, naturally, I + went on talking. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his + contemporaries. Of course, he had no idea who I was.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did you tell him? You’ve never told me. Wasn’t it—a little + bit of a scene?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! let me see. I said I hadn’t been at the Royal Society soiree for four + years, and got him to tell me about some of the fresh Mendelian work. He + loves the Mendelians because he hates all the big names of the eighties + and nineties. Then I think I remarked that science was disgracefully + under-endowed, and confessed I’d had to take to more profitable courses. + ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. Perhaps + you’ve heard—?’ Well, you know, he had.” + </p> + <p> + “Fame!” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it? ‘I’ve not seen your play, Mr. More,’ he said, ‘but I’m told + it’s the most amusing thing in London at the present time. A friend of + mine, Ogilvy’—I suppose that’s Ogilvy & Ogilvy, who do so many + divorces, Vee?—‘was speaking very highly of it—very highly!’” + He smiled into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You are developing far too retentive a memory for praises,” said Ann + Veronica. + </p> + <p> + “I’m still new to them. But after that it was easy. I told him instantly + and shamelessly that the play was going to be worth ten thousand pounds. + He agreed it was disgraceful. Then I assumed a rather portentous manner to + prepare him.” + </p> + <p> + “How? Show me.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t be portentous, dear, when you’re about. It’s my other side of the + moon. But I was portentous, I can assure you. ‘My name’s NOT More, Mr. + Stanley,’ I said. ‘That’s my pet name.’” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “I think—yes, I went on in a pleasing blend of the casual and sotto + voce, ‘The fact of it is, sir, I happen to be your son-in-law, Capes. I do + wish you could come and dine with us some evening. It would make my wife + very happy.’” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “What does any one say to an invitation to dinner point-blank? One tries + to collect one’s wits. ‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said.” + </p> + <p> + “And he accepted meekly?” + </p> + <p> + “Practically. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur + of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. + With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what + could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell + you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was + looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across + him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. + He is a knight. ‘Well, young man,’ he said, ‘we haven’t seen you lately,’ + and something about ‘Bateson & Co.’—he’s frightfully + anti-Mendelian—having it all their own way. So I introduced him to + my father-in-law like a shot. I think that WAS decision. Yes, it was + Manningtree really secured your father. He—” + </p> + <p> + “Here they are!” said Ann Veronica as the bell sounded. + </p> + + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> + <p> + They received the guests in their pretty little hall with genuine + effusion. Miss Stanley threw aside a black cloak to reveal a discreet and + dignified arrangement of brown silk, and then embraced Ann Veronica with + warmth. “So very clear and cold,” she said. “I feared we might have a + fog.” The housemaid’s presence acted as a useful restraint. Ann Veronica + passed from her aunt to her father, and put her arms about him and kissed + his cheek. “Dear old daddy!” she said, and was amazed to find herself + shedding tears. She veiled her emotion by taking off his overcoat. “And + this is Mr. Capes?” she heard her aunt saying. + </p> + <p> + All four people moved a little nervously into the drawing-room, + maintaining a sort of fluttered amiability of sound and movement. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stanley professed a great solicitude to warm his hands. “Quite + unusually cold for the time of year,” he said. “Everything very nice, I am + sure,” Miss Stanley murmured to Capes as he steered her to a place upon + the little sofa before the fire. Also she made little pussy-like sounds of + a reassuring nature. + </p> + <p> + “And let’s have a look at you, Vee!” said Mr. Stanley, standing up with a + sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together. + </p> + <p> + Ann Veronica, who knew her dress became her, dropped a curtsy to her + father’s regard. + </p> + <p> + Happily they had no one else to wait for, and it heartened her mightily to + think that she had ordered the promptest possible service of the dinner. + Capes stood beside Miss Stanley, who was beaming unnaturally, and Mr. + Stanley, in his effort to seem at ease, took entire possession of the + hearthrug. + </p> + <p> + “You found the flat easily?” said Capes in the pause. “The numbers are a + little difficult to see in the archway. They ought to put a lamp.” + </p> + <p> + Her father declared there had been no difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, + and the worst was over. + </p> + <p> + “Come, daddy,” said Ann Veronica, following her husband and Miss Stanley; + and in the fulness of her heart she gave a friendly squeeze to the + parental arm. + </p> + <p> + “Excellent fellow!” he answered a little irrelevantly. “I didn’t + understand, Vee.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite charming apartments,” Miss Stanley admired; “charming! Everything + is so pretty and convenient.” + </p> + <p> + The dinner was admirable as a dinner; nothing went wrong, from the golden + and excellent clear soup to the delightful iced marrons and cream; and + Miss Stanley’s praises died away to an appreciative acquiescence. A brisk + talk sprang up between Capes and Mr. Stanley, to which the two ladies + subordinated themselves intelligently. The burning topic of the Mendelian + controversy was approached on one or two occasions, but avoided + dexterously; and they talked chiefly of letters and art and the censorship + of the English stage. Mr. Stanley was inclined to think the censorship + should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; + good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting + stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth.” He declared that no book + could be satisfactory that left a bad taste in the mouth, however much it + seized and interested the reader at the time. He did not like it, he said, + with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners + after he had done with them. Capes agreed with the utmost cordiality. + </p> + <p> + “Life is upsetting enough, without the novels taking a share,” said Mr. + Stanley. + </p> + <p> + For a time Ann Veronica’s attention was diverted by her aunt’s interest in + the salted almonds. + </p> + <p> + “Quite particularly nice,” said her aunt. “Exceptionally so.” + </p> + <p> + When Ann Veronica could attend again she found the men were discussing the + ethics of the depreciation of house property through the increasing tumult + of traffic in the West End, and agreeing with each other to a devastating + extent. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be + some particularly fantastic sort of dream. It seemed to her that her + father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, + and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing. His tie had demanded a + struggle; he ought to have taken a clean one after his first failure. Why + was she noting things like this? Capes seemed self-possessed and + elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a + little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the + urgency of his hospitality. She wished he could smoke and dull his nerves + a little. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. Well, + they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke. What + was it she had expected? Surely her moods were getting a little out of + hand. + </p> + <p> + She wished her father and aunt would not enjoy their dinner with such + quiet determination. Her father and her husband, who had both been a + little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly + flushed. It was a pity people had to eat food. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that + have been at all successful during the last twenty years. Three a week is + my allowance, and, if I get short ones, four. I change them in the morning + at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down.” + </p> + <p> + It occurred to her that she had never seen her father dining out before, + never watched him critically as an equal. To Capes he was almost + deferential, and she had never seen him deferential in the old time, + never. The dinner was stranger than she had ever anticipated. It was as if + she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely + wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, + and now she had discovered him from the other side. + </p> + <p> + It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say + to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the + archway. Capes and her father stood up, and her father made a belated + movement toward the curtain. She realized that he was the sort of man one + does not think much about at dinners. And Capes was thinking that his wife + was a supremely beautiful woman. He reached a silver cigar and cigarette + box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time + the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both. Then Capes flittered to + the hearthrug and poked the fire, stood up, and turned about. “Ann + Veronica is looking very well, don’t you think?” he said, a little + awkwardly. + </p> + <p> + “Very,” said Mr. Stanley. “Very,” and cracked a walnut appreciatively. + </p> + <p> + “Life—things—I don’t think her prospects now—Hopeful + outlook.” + </p> + <p> + “You were in a difficult position,” Mr. Stanley pronounced, and seemed to + hesitate whether he had not gone too far. He looked at his port wine as + though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. “All’s well + that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Capes, and threw a newly lit cigar into the fire through + sheer nervousness. “Have some more port wine, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. Stanley, consenting with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Ann Veronica has never looked quite so well, I think,” said Capes, + clinging, because of a preconceived plan, to the suppressed topic. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part 3 + </h2> + <p> + At last the evening was over, and Capes and his wife had gone down to see + Mr. Stanley and his sister into a taxicab, and had waved an amiable + farewell from the pavement steps. + </p> + <p> + “Great dears!” said Capes, as the vehicle passed out of sight. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, aren’t they?” said Ann Veronica, after a thoughtful pause. And then, + “They seem changed.” + </p> + <p> + “Come in out of the cold,” said Capes, and took her arm. + </p> + <p> + “They seem smaller, you know, even physically smaller,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve grown out of them.... Your aunt liked the pheasant.” + </p> + <p> + “She liked everything. Did you hear us through the archway, talking + cookery?” + </p> + <p> + They went up by the lift in silence. + </p> + <p> + “It’s odd,” said Ann Veronica, re-entering the flat. + </p> + <p> + “What’s odd?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, everything!” + </p> + <p> + She shivered, and went to the fire and poked it. Capes sat down in the + arm-chair beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. “I + wonder—I wonder if we shall ever get like that.” + </p> + <p> + She turned a firelit face to her husband. “Did you tell him?” + </p> + <p> + Capes smiled faintly. “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—a little clumsily.” + </p> + <p> + “But how?” + </p> + <p> + “I poured him out some port wine, and I said—let me see—oh, + ‘You are going to be a grandfather!’” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Was he pleased?” + </p> + <p> + “Calmly! He said—you won’t mind my telling you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “He said, ‘Poor Alice has got no end!’” + </p> + <p> + “Alice’s are different,” said Ann Veronica, after an interval. “Quite + different. She didn’t choose her man.... Well, I told aunt.... Husband of + mine, I think we have rather overrated the emotional capacity of those—those + dears.” + </p> + <p> + “What did your aunt say?” + </p> + <p> + “She didn’t even kiss me. She said”—Ann Veronica shivered again—“‘I + hope it won’t make you uncomfortable, my dear’—like that—‘and + whatever you do, do be careful of your hair!’ I think—I judge from + her manner—that she thought it was just a little indelicate of us—considering + everything; but she tried to be practical and sympathetic and live down to + our standards.” + </p> + <p> + Capes looked at his wife’s unsmiling face. + </p> + <p> + “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that + he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. He then spoke with a certain + fatherly kindliness of the past....” + </p> + <p> + “And my heart has ached for him!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no doubt it cut him at the time. It must have cut him.” + </p> + <p> + “We might even have—given it up for them!” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if we could.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose all IS well that ends well. Somehow to-night—I don’t + know.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so. I’m glad the old sore is assuaged. Very glad. But if we had + gone under—!” + </p> + <p> + They regarded one another silently, and Ann Veronica had one of her + penetrating flashes. + </p> + <p> + “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her + hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. “We settled long + ago—we’re hard stuff. We’re hard stuff!” + </p> + <p> + Then she went on: “To think that is my father! Oh, my dear! He stood over + me like a cliff; the thought of him nearly turned me aside from everything + we have done. He was the social order; he was law and wisdom. And they + come here, and they look at our furniture to see if it is good; and they + are not glad, it does not stir them, that at last, at last we can dare to + have children.” + </p> + <p> + She dropped back into a crouching attitude and began to weep. “Oh, my + dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s + arms. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember the mountains? Do you remember how we loved one another? + How intensely we loved one another! Do you remember the light on things + and the glory of things? I’m greedy, I’m greedy! I want children like the + mountains and life like the sky. Oh! and love—love! We’ve had so + splendid a time, and fought our fight and won. And it’s like the petals + falling from a flower. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, + and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go + carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when + I am done with that I shall be an old woman. The petals have fallen—the + red petals we loved so. We’re hedged about with discretions—and all + this furniture—and successes! We are successful at last! Successful! + But the mountains, dear! We won’t forget the mountains, dear, ever. That + shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! + Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the + tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when + we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings + seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. Stark and + stark! Do you remember it all?... Say you will never forget! That these + common things and secondary things sha’n’t overwhelm us. These petals! + I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my + petals. Petals!... Silly woman!... I’ve never had these crying fits + before....” + </p> + <p> + “Blood of my heart!” whispered Capes, holding her close to him. “I know. I + understand.” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ann Veronica, by H. G. Wells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANN VERONICA *** + +***** This file should be named 524-h.htm or 524-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/524/ + +Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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