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diff --git a/old/56221-0.txt b/old/56221-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fc8c822..0000000 --- a/old/56221-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7501 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Backwater, by Dorothy M. Richardson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - - -Title: Backwater - Pilgrimage, Volume 2 - -Author: Dorothy M. Richardson - -Release Date: December 22, 2017 [EBook #56221] -[Last Updated: March 11, 2022] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Jens Sadowski, Mary Glenn Krause, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. This file was -produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive. - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BACKWATER *** - - - - - BACKWATER - - - - - BACKWATER - - - BY - DOROTHY M. RICHARDSON - AUTHOR OF “POINTED ROOFS” - - - LONDON - DUCKWORTH & CO. - 3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN - - - First published 1916 - - - All rights reserved - - - TO - J. A. H. - - - - - BACKWATER - - - - - CHAPTER I - - - 1 - -A swarthy turbaned face shone at Miriam from a tapestry screen standing -between her and the ferns rising from a basket framework in the bow of -the window. Consulting it at intervals as the afternoon wore on, she -found that it made very light of the quiet propositions that were being -elaborated within hearing of her inattentive ears. Looking beyond it she -could catch glimpses between the crowded fernery, when a tram was not -jingling by, of a close-set palisade just across the roadway and beyond -the palisade of a green level ending at a row of Spanish poplars. The -trams seemed very near and noisy. When they passed by the window, the -speakers had to raise their voices. Otherwise the little drawing-room -was very quiet, with a strange old-fashioned quietness. It was full of -old things, like the Gobelin screen, and old thoughts like the thoughts -of the ladies who were sitting and talking there. She and her mother had -seemed quite modern, fussy, worldly people when they had first come into -the room. From the moment the three ladies had come in and begun talking -to her mother, the things in the room, and the view of the distant row -of poplars had grown more and more peaceful, and now at the end of an -hour she felt that she, and to some extent Mrs. Henderson too, belonged -to the old-world room with its quiet green outlook shut in by the -poplars. Only the trams were disturbing. They came busily by, with their -strange jingle-jingle, plock-plock, and made her inattentive. Why were -there so many people coming by in trams? Where were they going? Why were -all the trams painted that hard, dingy blue? - -The sisters talked quietly, outlining their needs in smooth gentle -voices, in small broken phrases, frequently interrupting and correcting -each other. Miriam heard dreamily that they wanted help with the lower -school, the children from six to eight years of age, in the mornings and -afternoons, and in the evenings a general superintendence of the four -boarders. They kept on saying that the work was very easy and simple; -there were no naughty girls--hardly a single naughty girl--in the -school; there should be no difficult superintendence, no exercise of -authority would be required. - -By the time they had reached the statement of these modifications Miriam -felt that she knew them quite well. The shortest, who did most of the -talking and who had twinkling eyes and crooked pince-nez and soft -reddish cheeks and a little red-tipped nose, and whose small coil of -sheeny grey hair was pinned askew on the top of her head--stray loops -standing out at curious angles--was Miss Jenny, the middle one. The very -tall one sitting opposite her, with a delicate wrinkled creamy face and -coal-black eyes and a peak of ringletted smooth coal-black hair, was the -eldest, Miss Deborah. The other sister, much younger, with neat smooth -green-grey hair and a long sad greyish face and faded eyes, was Miss -Haddie. They were all three dressed in thin fine black material and had -tiny hands and little softly moving feet. What did they think of the -trams? - -“Do you think you could manage it, chickie?” said Mrs. Henderson -suddenly. - -“I think I could.” - -“No doubt, my dear, oh, no doubt,” said Miss Jenny with a little sound -of laughter as she tapped her knee with the pince-nez she had plucked -from their rakish perch on the reddened bridge of her nose. - -“I don’t think I could teach Scripture.” - -An outbreak of incoherent little sounds and statements from all three -taught her that Miss Deborah took the Bible classes of the whole school. - -“How old is Miriam?” - -“Just eighteen. She has put up her hair to-day.” - -“Oh, poor child, she need not have done that.” - -“She is a _born_ teacher. She used to hold little classes amongst her -schoolfellows when she was only eight years old.” - -Miriam turned sharply to her mother. She was sitting with her tired -look--bright eyes, and moist flushed face. How had she heard about the -little classes? Had there been little classes? She could not remember -them. - -“She speaks French like a Parisienne.” - -That was that silly remark made by the woman in the train coming home -from Hanover. - -“Eh--we thought--it was in Germany she was----” - -“Yes, but I learned more French.” - -The sisters smiled provisionally. - -“She shared a room with the mademoiselle.” - -“Oh--er--hee--hay--perhaps she might speak French with the gels.” - -“Oh no, I couldn’t _speak_.” - -There was a tender little laugh. - -“I don’t know French conversation.” - -“Well, well.” - -The sisters brought the discussion to an end by offering twenty pounds a -year in return for Miriam’s services, and naming the date of the -beginning of the autumn term. - - - 2 - -On the way to the front door they all looked into the principal -schoolroom. Miriam saw a long wide dining-room table covered with brown -American cloth. Shelves neatly crowded with books lined one wall from -floor to ceiling. Opposite them at the far end of the room was a heavy -grey marble mantelpiece, on which stood a heavy green marble clock -frame. At its centre a gold-faced clock ticked softly. Opposite the -windows were two shallow alcoves. In one stood a shrouded blackboard on -an easel. The other held a piano with a high slender back. The prancing -outward sweep of its lid gave Miriam the impression of an afternoon -dress. - -Miss Deborah drew up one of the Venetian blinds. They all crowded to the -window and looked out on a small garden backed by trees and lying in -deep shadow. Beyond were more gardens and the brownish backs of small -old brick houses. Low walls separated the school garden from the gardens -on either side. - -“On our right we have a school for the deaf and dumb,” said Miss Perne; -“on the other side is a family of Polish Jews.” - - - 3 - -“Mother, why _did_ you pile it on?” - -They would soon be down at the corner of Banbury Park where the tram -lines ended and the Favorite omnibuses were standing in the muddy road -under the shadow of the railway bridge. Through the jingling of the -trams, the dop-dop of the hoofs of the tram-horses and the noise of a -screaming train thundering over the bridge, Miriam made her voice heard, -gazing through the spotted veil at her mother’s quivering features. - -“They might have made me do all sorts of things I can’t do.” - -Mrs. Henderson’s voice, breathless with walking, made a little sound of -protest, a narrowed sound that told Miriam her amusement was half -annoyance. The dark, noisy bridge, the clatter and rattle and the mud -through which she must plunge to an omnibus exasperated her to the limit -of her endurance. - -“I’d got the post,” she said angrily; “you could see it was all settled -and then you went saying those things.” - -Glancing at the thin shrouded features she saw the faint lift of her -mother’s eyebrows and the firmly speechless mouth. - -“Piccadilly--jump on, chickie.” - -“Let’s go outside now it’s fine,” said Miriam crossly. - -Reaching the top of the omnibus she hurried to the front seat on the -left hand side. - -“That’s a very windy spot.” - -“No it isn’t, it’s quite hot. The sun’s come out now. It’s rained for -weeks. It won’t rain any more. It’ll be hot. You won’t feel the wind. -Will you have the corner, mother?” - -“No, chick, you sit there.” - -Miriam screwed herself into the corner seat, crossing her knees and -grazing the tips of her shoes. - -“This is the only place on the top of a bus.” - -Mrs. Henderson sat down at her side. - -“I always make Harriett come up here when we go up to the West End.” - -“Of course it’s the only place,” she insisted in response to her -mother’s amused laugh. “No one smoking or talking in front; you can see -out in front and you can see the shops if there are any, and you’re not -falling off all the time. The bus goes on the left side of the road and -tilts to the left.” - -The seats were filling up and the driver appeared clambering into his -place. - -“Didn’t you ever think of that? Didn’t you ever think of the bus tilting -that way?” persisted Miriam to her mother’s inattentive face. “Fancy -never thinking of it. It’s beastly on the other side.” - -The omnibus jerked forward. - -“You ought to be a man, Mimmy.” - -“I liked that little short one,” said Miriam contentedly as they came -from under the roar of the bridge. “They were awfully nice, weren’t -they? They seemed to have made up their mind to take me before we -went.... So I think they like us. I wonder why they like us. Didn’t you -think they liked us? Don’t you think they are awfully nice?” - -“I do. They are very charming ladies.” - -“Yes, but wasn’t it awfully rum their liking us in that funny way?” - -“I’m sure I don’t see why they should not.” - -“Oh, mother, you know what I mean. I like them. I’m perfectly sure I -shall like them. D’you remember the little one saying all girls ought to -marry? Why did she say that?” - -“They are dear funny little O.M.’s,” said Mrs. Henderson merrily. She -was sitting with her knees crossed, the stuff of her brown canvas dress -was dragged across them into an ugly fold by the weight of the velvet -panel at the side of the skirt. She looked very small and resourceless. -And there were the Pernes with their house and their school. They were -old maids. Of course. What then? - -“I never dreamed of getting such a big salary.” - -“Oh, my chickie, I’m afraid it isn’t much.” - -“It is, mother, it’s lovely.” - -“Oh--eh--well.” - -Miriam turned fiercely to the roadway on her left. - - - 4 - -She had missed the first swing forward of the vehicle and the first -movements of the compact street. - -They were going ahead now at a steady even trot. Her face was bathed in -the flow of the breeze. - -Little rivulets played about her temples, feeling their way through her -hair. She drew off her gloves without turning from the flowing roadway. -As they went on and on down the long road Miriam forgot her companion in -the tranquil sense of being carried securely forward through the air -away from people and problems. Ahead of her, at the end of the long -drive, lay three sunlit weeks, bright now in the certainty of the shadow -that lay beyond them ... “the junior school” ... “four boarders.” - - - 5 - -They lumbered at last round a corner and out into a wide thoroughfare, -drawing up outside a newly-built public-house. Above it rose row upon -row of upper windows sunk in masses of ornamental terra-cotta-coloured -plaster. Branch roads, laid with tram lines led off in every direction. -Miriam’s eyes followed a dull blue tram with a grubby white-painted -seatless roof jingling busily off up a roadway where short trees stood -all the way along in the small dim gardens of little grey houses. On the -near corner of the road stood a wide white building, bulging into heavy -domes against the sky. Across its side, large gilt letters standing far -apart spelled out “Banbury Empire.” - -“It must be a theatre,” she told herself in astonishment. “That’s what -they call a suburban theatre. People think it is really a theatre.” - -The little shock sent her mind feeling out along the road they had just -left. She considered its unbroken length, its shops, its treelessness. -The wide thoroughfare, up which they now began to rumble, repeated it on -a larger scale. The pavements were wide causeways reached from the -roadway by stone steps, three deep. The people passing along them were -unlike any she knew. There were no ladies, no gentlemen, no girls or -young men such as she knew. They were all alike. They were.... She could -find no word for the strange impression they made. It coloured the whole -of the district through which they had come. It was part of the new -world to which she was pledged to go on September 18th. It was her world -already; and she had no words for it. She would not be able to convey it -to others. She felt sure her mother had not noticed it. She must deal -with it alone. To try to speak about it, even with Eve, would sap her -courage. It was her secret. A strange secret for all her life as Hanover -had been. But Hanover was beautiful, with distant country through the -saal windows with its colours misty in the sunlight, the beautiful, -happy town and the woodland villages so near. This new secret was -shabby, ugly and shabby. The half-perceived something persisted -unchanged when the causeways and shops disappeared and long rows of -houses streamed by, their close ranks broken only by an occasional cross -road. They were large, high, flat-fronted houses with flights of grey -stone steps leading to their porchless doors. They had tiny railed-in -front gardens crowded with shrubs. Here and there long narrow strips of -garden pushed a row of houses back from the roadway. In these longer -plots stood signboards and show-cases. “Photographic Studio,” -“Commercial College,” “Eye Treatment,” “Academy of Dancing.” ... She -read the announcements with growing disquietude. - -Rows of shops reappeared and densely crowded pavements, and then more -high straight houses. - - - 6 - -She roused herself at last from her puzzled contemplation and turned to -glance at her mother. Mrs. Henderson was looking out ahead. The -exhausted face was ready, Miriam saw, with its faintly questioning -eyebrows and tightly-held lips, for emotional response. She turned away -uneasily to the spellbound streets. - -“Useless to try to talk about anything.... Mother would be somehow -violent. She would be overpowering. The strange new impressions would be -dissolved.” - -But she must do something, show some sign of companionship. She began -humming softly. The air was so full of clamour that she could not hear -her voice. The houses and shops had disappeared. Drab brick walls were -passing slowly by on either side. A goods’ yard. She deepened her -humming, accentuating her phrases so that the sound might reach her -companion through the reverberations of the clangour of shunting trains. - - - 7 - -The high brick walls were drawing away. The end of the long roadway was -in sight. Its widening mouth offered no sign of escape from the -disquieting strangeness. The open stretch of thoroughfare into which -they emerged was fed by innumerable lanes of traffic. From the islands -dotted over its surface towered huge lamp standards branching out thin -arms. As they rattled noisily over the stone setts they jolted across -several lines of tramway and wove their way through currents of traffic -crossing each other in all directions. - -“I wonder where we’re going--I wonder if this is a Piccadilly bus,” -Miriam thought of saying. Impossible to shout through the din. - - - 8 - -The driver gathered up his horses and they clattered deafeningly over -the last open stretch and turned into a smooth wide prospect. - -“Oh bliss, wood-paving,” murmured Miriam. - -A mass of smoke-greyed, sharply steepled stone building appeared on the -right. Her eyes rested on its soft shadows. - -On the left a tall grey church was coming towards them, spindling up -into the sky. It sailed by, showing Miriam a circle of little stone -pillars built into its spire. Plumy trees streamed by, standing large -and separate on moss-green grass railed from the roadway. Bright -white-faced houses with pillared porches shone through from behind them -and blazed white above them against the blue sky. Wide side streets -opened showing high balconied houses. The side streets were feathered -with trees and ended mistily. - -Away ahead were edges of clean bright masonry in profile, soft tufted -heads of trees, bright green in the clear light. At the end of the vista -the air was like pure saffron-tinted mother-of-pearl. - -Miriam sat back and drew a deep breath. - - - 9 - -“Well, chickie?” - -“What’s the matter?” - -“Why, you’ve been very funny!” - -“How?” - -“You’ve been so dummel.” - -“No, I haven’t.” - -“Oh--eh.” - -“How d’you mean I’ve been funny?” - -“Not speaking to poor old mum-jam.” - -“Well, you haven’t spoken to me.” - -“No.” - -“I shan’t take any of my summer things there,” said Miriam. - -Mrs. Henderson’s face twitched. - -“Shall I?” - -“I’m afraid you haven’t very much in the way of thick clothing.” - -“I’ve only got my plaid dress for every day and my mixy grey for best -and my dark blue summer skirt. My velveteen skirt and my nainsook blouse -are too old.” - -“You can wear the dark blue muslin blouse with the blue skirt for a long -time yet with something warm underneath.” - -“My grey’s very grubby.” - -“You look very well in it indeed.” - -“I don’t mean that. I mean it’s all gone sort of dull and grubby over -the surface when you look down it.” - -“Oh, that’s your imagination.” - -“It isn’t my imagination and I can see how Harriett’s looks.” - -“You both look very nice.” - -“That’s not the point.” - -“Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, my chick.” - -“I’m not making anything. The simple fact is that the grey dresses are -piggy.” - -Mrs. Henderson flushed deeply, twining and untwining her silk-gloved -fingers. - -“She thinks that’s ‘gross exaggeration.’ That’s what she wants to say,” -pondered Miriam wearily. - -They turned into Langham Place. - -She glanced to see whether her mother realised where they were. - -“Look, we’re in the West End, mother! Oh, I’m not going to think about -Banbury Park till it begins!” - - - 10 - -They drew up near the Maison Nouvelle. - -“_Stanlake_ is,” said a refined emphatic voice from the pavement. - -Miriam did not look for the speaker. The quality of the voice brought -her a moment’s realisation of the meaning of her afternoon’s adventure. -She was going to be shut up away from the grown-up things, the sunlit -world, and the people who were enjoying it. She would be shut up and -surrounded in Wordsworth House, a proper schooly school, amongst all -those strange roadways. It would be cold English pianos and dreadful -English children--and trams going up and down that grey road outside. - -As they went on down Regent Street she fastened, for refuge from her -thoughts, upon a window where softly falling dresses of dull olive stood -about against a draped background of pale dead yellow. She held it in -her mind as shop after shop streamed by. - -“These shops are extremely récherché.” - -“It’s old Regent Street, mother,” said Miriam argumentatively. “Glorious -old Regent Street. Ruby wine.” - -“Ah, Regent Street.” - -“We always walk up one side and down the other. Up the dolls’ hospital -side and down Liberty’s. Glory, glory, ruby wine.” - -“You _are_ enthusiastic.” - -“But it’s so glorious. Don’t you think so?” - -“Sit back a little, chickie. One can’t see the windows. You’re such a -solid young woman.” - -“You’ll see our A B C soon. You know. The one we go to after the -Saturday pops. You’ve been to it. You came to it the day we came to -Madame Schumann’s farewell. It’s just round here in Piccadilly. Here it -is. Glorious. I must make the others come up once more before I die. I -always have a scone. I don’t like the aryated bread. We go along the -Burlington Arcade too. I don’t believe you’ve ever been along there. -It’s simply perfect. Glove shops and fans and a smell of the most -exquisite scent everywhere.” - -“Dear me. It must be very captivating.” - -“Now we shall pass the parks. Oh, isn’t the sun A1 copper bottom!” - -Mrs. Henderson laughed wistfully. - -“What delicious shade under those fine old trees. I almost wish I had -brought my _en-tout-cas_.” - -“Oh no, you don’t really want it. There will be more breeze presently. -The bus always begins to go quicker along here. It’s the Green Park, -that one. Those are clubs that side, the West End clubs. It’s -fascinating all the way along here to Hyde Park Corner. You just see -Park Lane going up at the side. Park Lane. It goes wiggling away, -straight into heaven. We’ve never been up there. I always read the name -at the corner.” - -“You ridiculous chick--ah, there is the Royal Academy of Arts.” - -“Oh yes, I wonder if there are any Leightons this year.” - -“Or Leader. Charles Leader. I think there is nothing more charming than -those landscape scenes by Leader.” - -“I’ve got three bally weeks. I can see Hyde Park. We’ve got ages yet. It -goes on being fascinating right down through Kensington and right on up -to the other side of Putney Bridge.” - -“Dear me. Isn’t it fascinating after that?” - -“Oh, not all that awful walk along the Upper Richmond Road--not until -our avenue begins--” - - - 11 - -Miriam fumbled with the fastening of the low wide gate as her mother -passed on up the drive. She waited until the footsteps were muffled by -the fullness of the may trees linking their middle branches over the -bend in the drive. Then she looked steadily down the sunflecked -asphalted avenue along which they had just come. The level sunlight -streamed along the empty roadway and the shadows of the lime trees lay -across the path and up the oak palings. Her eyes travelled up and down -the boles of the trees, stopping at each little stunted tuft of -greenery. She could no longer hear her mother’s footsteps. There was a -scented coolness in the shady watered garden. Leaning gently with her -breast against the upper bars of the gate she broke away from the sense -of her newly-made engagement. - -She scanned the whole length of the shrouded avenue from end to end and -at last looked freely up amongst the interwoven lime trees. Long she -watched, her eyes roaming from the closely-growing leaves where the -green was densest to the edges of the trees where the light shone -through. “Gold and green,” she whispered, “green and gold, held up by -firm brown stems bathed in gold.” - -When she reached the open garden beyond the bend she ran once round the -large centre bed where berberus and laurestinus bushes stood in a clump -ringed by violas and blue lobelias and heavily scented masses of -cherry-ripe. Taking the shallow steps in two silent strides she reached -the shelter of the deep porch. The outer door and the door of the -vestibule stood open. Gently closing the vestibule she ran across the -paved hall and opened the door on the right. - -Harriett, in a long fawn canvas dress with a deep silk sash, was -standing in the middle of the drawing-room floor with a large pot of -scented geraniums in her arms. - - - 12 - -“Hullo!” said Miriam. - -Putting down her pot Harriett fixed brown eyes upon her and began -jumping lightly up and down where she stood. The small tips of her fawn -glacé kid shoes shone together between the hem of her dress and the pale -green of the carpet. - -“What you doing?” said Miriam quietly shutting the door behind her and -flushing with pleasure. - -Harriett hopped more energetically. The blaze from the western window -caught the paste stone in the tortoise-shell comb crowning her little -high twist of hair and the prisms of the lustres standing behind her on -the white marble mantelpiece. - -“What you doing, booby?” - -“Old conservatory,” panted Harriett. - -Miriam looked vaguely down the length of the long room to where the -conservatory doors stood wide open. As she gazed at the wet tiling -Harriett ceased hopping and kicked her delicately. “Well, gooby?” - -Miriam grinned. - -“You’ve got it. I knew you would. The Misses Perne have engaged Miss -Miriam Henderson as resident teacher for the junior school.” - -“Oh yes, I’ve got it,” smiled Miriam. “But don’t let’s talk about that. -It’s just an old school, a house. I don’t know a bit what it’ll be like. -I’ve got three bally blooming weeks. Don’t let’s talk about it.” - -“Awri.” - -“What about Saturday?” - -“It’s all right. Ted was at the club.” - -“Was he!” - -“Yes, old scarlet face, he were.” - -“I’m _not_.” - -“He came in just before closing time and straight up to me and ast where -you were. He looked sick when I told him, and so fagged.” - -“It was awfully hot in town,” murmured Miriam tenderly. - -She went to the piano and struck a note very softly. - -“He played a single with the duffer and lost it.” - -“Oh, well, of course, he was so tired.” - -“Yes, but it wasn’t that. It was because you weren’t there. He’s simply -no good when you’re not there, now. He’s perfectly different.” - -Miriam struck her note again. - -“Listen, that’s E flat.” - -“Go on.” - -“That’s a chord in E flat. Isn’t it lovely? It sounds perfectly -different in C. Listen. Isn’t it funny?” - -“Well, don’t you want to know why it’s all right about Saturday?” - -“Yes, screamingly.” - -“Well, that’s the perfectly flabbergasting thing. Ted simply came to say -they’ve got a man coming to stay with them and can he bring him.” - -“My dear! What a heavenly relief. That makes twelve men and fourteen -girls. That’ll do.” - -“Nan Babington’s hurt her ankle, but she swears she’s coming.” Harriett -sniffed and sank down on the white sheepskin, drawing her knees up to -her chin. - -“You shouldn’t say ‘swears.’” - -“Well, you bet. She simply loves our dances.” - -“Did she say she did?” - -“She sat on the pavilion seat with Bevan Seymour all the afternoon and I -was with them when Ted was playing with the duffer. She told Bevan that -she didn’t know anywhere else where the kids arranged the dances, and -everything was so jolly. It’s _screaming_, my dear, she said.” - -“It’s horrid the way she calls him ‘my dear.’ Your ring is simply -dazzling like that, Harry. D’you see? It’s the sun.” - -“Of course it’ll mean she’ll sit out in a deck chair in the garden with -Bevan all the time.” - -“How disgusting.” - -“It’s her turn for the pavilion tea on Saturday. She’s coming in her -white muslin and then coming straight on here with two sticks and wants -us to keep her some flowers. Let’s go and have tea. It’ll be nearly -dinner time.” - -“Has Mary made a cake?” - -“I dunno. Tea was to be in the breakfast-room when you came back.” - -“Why not in the conservatory?” - -“Because, you silly old crow, I’m beranging it for Saturday.” - -“Shall we have the piano in there?” - -“Well, don’t you think so?” - -“Twenty-six of us. Perhaps it’ll be more blissful.” - -“If we have the breakfast-room piano in the hall it’ll bung up the -hall.” - -“Yes, but the Erard bass is so perfect for waltzes.” - -“And the be-rilliant Collard treble is so all right in the vatoire.” - -“I thought it was Eve and I talked about the Collard treble.” - -“Well, I was there.” - -“Anyhow we’ll have the grand in the conservatory. Oh, Bacchus! -Ta-ra-ra-boom-deay.” - -“_Tea_,” said a rounded voice near the keyhole. - -“Eve!” shouted Miriam. - -The door opened slightly. “I know,” said the voice. - -“Come _in_, Eve,” commanded Miriam, trying to swing the door wide. - -“I know,” said the voice quivering with the effort of holding the door. -“I know all about the new Misses Perne and the new man--Max -Sonnenheim--Max.” - -“This way out,” called Harriett from the conservatory. - -“Eve,” pleaded Miriam, tugging at the door, “let me get at you. Don’t be -an idiot.” - -A gurgle of amusement made her loosen her hold. - -“I’m not trying, you beast. Take your iron wrists away.” - -A small white hand waggled fingers through the aperture. - -Miriam seized and covered it. “Come in for a minute,” she begged. “I -want to see you. What have you got on?” - -“_Tea._” - -The hand twisted itself free and Eve fled through the hall. - -Miriam flung after her with a yell and caught at her slender body. “I’ve -a great mind to drag down your old hair.” - -“Tea,” smiled Eve serenely. - -“All _right_, I’m coming, damn you, aren’t I?” - -“Oh, Mimmy!” - -“Well, damn _me_, then. Somebody in the house must swear. I say, Eve?” - -“What?” - -“Nothing, only I _say_.” - -“Um.” - - - - - CHAPTER II - - - 1 - -Miriam extended herself on the drawing-room sofa which had been drawn up -at the end of the room under the open window. - -The quintets of candles on the girandoles hanging on either side of the -high overmantel gave out an unflickering radiance, and in the centre of -the large room the chandelier, pulled low, held out in all directions -bulbs of softly tinted light. - -In an intensity of rose-shaded brilliance pouring from a tall standard -lamp across the sheepskin hearthrug stood a guest with a fiddle under -her arm fluttering pages on a music stand. The family sat grouped -towards her in a circle. - -On her low sofa, outside the more brilliant light, Miriam was a -retreating loop in the circle of seated forms, all visible as she lay -with her eyes on the ceiling. But no eyes could meet and pilfer her own. -The darkness brimmed in from the window on her right. She could touch -the rose-leaves on the sill and listen to the dewy stillness of the -garden. - -“What shall I play?” said the guest. - -“What have you there?” - -“Gluck ... Klassische Stücke ... Cavatina.” - -“Ah, Gluck,” said Mr. Henderson, smoothing his long knees with outspread -fingers. - -“Have you got that Beethoven thing?” asked Sarah. - -“Not here, Sally.” - -“I saw it--on the piano--with chords,” said Sarah excitedly. - -“Chords,” encouraged Miriam. - -“Yes, I think so,” muttered Sarah taking up her crochet. “I daresay I’m -wrong,” she giggled, throwing out a foot and hastily withdrawing it. - -“I can find it, dear,” chanted the guest. - -Miriam raised a flourishing hand. The crimsoned oval of Eve’s face -appeared inverted above her own. She poked a finger into one of the dark -eyes and looking at the screwed-up lid whispered voicelessly, “Make her -play the Romance first and _then_ the Cavatina without talking in -between....” - -Eve’s large soft mouth pursed a little, and Miriam watched steadily -until dimples appeared. “Go on, Eve,” she said, removing her hand. - -“Shall I play the Beethoven first?” enquired the guest. - -“Mm--and then the Cavatina,” murmured Miriam, as if half asleep, turning -wholly towards the garden, as Eve went to collect the piano scores. - - - 2 - -She seemed to grow larger and stronger and easier as the thoughtful -chords came musing out into the night and hovered amongst the dark -trees. She found herself drawing easy breaths and relaxing completely -against the support of the hard friendly sofa. How quietly everyone was -listening.... - -After a while, everything was dissolved, past and future and present and -she was nothing but an ear, intent on the meditative harmony which stole -out into the garden. - - - 3 - -When the last gently strung notes had ceased she turned from her window -and found Harriett’s near eye fixed upon her, the eyebrow travelling -slowly up the forehead. - -“Wow,” mouthed Miriam. - -Harriett screwed her mouth to one side and strained her eyebrow higher. - -The piano introduction to the Cavatina drowned the comments on the -guest’s playing and the family relaxed once more into listening. - -“Pink anemones, eh,” suggested Miriam softly. - -Harriett drew in her chin and nodded approvingly. - -“Pink anemones,” sighed Miriam, and turned to watch Margaret Wedderburn -standing in her full-skirted white dress on the hearthrug in a radiance -of red and golden light. Her heavily waving fair hair fell back towards -its tightly braided basket of plaits from a face as serene as death. -From between furry eyelashes her eyes looked steadfastly out, robbed of -their everyday sentimental expression. - -As she gazed at the broad white forehead, the fine gold down covering -the cheeks and upper lip, and traced the outline of the heavy chin and -firm large mouth and the steady arm that swept out in rich ‘cello-like -notes the devout theme of the lyric, Miriam drifted to an extremity of -happiness. - - - 4 - -... To-morrow the room would be lit and decked and clear. Amongst the -crowd of guests, he would come across the room, walking in his way.... -She smiled to herself. He would come “sloping in” in his way, like a -shadow, not looking at anyone. His strange friend would be with him. -There would be introductions and greetings. Then he would dance with her -silently and not looking at her, as if they were strangers, and then be -dancing with someone else ... with smiling, mocking, tender brown eyes -and talking and answering and all the time looking about the room. And -then again with her, cool and silent and not looking. And presently she -would tell him about going away to Banbury Park. - - - 5 - -Perhaps he would look wretched and miserable again as he had done when -they were alone by the piano the Sunday before she went to Germany.... -“Play ‘Abide with me,’ Miriam; play ‘Abide with me.’” ... - -To-morrow there would be another moment like that. He would say her name -suddenly, as he had done last week at the Babingtons’ dance, very low, -half-turning towards her. She would be ready this time and say his name -and move instead of being turned to stone. Confidently the music assured -her of that moment. - - - 6 - -She lay looking quietly into his imagined face till the room had gone. -Then the face grew dim and far off and at last receded altogether into -darkness. That darkness was dreadful. It was his own life. She would -never know it. However well they got to know each other they would -always be strangers. Probably he never thought about her when he was -alone. Only of Shakespeare and politics. What would he think if he knew -she thought of him? But he thought of her when he saw her. That was -utterly certain; the one thing certain in the world.... That day, coming -along Putney Hill with mother, tired and dull and trying to keep her -temper, passing his house, seeing him standing at his window, alone and -pale and serious. The sudden lightening of his face surprised her again, -violently, as she recalled it. It had lit up the whole world from end to -end. He did not know that he had looked like that. She had turned -swiftly from the sudden knowledge coming like a blow on her heart, that -one day he would kiss her. Not for years and years. But one day he would -bend his head. She wrenched herself from the thought, but it was too -late. She thanked heaven she had looked; she wished she had not; the -kiss had come; she would forget it; it had not touched her, it was like -the breath of the summer. Everything had wavered; her feet had not felt -the pavement. She remembered walking on, exulting with hanging head, -cringing close to the ivy which hung from the top of the garden wall, -sorry and pitiful towards her mother, and everyone who would never stand -first with Ted. - - - 7 - -... There were girls who let themselves be kissed for fun.... Playing -“Kiss in the Ring,” being kissed by someone they did not mean to always -be with, all their life ... how sad and dreadful. Why did it not break -their hearts? - - - 8 - -Meg Wedderburn was smiling on her hearthrug, being thanked and praised. -Her brown violin hung amongst the folds of her skirt. - -“People _do_ like us,” mused Miriam, listening to the peculiar sympathy -of the family voice. - -Meg was there, away from her own home, happy with them, the front door -shut, their garden and house all round her and her strange luggage -upstairs in one of the spare rooms. Nice Meg.... - - - 9 - -After breakfast the next morning Miriam sat in a low carpet chair at a -window in the long bedroom she shared with Harriett. It was a morning of -blazing sunlight and bright blue. She had just come up through the cool -house from a rose-gathering tour of the garden with Harriett. A little -bunch of pink anemones she had picked for herself were set in a tumbler -on the wash-hand-stand. - -She had left the door open to hear coming faintly up from the far-away -drawing-room the tap-tap of hammering that told her Sarah and Eve were -stretching the drugget. - -On her knee lay her father’s cigarette-making machine and a parcel of -papers and tobacco. An empty cigarette tin stood upon the window-sill. - -She began packing tobacco into the groove of the machine, distributing -and pressing it lightly with the tips of her fingers, watching as she -worked the heavy pink cups of the anemones and the shining of their -green stalks through the water. They were, she reflected, a little too -much out. In the sun they would have come out still more. They would -close up at night unless the rooms grew very hot. Slipping the paper -evenly into the slot she shut the machine and turned the roller. As the -sound of the loosely working cogs came up to her she revolted from her -self-imposed task. She was too happy to make cigarettes. It would use up -her happiness too stupidly. - -She was surprised by a sudden suggestion that she should smoke the -single cigarette herself. Why not? Why had she never yet smoked one? She -glanced at the slowly swinging door. No one would come. She was alone on -the top floor. Everyone was downstairs and busy. The finished cigarette -lay on her knee. Taking it between her fingers she pressed a little -hanging thread of tobacco into place. The cigarette felt pleasantly -plump and firm. It was well made. As she rose to get matches the mowing -machine sounded suddenly from the front lawn. She started and looked out -of the window, concealing the cigarette in her hand. It was the gardener -with bent shoulders pushing with all his might. With some difficulty she -unhitched the phosphorescent match-box from its place under the -gas-bracket and got back into her low chair, invisible from the lawn. - -The cool air flowed in garden-scented. She held the cigarette between -two fingers. The match hissed and flared as she held it carefully below -the sill, and the flame flowed towards her while she set the paper -alight. Raising the cigarette to her lips she blew gently outwards, down -through the tobacco. The flame twisted and went out, leaving the paper -charred. She struck another match angrily, urging herself to draw, and -drew little panting breaths with the cigarette well in the flame. It -smoked. Blowing out the match she looked at the end of the cigarette. It -was glowing all over and a delicate little spiral of smoke rose into her -face. Quickly she applied her lips again and drew little breaths, -opening her mouth wide between each breath and holding the cigarette -sideways away from her. The end glowed afresh with each breath. The -paper charred evenly away and little flecks of ash fell about her. - - - 10 - -A third of the whole length was consumed. Her nostrils breathed in -smoke, and as she tasted the burnt flavour the sweetness of the -unpolluted air all around her was a new thing. The acrid tang in her -nostrils intoxicated her. She drew more boldly. There was smoke in her -mouth. She opened it quickly, sharply exhaling a yellow cloud oddly -different from the grey spirals wreathing their way from the end of the -cigarette. She went on drawing in mouthful after mouthful of smoke, -expelling each quickly with widely-opened lips, turning to look at the -well-known room through the yellow haze and again at the sky, which drew -nearer as she puffed at it. The sight of the tree-tops scrolled with her -little clouds brought her a sense of power. She had chosen to smoke and -she was smoking, and the morning world gleamed back at her.... - - - 11 - -The morning gleamed. She would choose her fate. It should be amongst -green trees and sunshine. That daunted lump who had accepted the post at -Banbury Park had nothing to do with her. Morning gladness flooded her, -and her gladness of the thought of the evening to come quickened as it -had done last night into certainty. - -She burned the last inch of the cigarette in the grate, wrapped with -combings from the toilet-tidy in a screw of paper. When all was consumed -she carefully replaced the summer bundle of ornamental mohair behind the -bars. - -Useless to tell anyone. No one would believe she had not felt ill. She -found it difficult to understand why anyone should feel sick from -smoking. Dizzy perhaps ... a little drunk. Pater’s tobacco was very -strong, some people could not smoke it.... She had smoked a whole -cigarette of strong tobacco and liked it. Raising her arms above her -head she worked them upwards, stretching every muscle of her body. No, -she was anything but ill. - -Leaving the window wide she went on to the landing. The smell of tobacco -was everywhere. She flung into each room in turn, throwing up windows -and leaving doors propped ajar. - -Harriett coming up the garden with a basket of cut flowers saw her at -the cook’s bedroom window. - -“What on earth you doing thayer!” she shrieked putting down her basket. - -Hanging from the window Miriam made a trumpet of her hands. - -“Something blew in!” - - - 12 - -All preparations for the evening were made and the younger members of -the household were having a late tea in the breakfast-room. “We’ve done -the alcoves,” said Sarah explosively, “in case it rains.” - -Nan Babington sat up in her long chair to bring her face round to the -deep bay where Sarah stood. - -“My _dear_! Seraphina! And she’s doing the pink bows! Will some saint -take my cup? Ta.... My dear, how _perfectly_ screaming.” - -Miriam raised her head from the petal-scattered table, where she lay -prone side by side with Harriett, to watch Nan sitting up in her firm -white dress beaming at Sarah through her slanting eye. - -“What flowers you going to wear, Nan?” - -Nan patted her sleek slightly Japanese-looking hair. “_Ah_ ... splashes -of scarlet, my dear. Splashes of scarlet. One in my hair and one here.” -She patted the broad level of her enviable breast towards the left -shoulder. - -“Almost _on_ the shoulder, you know--arranged flat, _can’t_ be squashed -and showing as you dance.” - -“Geraniums! Oom. You’ve got awfully good taste. What a frightfully good -effect. Bright red and bright white. Clean. Go on, Nan.” - -“_Killing_,” pursued Nan. “Tom said at breakfast with his mouth -absolutely _full_ of sweet-bread, ‘it’ll rain’--growled, you know, with -his mouth _crammed_ full. ‘Never mind, Tommy,’ said Ella with the -_utmost_ promptitude, ‘they’re sure to have the alcoves.’ ‘Oomph,’ -growled Tommy, pretending not to care. _Naughty_ Tommy, naughty, -_naughty_ Tommy!” - -“Any cake left?” sighed Miriam, sinking back amongst her petals and -hoping that Nan’s voice would go on. - -“You girls are the most adorable individuals I ever met.... Did anybody -see Pearlie going home this afternoon?” - -Everyone chuckled and waited. - -“My _dears_! My _dears_!! Bevan _dragged_ me along to the end of the -pavilion to see him enter up the handicaps with his new automatic -pen--_awfully_ smashing--and I was just hobbling the last few yards past -the apple trees when we _saw_ Pearlie hand-in-hand with the Botterford -boys, prancing along the asphalt court--_prancing_, my dears!” - -Miriam and Harriett dragged themselves up to see. Nan bridled and swayed -from listener to listener, her wide throat gleaming as she sang out her -words. - -“Prancing--with straggles of grey hair sticking out and that _tiny_ -sailor hat cocked _almost_ on to her nose. My dear, you sh’d’ve _seen_ -Bevan! He put up his eyeglass, my dears, for a _fraction_ of a second,” -Nan’s head went up--“Madame Pompadour,” thought Miriam--and her slanting -eyes glanced down her nose, “and dropped it, clickety-click. You sh’d’ve -_seen_ the expression on his angelic countenance.” - -“I say, she _is_ an awful little creature, isn’t she?” said Miriam, -watching Eve bend a crimson face over the tea-tray on the hearthrug. -“She put her boots on the pavilion table this afternoon when all those -men were there--about a mile high they are--with tassels. Why _does_ she -go on like that?” - -“Men like that sort of thing,” said Sarah lightly. - -“Sally!” - -“They do.... I believe she drinks.” - -“Sally! My _dear_!” - -“I believe she _does_. She’s always having shandygaff with the men.” - -“Oh, well, perhaps she doesn’t,” murmured Eve. - -“Chuck me a lump of sugar, Eve.” - -Miriam subsided once more amongst the rose petals. - -“Bevvy thinks I oughtn’t to dance.” - -“Did he say so?” - -“Of course, my dear. But old Wyman said I could, every third, except the -Lancers.” - -“You sh’d’ve seen Bevvy’s face. ‘Brother Tommy doesn’t object,’ I said. -‘He’s going to look after me!’ ‘_Is_ he?’ said Bevvy in his _most_ -superior manner.” - -“What a fearful scrunching you’re making,” said Harriett, pinching -Miriam’s nose. - -“Let’s go and dress,” said Miriam, rolling off the table. - - - 13 - -“How many times has she met him?” asked Miriam as they went through the -hall. - -“I dunno. Not many.” - -“I think it’s simply hateful.” - -“Mimmy!” It was Nan’s insinuating voice. - -“Coming,” called Miriam. “And, you know, Tommy needn’t think he can -carry on with _Meg_ in an alcove.” - -“_What_ would she think? Let’s go and tell Meg she must dress.” - -“Mimmy!” - -Miriam went back and put her head round the breakfast-room door. - -“Let me see you when you’re dressed.” - -“Why?” - -“I want to kiss the back of your neck, my dear; love kissing people’s -necks.” - -Miriam smiled herself vaguely out of the room, putting away the -unpleasant suggestion. - -“I wish I’d got a dress like Nan’s,” she said, joining Harriett in the -dark lobby. - -“I say, somebody’s been using the ‘Financial Times’ to cut up flowers -on. It’s all wet.” Harriett lifted the limp newspaper from the -marble-topped coil of pipes and shook it. - -“Hang it up somewhere.” - -“Where? Everything’s cleared up.” - -“Stick it out of the lavatory window and pull the window down on it.” - -“Awri, you hold the door open.” - -Miriam laughed as Harriett fell into the room. - -“Blooming boot-jack.” - -“Is it all right in there? Are all the pegs clear? Is the washing-basin -all right?” - -A faint light came in as Harriett pushed up the frosted pane. - -“Here’s a pair of boots all over the floor and your old Zulu hat hanging -on a peg. The basin’s all right except a perfectly foul smell of -nicotine. It’s pater’s old feather.” - -“That doesn’t matter. The men won’t mind that. My old hat can stay. -There are ten pegs out here and all the slab, and there’s hardly -anything on the hall stand. That’s it. Don’t cram the window down so as -to cut the paper. That’ll do. Come on.” - -“I wish I had a really stunning dress,” remarked Miriam, as they tapped -across the wide hall. - -“You needn’t.” - -The drawing-room door was open. They surveyed the sea of drugget, dark -grey in the fading light. “_Pong_-pong-_pong_ de doodle, -_pong_-pong-_pong_ de doodle,” murmured Miriam as they stood swaying on -tiptoe in the doorway. - -“Let’s have the gas and _two_ candlesticks, Harry, on the dressing-table -under the gas.” - -“All right,” mouthed Harriett in a stage whisper, making for the stairs -as the breakfast-room door opened. - -It was Eve. “I say, Eve, I’m _scared_,” said Miriam, meeting her. - -Eve giggled triumphantly. - -“Look here. I shan’t come down at first. I’ll play the first dance. I’ll -get them all started with ‘Bitter-Sweet.’” - -“Don’t worry, Mim.” - -“My _dear_, I simply don’t know how to face the evening.” - -“You do,” murmured Eve. “You are proud.” - -“What of?” - -“You know quite well.” - -“What?” - -“He’s the nicest boy we know.” - -“But he’s not my boy. Of course not. You’re insane. Besides, I don’t -know who you’re talking about.” - -“Oh, well, we won’t talk. We’ll go and arrange your chignon.” - -“I’m going to have simply twists and perhaps a hair ornament.” - - - 14 - -Miriam reached the conservatory from the garden door and set about -opening the lid of the grand piano. She could see at the far end of the -almost empty drawing-room a little ruddy thick-set bearded man with a -roll of music under his arm talking to her mother. He was standing very -near to her, surrounding her with his eager presence. “Mother’s -wonderful,” thought Miriam, with a moment’s adoration for Mrs. -Henderson’s softly-smiling girlish tremulousness. Listening to the man’s -hilarious expostulating narrative voice she fumbled hastily for her -waltz amongst the scattered piles of music on the lid of the piano. - -As she struck her opening chords she watched her mother gently quell the -narrative and steer the sturdy form towards a group of people hesitating -in the doorway. “Have they had coffee?” she wondered anxiously. “Is Mary -driving them into the dining-room properly?” Before she had reached the -end of her second page everyone had disappeared. She paused a moment and -looked down the brightly lit empty room--the sight of the cold sheeny -drugget filled her with despair. The hilarious voice resounded in the -hall. There couldn’t be many there yet. Were they all looking after them -properly? For a moment she was tempted to leave her piano and go and -make some desperate attempt at geniality. Then the sound of the -pervading voice back again in the room and brisk footsteps coming -towards the conservatory drove her back to her music. The little man -stepped quickly over the low moulding into the conservatory. - -“Ah, Mariamne,” he blared gently. - -“Oh, Bennett, you angel, how _did_ you get here so early?” responded -Miriam, playing with zealous emphasis. - -“Got old Barrowgate to finish off the out-patients,” he said with a -choke of amusement. - -“I say, Mirry, don’t you play. Let me take it on. You go and ply the -light fantastic.” He laid his hands upon her shoulders and burred the -tune she was playing like a muted euphonium over the top of her head. -“No. It’s all right. Go and get them dancing. Get over the -awfulness--_you_ know.” - -“Get over the awfulness, eh? Oh, I’ll get over the awfulness.” - -“Ssh--are there many there?” - -They both looked round into the drawing-room. - -Nan Babington was backing slowly up and down the room supported by the -outstretched arms of Bevan Seymour, her black head thrown back level -with his, the little scarlet knot in her hair hardly registering the -smooth movements of her invisible feet. - -“They seem to have begun,” shouted Bennett in a whisper as Harriett and -her fiancé swung easily circling into the room and were followed by two -more couples. - -“Go and dance with Meg. She only knows Tommy Babington.” - -“Like the lid up?” - - - 15 - -Miriam’s rhythmic clangour doubled its resonance in the tiled -conservatory as the great lid of the piano went up. - -“Magnifique, Mirry, parfaitement magnifique,” intoned Tommy Babington, -appearing in the doorway with Meg on his arm. - -“Bonsoir, Tomasso.” - -“You are like an expressive metronome.” - -“Oh--nom d’un pipe.” - -“You would make a rhinoceros dance.” - -Adjusting his pince-nez he dexterously seized tall Meg and swung her -rapidly in amongst the dancers. - -“Sarah’ll say he’s had a Turkish bath,” thought Miriam, recalling the -unusual clear pallor of his rather overfed face. “Pleated shirt. That’s -to impress Meg.” - -She felt all at once that the air seemed cold. It was not like a summer -night. How badly the ferns were arranged. Nearly all of them together on -the staging behind the end of the piano; not enough visible from the -drawing-room. Her muscles were somehow stiffening into the wrong mood. -Presently she would be playing badly. She watched the forms circling -past the gap in the curtains and slowed a little. The room seemed fairly -full. - -“That’s it--perfect, Mim,” signalled Harriett’s partner, swinging her -by. She held to the fresh rhythm and passing into a tender old waltz -tune that she knew by heart gave herself to her playing. She need not -watch the feet any longer. She could go on for ever. She knew she was -not playing altogether for the dancers. She was playing to two hearers. -But she could not play that tune if they came. They would be late. But -they must be here now. Where were they? Were they having coffee? -Dancing? She flung a terrified glance at the room and met the cold eye -of Bevan Seymour. She would not look again. The right feeling for the -dreamy old tune came and went uncontrollably. Why did they not come? -Presently she would be cold and sick and done for, for the evening. She -played on, harking back to the memory of the kindly challenge in the -eyes of her brother-in-law to be, dancing gravely with a grave -Harriett--fearing her ... writing in her album: - - “She was his life, - The ocean to the river of his thoughts-- - Which terminated all.” - -... cold, calm little Harriett. Her waltz had swung soft and low and the -dancers were hushed. Only Tommy Babington’s voice still threaded the -little throng. - -Someone held back the near curtain. A voice said quietly, “Here she is.” - - - 16 - -Ted’s low, faintly-mocking voice filled the conservatory. - -He was standing very near her, looking down at her with his back to the -gay room. Yesterday’s dream had come more than true, at once, at the -beginning of the evening. He had come straight to her with his friend, -not dancing, not looking for a partner. They were in the little green -enclosure with her. The separating curtains had fallen back into place. - -Behind the friend who stood leaning against the far end of the piano, -the massed fernery gleamed now with the glow of concealed fairy lamps. -She had not noticed it before. The fragrance of fronds and moist warm -clumps of maidenhair and scented geraniums inundated her as she glanced -across at the light falling on hard sculptured waves of hair above a -white handsome face. - -Her music held them all, protecting the wordless meeting. Her last -night’s extremity of content was reality, being lived by all three of -them. It centred in herself. Ted stood within it, happy in it. The -friend watched, witnessing Ted’s confession. Ted had said nothing to him -about her, about any of them, in his usual way. But he was disguising -nothing now that he had come. - -At the end of her playing she stood up faintly dizzy, and held out -towards Max Sonnenheim’s familiar strangeness hands heavy with happiness -and quickened with the sense of Ted’s touch upon her arm. The swift -crushing of the strange hands upon her own, steadied her as the curtains -swung wide and a group of dancers crowded in. - - - 17 - -“Don’t tell N.B. we’ve scrubbed the coffin, Miriorama--she’ll sit there -all the evening.” - -“That was my sister and my future brother-in-law,” said Miriam to Max -Sonnenheim as Harriett and Gerald ran down the steps and out into the -dark garden. - -“Your sister and brother-in-law,” he responded thoughtfully. - -He was standing at her side at the top of the garden steps staring out -into the garden and apparently not noticing the noisy passers-by. If -they stood there much longer, Ted, who had not been dancing, would join -them. She did not want that. She would put off her dance with Ted until -later. The next dance she would play herself and then perhaps dance -again with Max. Once more from the strange security of his strongly -swinging arms she would meet Ted’s eyes, watching and waiting. She must -dance once more with Max. She had never really danced before. She would -go to Ted at last and pass on the spirit of her dancing to him. But not -yet. - -“I will show you the front garden,” she said, running down the steps. - -He joined her and they walked silently round the side of the house, -through the kitchen yard and out into the deserted carriage drive. She -thought she saw people on the front lawn and walked quickly, humming a -little tune, on down the drive. - -Max crunched silently along a little apart from her, singing to himself. - - - 18 - -Both sides of the front gate were bolted back and their footsteps -carried them straight out on to the asphalted avenue extending right and -left, a dim tunnel of greenery, scarcely lit by the lamps out in the -roadway. With a sudden sense of daring, Miriam determined to assume the -deserted avenue as part of the garden. - -The gate left behind, they made their way slowly along the high leafy -tunnel. - -They would walk to the end of the long avenue and back again. In a -moment she would cease humming and make a remark. She tasted a new sense -of ease, walking slowly along with this strange man without “making -conversation.” He was taking her silence for granted. All her experience -so far had been of companions whose uneasiness pressed unendurably for -speech, and her talking had been done with an irritated sense of the -injustice of aspersions on “women’s tongues,” while no man could endure -a woman’s silence ... even Ted, except when dancing; no woman could, -except Minna, in Germany. Max must be foreign, of course, German--of -_course_. She could, if she liked, talk of the stars to him. He would -neither make jokes nor talk science and want her to admire him, until -all the magic was gone. Her mood expanded. He had come just at the right -moment. She would keep him with her until she had to face Ted. He was -like a big ship towing the little barque of her life to its harbour. - -His vague humming rose to a little song. It was German. It was the -Lorelei. For a moment she forgot everything but pride in her ability to -take her share in both music and words. - -“You understand German!” he cried. - -They had reached the end of the avenue and the starlit roadway opened -ahead, lined with meadows. - -“Ach, wie schön,” breathed Max. - -“Wie schön.” Miriam was startled by the gay sound of her own voice. It -sounded as if she were alone, speaking to herself. She looked up at the -spangled sky. The freshening air streamed towards them from the meadows. - -“We _must_ go back,” she said easily, turning in again under the trees. - -The limes seemed heavily scented after their breath of the open. They -strolled dreamily along keeping step with each other. They would make it -a long quiet way to the gate. Miriam felt strangely invisible. It was as -if in a moment a voice would come from the clustering lime trees or from -the cluster of stars in the imagined sky. - -“Wie süss,” murmured Max, “ist treue Liebe.” - -“How dear,” she translated mentally, “is true love.” Yes, that was it, -that was true, the German phrase. Ted was dear, dear. But so far away. -Coming and going, far away. - -“Is it?” she said with a vague, sweet intonation, to hear more. - -“Wie süss, wie süss,” he repeated firmly, flinging his arm across her -shoulders. - -The wildly shimmering leafage rustled and seemed to sing. She walked on -horrified, cradled, her elbow resting in her companion’s hand as in a -cup. She laughed, and her laughter mingled with the subdued lilting of -the voice close at her side. Ted was waiting somewhere in the night for -her. Ted. Ted. Not this stranger. But why was he not bold like this? -Primly and gently she disengaged herself. - -She and Ted would walk along through the darkness and it would shout to -them. Day-time colours seemed to be shining through the night.... She -turned abruptly to her companion. - -“Aren’t the lime trees jolly?” she said conversationally. - -“You will dance again with me?” - -“Yes, if you like.” - -“I must go so early.” - -“Must you?” - -“To-morrow morning early I go abroad.” - - - 19 - -“Hullo!” - -“Where were _you_ all that last dance?” - -Nan Babington’s voice startled her as they came into the bright hall -through the open front door. - -She smiled towards Nan, sitting drearily with a brilliant smile on her -face watching the dancers from a long chair drawn up near the -drawing-room door, and passed on into the room with her hand on her -partner’s arm. They had missed a dance and an interval. It must have -been a Lancers and now there was another waltz. - -Several couples were whirling gravely about. Amongst them she noted -Bevan Seymour, upright and slender, dancing with Harriett with an air of -condescending vivacity, his bright teeth showing all the time. Her eyes -were ready for Ted. She was going to meet his for the first time--just -one look, and then she would fly for her life anywhere, to anybody. And -he would find her and make her look at him again. Ted. He was not there. -People were glancing at her, curiously. She veiled her waiting eyes and -felt their radiance stream through her, flooding her with strength from -head to foot. How battered and ordinary everyone had looked, frail and -sick, stamped with a pallor of sickness. How she pitied them all. - -“Let us take a short turn,” said Max, and his arms came around her. As -they circled slowly down the length of the room she stared at his black -shoulder a few inches from her eyes. His stranger’s face was just above -her in the bright light; his strange black-stitched glove holding her -mittened hand. His arms steadied her as they neared the conservatory. - -“Let us go out,” she heard him say, and her footsteps were guided across -the moulding, her arm retained in his. Meg Wedderburn was playing and -met her with her sentimental smile. In the gloom at her side, just -beyond the shaded candle, stood Ted ready to turn the music, his -disengaged hand holding the bole of a tall palm. He dropped his hands -and turned as they passed him, almost colliding with Miriam. “Next dance -with me,” he whispered neatly. “Will you show me your coffin?” asked Max -as they reached the garden steps. - -“It’s quite down at the end beyond the kitchen garden.” - - - 20 - -“There are raspberry canes all along here, on both sides--trailing all -over the place; the gardener puts up stakes and things but they manage -to trail all over the place.” - -“Ah, yes.” - -“Some of them are that pale yellow kind, the colour of champagne. You -can just see how they trail. Isn’t it funny how dark they are, and yet -the colour’s there all the time, isn’t it? They are lovely in the day, -lovely leaves and great big fruit, and in between are little squatty -gooseberry bushes, all kinds, yellow and egg-shaped like plums, and -little bright green round ones and every kind of the ordinary red kind. -Do you know the little bright green ones, quite bright green when -they’re ripe, like bright green Chartreuse?” - -“No. The green Chartreuse of course I know. But green ripe gooseberries -I have not seen.” - -“I expect you only know the unripe green ones they make April fool of.” - -“April fool?” - -“I mean _gooseberry_ fool. Do you know why men are like green -gooseberries?” - -“No. Why are they? Tell me.” - -“Perhaps you would not like it. We are passing the apple trees now; -quarendens and stibbards.” - -“Tell me. I shall like what you say.” - -“Well, it’s because women can make fools of them whenever they like.” - -Max laughed; a deep gurgling laugh that echoed back from the wall in -front of them. - -“We are nearly at the end of the garden.” - -“I think you would not make a man a fool. No?” - -“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.” - -“You have not thought much about men.” - -“I don’t know.” - -“But they, they have thought about you.” - -“Oh, I’m sure I don’t know.” - -“You do not care, perhaps?” - -“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. Here’s the coffin. I’m afraid -it’s not very comfortable. It’s so low.” - -“What is it?” - -“It’s an overturned seedling box. There’s grass all round. I wonder -whether it’s damp,” said Miriam suddenly invaded by a general -uncertainty. - -“Oh, we will sit down, it will not be damp. Your future brother-in-law -has not scrubbed also the ivy on the wall,” he pursued as they sat down -on the broad low seat, “it will spoil your blouse.” - -Miriam leaned uncomfortably against the intervening arm. - -“Isn’t it a perfectly lovely night?” she said. - -“I feel that you would not make of a man a fool....” - -“Why not?” - -“I feel that there is no poison in you.” - -“What _do_ you mean?” People ... poisonous ... What a horrible idea. - -“Just what I say.” - -“I know in a way. I think I know what you mean.” - -“I feel that there is no poison in you. I have not felt that before with -a woman.” - -“Aren’t women awful?” Miriam made a little movement of sympathy towards -the strange definiteness at her side. - -“I have thought so. But you are not as the women one meets. You have a -soul serene and innocent. With you it should be well with a man.” - -“I don’t know,” responded Miriam. “Is he telling me I am a fool?” she -thought. “It’s true, but no one has the courage to tell me.” - -“It is most strange. I talk to you here as I will. It is simple and -fatal”; the supporting arm became a gentle encirclement and Miriam’s -heart beat softly in her ears. “I go to-morrow to Paris to the branch of -my father’s business that is managed there by my brother. And I go then -to New York to establish a branch there. I shall be away then, perhaps a -year. Shall I find you here?” - -A quick crunching on the gravel pathway just in front of them made them -both hold their breath to listen. Someone was standing on the grass near -Max’s side of the coffin. A match spat and flared and Miriam’s heart was -shaken by Ted’s new, eager, frightened voice. “Aren’t you _ever_ going -to dance with me again?” - -She had seen the whiteness of his face and his cold, delicate, upright -figure. In spirit she had leapt to her feet and faltered his name. All -the world she knew had fallen into newness. This was certainty. Ted -would never leave her. But it was Max who was standing up and saying -richly in the blackness left by the burnt-out match, “All in good time, -Burton. Miss Miriam is engaged to me for this dance.” Her faint “of -course, Ted,” was drowned in the words which her partner sang after the -footsteps retreating rapidly along the gravel path: “We’re just coming!” - -“I suppose they’ve begun the next dance,” she said, rising decisively -and brushing at her velvet skirt with trembling hands. - -“Our dance. Let us go and dance our dance.” - -They walked a little apart steadily along up through the kitchen garden, -their unmatched footsteps sounding loudly upon the gravel between -remarks made by Max. Miriam heard them and heard the voice of Max. But -she neither listened nor responded. - -She began to talk and laugh at random as they neared the lawn lit by the -glaring uncurtained windows. - -Consulting his scrutinising face as they danced easily in the as yet -half-empty room, he humming the waltz which swung with their movement, -she found narrow, glinting eyes looking into her own; strange eyes that -knew all about a big business and were going to Paris and New York. His -stranger’s face was going away, to be washed and shaved innumerable -times, keeping its assurance in strange places she knew nothing about. - -Here, just for these few hours, laughing at Ted. A phrase flashed -through her brain, “He’s brought Ted to his senses.” She flushed and -laughed vaguely and danced with a feeling of tireless strength and -gaiety. She knew the phrase was not her own. It was one Nan Babington -could have used. It excited her. It meant that real things were going to -happen, she could bear herself proudly in the room. She rippled -complacently at Max. The room was full of whirling forms, swelling and -shrinking as they crossed and recrossed the line between the clear -vision rimmed by her glasses and the surrounding bright confusion. -Swift, rhythmic movement, unbroken and unjostled, told her how well they -were dancing. She was secure, landed in life, dancing carelessly out and -out to a life of her own. - -“I go; I see you again in a year,” said Max suddenly, drawing up near -the door where Mrs. Henderson stood sipping coffee with Sarah and -Bennett. - -“Where is Burton?” he asked in the midst of his thanks and leave-taking. - -They all hesitated. Miriam suddenly found herself in the presence of a -tribunal. - -Bennett’s careless “Oh, he’s gone; couldn’t stay,” followed her as she -flung upstairs to Meg Wedderburn’s empty room. Why had her mother looked -so self-conscious and Sarah avoided her eye ... standing there like a -little group of conspirators. - -People were always inventing things. “Bother--damnational silliness,” -she muttered, and began rapidly calculating. Ted gone away. Little Ted -hurt and angry. To-morrow. Perhaps he wouldn’t come. If he didn’t she -wouldn’t see him before she went. The quiet little bead of ruby shaded -gas reproached her. Meg’s eyes would be sad and reproachful in this -quiet neatness. Terror seized her. She wouldn’t see him. He had finished -his work at the Institution. It was the big Norwich job next week. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - - 1 - -Miriam propped “The Story of Adèle” open against the three Bibles on the -dressing-table. It would be wasteful to read it upstairs. It was the -only story-book amongst the rows of volumes which filled the shelves in -the big schoolroom and would have to last her for tea-time reading the -whole term. The “Fleurs de l’Eloquence?” Shiny brown leather covered -with little gold buds and tendrils, fresh and new although the parchment -pages were yellow with age. The Fleurs were so short ... that curious -page signed “Froissart” with long s’s, coming to an end just as the -picture of the French court was getting clear and interesting. That -other thing, “The Anatomy of Melancholy.” Fascinating. But it would take -so much reading, on and on forgetting everything; all the ordinary -things, seeing things in some new way, some way that fascinated people -for a moment if you tried to talk about it and then made them very -angry, made them hate and suspect you. Impossible to take it out and -have it on the schoolroom table for tea-time reading. What had made the -Pernes begin allowing tea-time reading? Being shy and finding it -difficult to keep conversation going with the girls for so long? They -never did talk to the girls. Perhaps because they did not see through -them and understand them. North London girls. So different from the -Fairchild family and the sort of girls they had been accustomed to when -they were young. Anyhow, they hardly ever had to talk to them. Not at -breakfast or dinner-time when they were all three there; and at tea-time -when there was only one of them, there were always the books. How -sensible. On Sunday afternoons, coming smiling into the schoolroom, one -of them each Sunday--perhaps the others were asleep--reading aloud; the -Fairchild family, smooth and good and happy, everyone in the book -surrounded with a sort of light, going on and on and on towards heaven, -tea-time seeming so nice and mean and ordinary afterwards--or a book -about a place in the north of England called Saltcoats, brine, and a -vicarage and miners; the people in the book horrible, not lit up, -talking about things and being gloomy and not always knowing what to do, -never really sure about Heaven like the Fairchild family, black brackish -book. The “Fairchild Family” was golden and gleaming. - -“The Anatomy of Melancholy” would not be golden like “The Fairchild -Family” ... “the cart was now come alongside a wood which was -exceedingly shady and beautiful”; “good manners and civility make -everybody lovely”; but it would be round and real, not just chilly and -moaning like “Saltcoats.” The title would be enough to keep one going at -tea-time. An_at_--omy of _Mel_--ancholy, and the look of the -close-printed pages and a sentence here and there. The Pernes would not -believe she really wanted it there on the table. The girls would stare. -When “The Story of Adèle” was finished she would have to find some other -book; or borrow one. Nancie Wilkie, sitting at tea with her back to the -closed piano facing the great bay of dark green-blinded window, reading -“Nicholas Nickleby.” Just the very one of all the Dickens volumes that -would be likely to come into her hands. Impossible to borrow it when -Nancie had finished with it. Impossible to read a book with such a -title. “David Copperfield” was all right; and “The Pickwick Papers.” -“Little Dorritt”--“A Tale of Two Cities”--“The Old Curiosity Shop.” -There was something suspicious about these, too. - - - 2 - -Adèle--the story of Adèle. The book had hard, unpleasant covers with -some thin cottony material--bright lobelia blue--strained over them and -fraying out at the corners. Over the front of the cover were little -garlands and festoons of faded gold, and in the centre framed by an oval -band of brighter gold was the word Adèle, with little strong tendrils on -the lettering. There was some secret charm about the book. The strong -sunlight striking the window just above the coarse lace curtains that -obscured its lower half, made the gilding shine and seem to move--a -whole wild woodland. The coarse white toilet-cover on the chest of -drawers, the three Bibles, the little cheap mahogany-framed -looking-glass, Nancie Wilkie’s folding hand-glass, the ugly gas bracket -sticking out above the mirror, her own bed in the corner with its coarse -fringed coverlet, the two alien beds behind her in the room, and the -repellant washstand in the far corner became friendly as the sun shone -on the decorated cover of the blue and gold book. - -She propped it open again and began tidying her hair. It must be nearly -tea-time. A phrase caught her eye. “The old château where the first -years of Adèle’s life were spent was situated in the midst of a -high-walled garden. Along one side of the château ran a terrace looking -out over a lovely expanse of flower-beds. Beyond was a little pleasaunce -surrounded by a miniature wall and threaded by little pathways lined -with rose trees. Almost hidden in the high wall was a little doorway. -When the doorway was open you could see through into a deep orchard.” -The first tea-bell rang. The figure of Adèle flitting about in an -endless summer became again lines of black print. In a moment the girls -would come rushing up. Miriam closed the book and turned to the dazzling -window. The sun blazed just above the gap in the avenue of poplars. A -bright yellow pathway led up through the green of the public cricket -ground, pierced the avenue of poplars and disappeared through the -further greenery in a curve that was the beginning of its encirclement -of the park lake. Coming slowly along the pathway was a little figure -dressed bunchily in black. It looked pathetically small and dingy in the -bright scene. The afternoon blazed round it. It was something left over. -What was the explanation of it? As it came near it seemed to change. It -grew real. It was hurrying eagerly along, quite indifferent to the -afternoon glory, with little rolling steps that were like the uneven -toddling of a child, and carrying a large newspaper whose great sheets, -although there was no wind, balled out scarcely controlled by the small -hands. Its feathered hat had a wind-blown rakish air. On such a still -afternoon. It was thinking and coming along, thinking and thinking and a -little angry. What a rum little party, murmured Miriam, despising her -words and admiring the wild thought-filled little bundle of dingy -clothes. Beastly, to be picking up that low kind of slang--not real -slang. Just North London sneering. Goo--what a _rum_ little party, she -declared aloud, flattening herself against the window. Hotly flushing, -she recognised that she had been staring at Miss Jenny Perne hurrying in -to preside at tea. - - - 3 - -“We’ve been to Jones’s this afternoon, Miss Jenny.” - -Each plate held a slice of bread and butter cut thickly all the way -across a household loaf, and the three-pound jar of home-made plum jam -belonging to Nancie Wilkie was going the round of the table. It had -begun with Miriam, who sat on Miss Jenny’s right hand, and had Nancie -for neighbour. She had helped herself sparingly, unable quite to resist -the enhancement of the solid fare, but fearing that there would be no -possibility of getting anything from home to make a return in kind. -Things were so bad, the dance had cost so much. One of Mary’s cakes, big -enough for five people, would cost so much. And there would be the -postage. - -Piling a generous spoonful on to her own thick slice, Nancie coughed -facetiously and repeated her remark which had produced no result but a -giggle from Charlotte Stubbs who sat opposite to her. - -“Eh? Eh? What?” - -Miss Jenny looked down the table over the top of her newspaper without -raising her head. Her pince-nez were perched so that one eye appeared -looking through its proper circle, the other glared unprotected just -above a rim of glass. - -“Miss Haddie took us to Jones’s this afternoon,” said Nancie almost -voicelessly. Miriam glanced at the too familiar sight of Nancie’s small -eyes vanishing to malicious points. She was sitting as usual very solid -and upright in her chair, with her long cheeks pink flushed and her fine -nose white and cool and twitching, her yellow hair standing strongly -back from her large white brow. She stabbed keenly in her direction as -Miriam glanced, and Miriam turned and applied herself to her bread and -jam. If she did not eat she would not get more than two slices from the -piled dishes before the others had consumed four and five apiece and -brought tea to an end. - -“Eh? What for? Why are ye laughing, Nancie?” - -“I’m not laughing, Miss Jenny.” Nancie’s firm lips curved away from her -large faultless teeth. “I’m only smiling and telling you about our visit -to Jones’s.” - -Miss Jenny’s newspaper was lowered and her pince-nez removed. - -“Eh? What d’ye say? Nonsense, Nancie, you know you were laughing. Why do -you say you weren’t? What do you mean? Eh?” - -“I’m sorry, Miss Jennie. Something tickled me.” - -“Yes. Don’t be nonsensical. D’ye see? It’s nonsensical to say no when -you mean yes. D’ye understand what I mean, Nancie? It’s bad manners.” -Hitching on her pince-nez, Miss Jenny returned to her paper. - -Miriam gave herself up to the luxury of reading Adèle to the -accompaniment of bread and jam. She would not hurry over her bread and -jam. As well not have it. She would sacrifice her chance of a third -slice. She reflected that it would be a good thing if she could decide -never to have more than two slices, and have them in peace. Then she -could thoroughly enjoy her reading. But she was always so hungry. At -home she could not have eaten thick bread and butter. But here every -slice seemed better than the last. When she began at the hard thick edge -there always seemed to be tender places on her gums, her three hollow -teeth were uneasy and she had to get through worrying thoughts about -them--they would get worse as the years went by, and the little places -in the front would grow big and painful and disfiguring. After the first -few mouthfuls of solid bread a sort of padding seemed to take place and -she could go on forgetful. - -“They’d got,” said Trixie Sanderson in a velvety tone, “they’d got some -of their Christmas things out, Miss Jenny.” She cleared her throat -shrilly on the last word and toned off the sound with a sigh. Inaudible -laughter went round the table, stopping at Miriam, who glanced -fascinated across at Trixie. Trixie sat in her best dress, a loosely -made brown velveteen with a deep lace collar round her soft brown neck. -Her neck and her delicate pale face were shaded by lively silky brown -curls. She held her small head sideways from her book with a questioning -air. One of her wicked swift brown eyes was covered serenely with its -thin lid. - -She uttered a second gentle sigh and once more cleared her throat, -accompanying the sound with a rapid fluttering of the lowered lid. - -Miriam condemned her, flouting the single eye which tried to search her, -hating the sudden, sharp dimpling which came high up almost under -Trixie’s cheek bones in answer to her own expression. - -“Miss Jenny,” breathed Trixie in a high tone, twirling one end of the -bow of black ribbon crowning her head. - -Beadie Fetherwell, at the far end of the table opposite the tea-tray, -giggled aloud. - -“Eh? What? Did somebody speak?” said Miss Jenny, looking up with a -smile. “Are ye getting on with yer teas? Are ye ready for second cups?” - -“Beadie spoke,” murmured Trixie, glancing at Beadie whose neat china -doll’s face was half hidden between her cup and the protruding edge of -her thatch of tight gold curls. - -Miriam disgustedly watched Beadie prolong the irritating comedy by -choking over her tea. - -It was some minutes before the whole incident was made clear to Miss -Jenny. Reading was suspended. Everyone watched while Charlotte Stubbs, -going carefully backwards, came to the end at last of Miss Jenny’s -questions, and when Miss Jenny rapidly adjudicating--_well!_ you’re all -very naughty children. I can’t think what’s the matter with you? Eh? Ye -shouldn’t do it. I can’t think what possesses you. What is it, eh? Ye -shouldn’t do it. D’you see?--and having dispensed the second allowance -of tea with small hesitating preoccupied hands returned finally to her -newspaper, it was Charlotte who sat looking guilty. Miriam stole a -glance at the breadth of her broad flushed face, at its broadest as she -hung over her book. Her broad flat nose shone with her tea-drinking, and -her shock of coarse brown-gold hair, flatly brushed on the top, stuck -out bushily on either side, its edges lit by the afternoon glow from the -garden behind her. The others were unmoved. Trixie sat reading, the -muscles controlling her high dimples still faintly active. She and -Nancie and Beadie, whose opaque blue eyes fixed the table just ahead of -her book with their usual half-squinting stare, had entered on their -final competition for the last few slices. - -Miriam returned to her book. The story of Adèle had moved on through -several unassimilated pages. “My child,” she read, “it is important to -remember”--she glanced on gathering a picture of a woman walking with -Adèle along the magic terrace, talking--words and phrases that fretted -dismally at the beauty of the scene. Examining later chapters she found -conversations, discussions, situations, arguments, “fusses”--all about -nothing. She turned back to the early passage of description and caught -the glow once more. But this time it was overshadowed by the promise of -those talking women. That was all there was. She had finished the story -of Adèle. - -A resounding slam came up from the kitchen. - -“Poor cook--another tooth,” sighed Trixie. - -Smothering a convulsion, Miriam sat dumb. Her thwarted expectations -ranged forth beyond control, feeling swiftly and cruelly about for -succour where she had learned there was none.... Nancie, her parents -abroad, her aunt’s house at Cromer, with a shrubbery, the cousin from -South Africa coming home to Cromer, taking her out in a dog-cart, -telling her she was his guiding star, going back to South Africa; -everything Nancie said and did, even her careful hair-brushing and her -energetic upright walk, her positive brave way of entering a room, -coming out through those malicious pin-points--things she said about the -Misses Perne and the girls, things she whispered and laughed, little -rhymes she sang with her unbearable laugh. - -... Beadie still shaking at intervals in silent servile glancing -laughter, her stepmother, her little half-brother who had fits, her -holidays at Margate, “you’d look neat, on the seat, of a bicyka made for -two”--Beadie brought Miriam the utmost sense of imprisonment within the -strange influence that had threatened her when she first came to Banbury -Park. Beadie was in it, was an unquestioning part of it. She felt that -she could in some way, in some one tint or tone, realise the whole -fabric of Beadie’s life on and on to the end, no matter what should -happen to her. But she turned from the attempt--any effort at full -realisation threatened complete despair. Trixie too, with a home just -opposite the Banbury Empire.... Miriam slid over this link in her rapid -reflections--a brother named Julian who took instantaneous photographs -of girls, numbers and numbers of girls, and was sometimes “tight.” ... - -Charlotte. Charlotte carried about a faint suggestion of relief. Miriam -fled to her as she sat with the garden light on her hair, her lingering -flush of distress rekindled by her amusement, her protective responsible -smile beaming out through the endless blue of her eyes. Behind her -painstaking life at the school was a country home, a farm somewhere far -away. Of course it was dreadful for her to be a farmer’s daughter. She -evidently knew it herself and said very little about it. But her large -red hands, so strange handling school-books, were comforting; and her -holland apron with its bib under the fresh colouring of her face--do you -like butter? A buttercup under your chin--brought to Miriam a picture of -the farm, white amidst bright greenery, with a dairy and morning -cock-crow and creamy white sheep on a hillside. It was all there with -her as she sat at table reading “The Lamplighter.” The sound of her -broad husky voice explaining to Miss Jenny had been full of it. But it -was all past. She too had come to Banbury Park. She did not seem to mind -Banbury Park. She was to study hard and be a governess. She evidently -thought she was having a great chance--she was fifteen and quite -“uncultured.” How could she be turned into a governess? A sort of -nursery governess, for farms, perhaps. But farms did not want books and -worry. Miriam wanted to put her back into her farm, and sometimes her -thoughts wearily brushed the idea of going with her. Perhaps, though, -she had come away because her father could not keep her? The little -problem hung about her as she sat sweetly there, common and good and -strong. The golden light that seemed to belong specially to her came -from a London garden, an unreal North London garden. Resounding in its -little spaces were the blatterings and shouts of the deaf and dumb next -door. - - - 4 - -Miss Jenny left “The Standard” with Miriam after tea, stopping suddenly -as she made her uncertain way from the tea-table to the door and saying -absently, “Eh, you’d better read this, my dear. There’s a leader on the -Education Commission. Would ye like to? Yes, I think you’d better.” -Miriam accepted the large sheets with hesitating expressions of thanks, -wondering rather fearfully what a leader might be and where she should -find it. She knew the word. Her mother read “the leaders” in the -evening--“excellent leader” she sometimes said, and her father would put -down his volume of “Proceedings of the British Association,” or Herbert -Spencer’s “First Principles,” and condescendingly agree. But any -discussion generally ended in his warning her not to believe a thing -because she saw it in print, and a reminder that before she married she -had thought that everything she saw in print was true, and quite often -he would go on to general remarks about the gullibility of women, -bringing in the story of the two large long-necked pearly transparent -drawing-room vases with stems and soft masses of roses and leaves -painted on their sides that she had given too much for at the door to a -man who said they were Italian. Brummagem, Brummagem, he would end, -mouthing the word and turning back to his book with the neighing laugh -that made Miriam turn to the imagined picture of her mother in the first -year of her married life, standing in the sunlight at the back door of -the Babington house, with the varnished coach-house door on her right -and the cucumber frames in front of her sloping up towards the bean-rows -that began the kitchen garden; with her little scallopped bodice, her -hooped skirt, her hair bunched in curls up on her high pad and falling -round her neck, looking at the jugs with grave dark eyes. And that -neighing laugh had come again and again all through the years until she -sat meekly, flushed and suffering under the fierce gaslight, feeling -every night of her life winter and summer as if the ceiling were coming -down on her head, and read “leaders” cautiously, and knew when they were -written in “a fine chaste dignified style.” But that was “The Times.” -“The Standard” was a penny rag and probably not worth considering at -all. In any case she would not read it at evening study. She had never -had a newspaper in her hand before as far as she could remember. The -girls would see that she did not know how to read it, and it would be -snubby towards them to sit there as if she were a Miss Perne, scrumpling -a great paper while they sat with their books. So she read her -text-books, a page of Saxon Kings with a ten-line summary of each reign, -a list of six English counties with their capitals and the rivers the -capitals stood on and the principal industries of each town, devising -ways of remembering the lists and went on to “Bell’s Standard -Elocutionist.” She had found the book amongst the school books on the -schoolroom shelves. It was a “standard” book and must therefore be about -something she ought to know something about if she were to hold her own -in this North London world. There had been no “standard” books at school -and the word offended her. It suggested fixed agreement about the things -people ought to know and that she felt sure must be wrong, and not only -wrong but “common” ... standard readers ... standard pianoforte tutors. -She had learned to read in “Reading without Tears,” and gone on to -“Classical Poems and Prose for the Young,” her arithmetic book instead -of being a thin cold paper-covered thing called Standard I, had been a -pleasant green volume called “Barnard Smith,” that began at the -beginning and went on to compound fractions and stocks. There was no -Morris’s Grammar at Banbury Park, no Wetherell or English Accidence, no -bits from “Piers Plowman” and pages of scraps of words with the way they -changed in different languages and quotations, just sentences that had -made her long for more ... “up-clomb” ... “the mist up-clomb.” She -opened “Bell’s Standard Elocutionist” apprehensively, her mind working -on possible meanings for elocutionist. She thought of ventriloquist and -wondered dismally whether it was a book of conjuring tricks. It was -poems, poems and prose, all mixed up together anyhow. The room was very -still, the girls all sitting reading with their backs to the table so -that nobody “poked.” She could not go on vaguely fluttering pages, so -she read a solid-looking poem that was not divided up into verses. - -“Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond Emperor of -Allemaine, Apparelled in magnificent attire, With retinue of many a -knight and squire, On St. John’s eve, at vespers, proudly sat And heard -the priests chant the Magnificat.” Should she go on? It was like the -pieces in Scott’s novels, the best bits, before the characters began to -talk. - -... “and bay the moon than such a Roman and bay the moon than such a -Roman,” muttered Nancie rapidly, swinging her feet. It would not be fair -to read a thing that would take her right away and not teach her -anything whilst the girls were learning their things for Monday. She -hesitated and turned a page. The poem, she saw, soon began to break up -into sentences with quotation signs; somebody making a to-do. Turning -several pages at once, she caught sight of the word Hanover. “Hamelin -Town’s in Brunswick, by famous Hanover city.” That was irresistible. But -she must read it one day away from the gassy room and the pressure of -the girls. The lines were magic; but the rush that took her to the -German town, the sight and smell and sound of it, the pointed houses, -wood fires, the bürgers, had made her cheeks flare and thrown her out of -the proper teacher’s frame of mind. She wanted to stand up and pull up -the blinds hiding the garden and shout the poem aloud to the girls. They -would stare and giggle and think she had gone mad. “The mountain has -gone mad,” Nancie would mutter. “There is a mountain in Banbury Park, -covered over with yellow bark,” Nancie’s description of herself. That -was how the girls saw her stiff hair--and they thought she was “about -forty.” Well, it was true. She was, practically. She went on holding -Bell up before her face, open at a page of prose, and stared at the -keyboard of the piano just beyond her crossed knees. It aroused the -sight and sense of the strangely moving hands of the various girls whose -afternoon practice it was her business to superintend, their intent -faces, the pages of bad unclassical music, things with horrible names, -by English composers, the uselessness of the hours and terms and years -of practice. - - - 5 - -Presently the bread and butter and milk came up for the girls, and then -there was prayers--the three servants lined up in front of the -bookshelves; cook wheezing heavily, tall and thin and bent, with a -sloping mob cap and a thin old brown face with a forehead that was like -a buttress of shiny bone and startling dark eyes that protruded so that -they could be seen even when she sat looking down into her lap; and -Flora the parlourmaid, short and plump and brown with an expression of -perfectly serene despair, this was part of Miriam’s daily bread; and -Annie the housemaid, raw pink and gold and grinning slyly at the -girls--Miss Perne, sitting at the head of the table with the shabby -family Bible and the book of family prayers, Miss Jenny and Miss Haddie -one on each side of the fireplace, Miss Jenny’s feet hardly reaching the -floor as she sat bunched on a high schoolroom chair, Miss Haddie in her -cold slate-grey dress sitting back with her thin hands clasped in her -lap, her grey face bent devotionally so that her chin rested on her thin -chest, her eyes darting from the servants to the girls who sat in their -places round the table during the time it took Miss Perne to read a -short psalm. Miriam tried to cast down her eyes and close her ears. All -that went on during that short interval left her equally excluded from -either party. She could not sit gazing at Flora, and Miss Perne’s polite -unvarying tone brought her no comfort. She sometimes thought longingly -of prayers in Germany, the big quiet saal with its high windows, its -great dark doors, its annexe of wooden summer-room, Fräulein’s clear, -brooding undertone, the pensive calm of the German girls; the strange -mass of fresh melodious sound as they all sang together. Here there -seemed to be everything to encourage and nothing whatever to check the -sudden murmur, the lightning swift gesture of Nancie or Trixie. - -The moment Miss Perne had finished her psalm they all swung round on to -their knees. Miriam pressed her elbows against the cane seat of her -chair and wondered what she should say to Miss Jenny at supper about the -newspaper, while Miss Perne decorously prayed that they might all be fed -with the sincere milk of the Word and grow thereby. - -After the Lord’s Prayer, a unison of breathy mutterings against closed -fingers, they all rose. Then the servants filed out of the room followed -by the Misses Perne. Miss Perne stopped in the doorway to shake hands -with the girls on their way to bed before joining her sisters in the -little sitting-room across the hall. One of the servants reappeared -almost at once with a tray, distributed its contents at the fire-place -end of the long table and rang the little bell in the hall on her way -back to the kitchen. The Misses Perne filed back across the hall. - - - 6 - -“Eh, Deborah, are ye sure?” said Miss Jenny, getting into her chair at -Miss Perne’s right hand. - -Perhaps the newspaper would not be mentioned after all. If it were she -would simply say she had been preparing for Monday and was going to read -it after supper. Anyhow there was never any threat with the Pernes of -anything she would not be able to deal with. She glanced to see what -there was to eat, and then, feeling Miss Haddie’s eye from across the -table, assumed an air of interested abstraction to cover her -disappointment. Cold white blancmange in a round dish garnished with -prunes, bread and butter, a square of cream cheese on a green-edged -dessert plate, a box of plain biscuits, the tall bottle of lime juice -and the red glass jug of water. Nothing really sweet and nice--the -blancmange would be flavoured with laurel--prussic acid--and the prunes -would be sweet in the wrong sort of way--wholesome, just sweet fruit. -Cheese--how could people eat cheese? - -“Well, my dear, I tell you only what I saw with my own eyes--Polly Allen -and Eunice Dupont running about in the park without their hats.” - -“Ech,” syphoned Miss Haddie, drawing her delicate green-grey eyebrows -sharply towards the deep line in the middle of her forehead. She did not -look up but sat frowning sourly into her bowl of bread and milk, ladling -and pouring the milk from the spoon. - -Miriam kept a nervous eye on her acid preoccupation. No one had seen the -behaviour of her own face, how one corner of her mouth had shot up so -sharply as to bring the feeling of a deeply denting dimple in her cheek. -She sat regulating her breathing and carefully extracting the stone from -a prune. - -“Did ye speak to them?” asked Miss Jenny, fixing her tall sister over -her pince-nez. - -Miss Perne sat smilingly upright, her black eyes blinking rapidly at the -far-off bookshelves. - -“I did _not_ speak to them----” - -“Eh, Deborah, why not?” scolded Miss Jenny as Miss Perne drew breath. - -“I did _not_ speak to them,” went on Miss Deborah, beaming delightedly -at the bookcase, “for the very good reason that I was not sufficiently -near to them. I was walking upon the asphalt pathway surrounding the -lake and had just become engaged in conversation with Mrs. Brinkwell, -who had stopped me for the purpose of giving me further details with -regard to Constance’s prolonged absence from school, when I saw Polly -and Eunice apparently chasing one another across the recreation ground -in the condition I have described to you.” - -Miriam, who had felt Miss Haddie’s scorn-filled eyes playing watchfully -over her, sat pressing the sharp edge of her high heel into her ankle. - -“Eh, my dear, what a pity you couldn’t speak to them. They’ve no -business at all in the recreation ground where the rough boys go.” - -“Well, I have described to you the circumstances, my dear, and the -impossibility of my undertaking any kind of intervention.” - -“Eh, well, Deborah my dear, I think I should have done something. Don’t -you think you ought? Eh? Called someone perhaps--eh?--or managed to get -at the gels in some way--dear, dear, what is to be done? You see it is -hardly of any use to speak to them afterwards. You want to catch them -red-handed and make them feel ashamed of themselves.” - -“I am fully prepared to admit, my dear Jenny, the justice of all that -you say. But I can only repeat that in the circumstances in which I -found myself I was entirely unable to exercise any control whatever upon -the doings of the gels. They were running; and long before I was free -from Mrs. Brinkwell they were out of sight.” - -Miss Perne spoke in a clear, high, narrative tone that seemed each -moment on the point of delighted laughter, her delicate head held high, -her finely wrinkled face puckering with restrained pleasure. Miriam saw -vividly the picture in the park, the dreadful, mean, grubby lake, the -sad asphalt pathway all round it, the shabby London greenery, the -October wind rushing through it, Miss Perne’s high stylish arrowy figure -fluttered by the wind, swaying in her response to Mrs. Brinkwell’s -story, the dreadful asphalt playground away to the left, its gaunt -swings and bars--gallows.... Ingoldsby--the girls rushing across it, and -held herself sternly back from a vision of Miss Perne chasing the -delinquents down the wind. Why did Miss Perne speak so triumphantly? As -much as to say There, my dear Jenny, there’s a problem you can’t answer. -She enjoyed telling the tale and was not really upset about the girls. -She spoke exactly as if she were reading aloud from “Robinson Crusoe.” -Miss Haddie was watching again, flashing her eyes about as she gently -spooned up her bread and milk. Miriam wished she knew whether Miss -Haddie knew how difficult it was to listen gravely. She was evidently -angry and disgusted. But still she could watch. - -“Did ye go that way at all afterwards--the way the girls went?” - -“I did not,” beamed Miss Perne, turning to Miss Jenny as if waiting for -a judgment. - -“Well, eh, I’m sure, really, it’s most diffikilt. What is one to do with -these gels? Now, Miriam, here’s something for you to exercise your wits -upon. What would ye do, eh?” - -Miriam hesitated. Memories kept her dumb. Of course she had never rushed -about in a common park where rough boys came. At the same time--if the -girls wanted to rush about and scream and wear no hats nobody had any -right to interfere with them ... they ought to be suppressed though, -North London girls, capable of anything in the way of horridness ... the -Pernes did not seem to see how horrid the girls were in themselves, -common and knowing and horrid. “Dear, funny little O.M.’s” ... they were -something much more than that. They were wrong about the hats, but it -was good, heavenly to be here like this with them. She turned to Miss -Jenny, her mind in a warm confusion, and smiled into the little red face -peering delicately from out its disorderly Gorgon loops. - -“Well?” - -“My dear Jenny,” said Miss Haddie’s soft hollow voice, “how should the -child judge?” - -Miriam’s heart leapt. She smiled inanely and eagerly accepted a second -helping of blancmange suddenly proffered by Miss Perne, who was drawing -little panting breaths and blinking sharply at her. - -“Nonsense, Haddie. Come along, my dear, it’s a chance for you. Come -along.” - -“Tomboys,” said Miss Haddie indignantly. - -Miriam drew a breath. It was wrong, they were not tomboys--she knew they -had not run like tomboys--they had scuttled, she was sure--horrid girls, -that was what they were, nothing the Pernes could understand. The Pernes -ought not to be bothered with them. - -“Well,” she said, feeling a sudden security, “are we responsible for -them out of school hours?” - -Miss Haddie’s eyebrows moved nervously, and Miss Perne’s smile turned to -a dubious mouthing. - -“Eh, there you are. D’ye see, Deborah. That’s it. That’s the crucial -point. Are we responsible? I’m sure I can’t say. That places the whole -difficulty in a nutshell. Here are these gels, not even day boarders. -How far can we control their general behaviour? Eh? I’m sure I don’t -know.” - -“My dear Jenny,” said Miss Haddie quickly, her hollow voice -reverberating as if she were using a gargle, “it’s quite obvious that we -can’t have gels known to belong to the school running about in the park -with nothing on.” - -“I agree, my dear Haddie. But, as Jenny says, how are we to prevent such -conduct?” - -“Don’t let us lose sight of Miriam’s point. _Are_ we responsible for -their play-times? I suppose we’re _not_, you know, Deborah, really after -all. Not directly, perhaps. But sheerly we are _indirectly_ responsible. -Sheerly. We ought to be able to make it impossible for them to carry on -in this unseemly fashion.” - -“Yes, yes,” said Miss Deborah eagerly, “sheerly.” - -“Is it education?” suggested Miriam. - -“That’s it, my dear. It is education. That’s what’s wanted. That’s what -these gels want. I don’t know, though. All this talk of education. It -ought to be the thing. And yet look at these two gels. Both of them from -Miss Cass’s. There’s her school now. Famous all over London. Three -hundred gels. We’ve had several here. And they’ve all had that -objectionable noisy tone. Eh, Deborah? I don’t know. How is it to be -accounted for? Eh?” - -“I’ve never heard of Miss Cass’s,” said Miriam. - -“My _dear_ child! It’s not possible! D’ye mean to say ye don’t know Miss -Cass’s high school?” - -“Oh, if it’s a high school, of _course_.” - -All three ladies waited, with their eyes on her, making a chorus of -inarticulate sounds. - -“Oh well, high schools are simply fearful.” - -Miriam glowed in a tide of gentle cackling laughter. - -“Well, you know, I think there’s something in it,” giggled Miss Jenny -softly. “It’s the number perhaps. That’s what I always say, Deborah. -Treating the gels like soldiers. Like a regiment. D’ye see? No -individual study of the gels’ characters----” - -“Well. However that may be, I am sure of one thing. I am sure that on -Monday Polly and Eunice must be reprimanded. Severely reprimanded.” - -“Yes. I suppose they must. They’re nice gels at heart, you know. Both of -them. That’s the worst of it. Well, I hardly mean that. Only so often -the naughty gels are so thoroughly--well--nice, likable at bottom, ye -know, eh? I’m sure. I don’t know.” - - - 7 - -Miriam sat on in the schoolroom after supper with the newspaper spread -out on the brown American cloth table cover under the gas. She found a -long column headed “The Royal Commission on Education.” The Queen, then, -was interesting herself in education. But in England the sovereign had -no power, was only a figurehead. Perhaps the Queen had been advised to -interest herself in education by the Privy Council and the -Conservatives, people of leisure and cultivation. A commission was a -sort of command--it must be important, something the Privy Council had -decided and sent out in the Queen’s name. - -She read her column, sitting comfortlessly between the window and the -open door. As she read the room grew still. The memory of the talking -and clinking supper-table faded, and presently even the ticking of the -clock was no longer there. She raised her head at last. No wonder people -read newspapers. You could read about what was going on in the country, -actually what the Government was doing at that very moment. Of course; -men seemed to know such a lot because they read the newspapers and -talked about what was in them. But anybody could know as much as the men -sitting in the armchairs if they chose; read all about everything, -written down for everybody to see. That was the freedom of the -Press--Areopagitica, that the history books said so much about and was -one of those new important things, more important than facts and dates. -Like the Independence of Ireland. Yet very few people really talked like -newspapers. Only angry men with loud voices. Here was the free Press -that Milton had gone to prison for. Certainly it made a great -difference. The room was quite changed. There was hardly any pain in the -silent cane-seated chairs. There were really people making the world -better. Now. At last. Perhaps it was rather a happy fate to be a teacher -in the Banbury Park school and read newspapers. There were plenty of -people who could neither read nor write. Someone had a servant like that -who did all the marketing and never forgot anything or made any mistake -over the change--none the worse for it, pater said, people who wanted -book-learning could get it, there must always be hewers of wood and -drawers of water, _laissez faire_. But Gladstone did not believe that. -At this moment Gladstone was saying that because the people of England -as a whole were uneducated their “condition of ignorance” affected the -whole of the “body politic.” That was Gladstone. He had found that out -... with large moist silky eyes like a dog and pointed collars seeing -things as they were and going to change them.... Miriam stirred uneasily -as she felt the beating of her heart.... If only she were at home how -she could rush up and down the house and shout about it and shake Mary -by the shoulders. She shrank into herself and sat stiffly up, suddenly -discovering she was lounging over the table. As she moved she reflected -that probably Gladstone’s being so very dark made him determined that -things should not go on as they were. In that case Gladstonians would be -dark--perhaps not musical. Someone had said musical people were a queer -soft lot. _Laissez faire_. Lazy fair. But perhaps it was possible to be -fair and musical and to be a Gladstonian too. You can’t have your cake -and eat it. No. It was a good thing, one’s best self knew it was a good -thing that someone had found out why people were so awful; like a -dentist finding out a bad tooth however much it hurt. Only if education -was going to be the principal thing and all teachers were to be -‘qualified’ it was no use going on. Miss Jenny had said private schools -were doomed. - - - 8 - -For a long time she sat blankly contemplating the new world that was -coming. Everyone would be trained and efficient but herself. She was not -strong enough to earn a living and qualify as a teacher at the same -time. The day’s work tired her to death. She must hide somewhere.... She -would not be wanted.... If you were not wanted.... If you knew you were -not wanted--you ought to get out of the way. Chloroform. Someone had -drunk a bottle of carbolic acid. The clock struck ten. Gathering up the -newspaper she folded it neatly, put it on the hall table and went slowly -upstairs, watching the faint reflection of the half-lowered hall gas -upon the polished balustrade. The staircase was cold and airy. Cold -rooms and landings stretched up away above her into the darkness. She -became aware of a curious buoyancy rising within her. It was so strange -that she stood still for a moment on the stair. For a second, life -seemed to cease in her and the staircase to be swept from under her -feet.... “I’m alive.” ... It was as if something had struck her, struck -right through her impalpable body, sweeping it away, leaving her there -shouting silently without it. I’m alive.... I’m alive. Then with a thump -her heart went on again and her feet carried her body warm and happy and -elastic easily on up the solid stairs. She tried once or twice -deliberately to bring back the breathless moment standing still on a -stair. Each time something of it returned. “It’s me, _me;_ this is _me_ -being alive,” she murmured with a feeling under her like the sudden drop -of a lift. But her thoughts distracted her. They were eagerly talking to -her declaring that she had had this feeling before. She opened her -bedroom door very quietly. The air of the room told her that Nancie and -Beadie were asleep. Going lightly across to the chest of drawers -dressing-table by the window as if she were treading on air, she stood -holding its edge in the darkness. Two forgotten incidents flowed past -her in quick succession; one of waking up on her seventh birthday in the -seaside villa alone in a small dark room and suddenly saying to herself -that one day her father and mother would die and she would still be -there, and after a curious moment when the darkness seemed to move -against her, feeling very old and crying bitterly, and another of -standing in the bow of the dining-room window at Barnes looking at the -raindrops falling from the leaves through the sunshine and saying to -Eve, who came into the room as she watched, “D’you know, Eve, I feel as -if I’d suddenly wakened up out of a dream.” The bedroom was no longer -dark. She could see the outlines of everything in the light coming from -the street lamps through the half-closed Venetian blinds. Beadie sighed -and stirred. Miriam began impatiently preparing for bed without lighting -the gas. “What’s the use of feeling like that if it doesn’t stay? It -doesn’t change anything. Next time I’ll make it stay. It might whisk me -right away. There’s something in me that can’t be touched or altered. -Me. If it comes again. If it’s stronger every time.... Perhaps it goes -on getting stronger till you die.” - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - - 1 - -Wheezing, cook had spread a plaster of dampened ashy cinders upon the -basement schoolroom fire and gone bonily away across the oilcloth in her -heelless boots. As the door closed Miriam’s eye went up from her book to -the little slope of grass showing above the concrete wall of the area. -The grass gleamed along the edge of a bank of mist. In the mist the area -railings stood hard and solid against the edge of empty space. Several -times she glanced at the rich green, feeling that neither ‘emerald,’ -‘emerald velvet,’ nor ‘velvety enamel’ quite expressed it. She had not -noticed that there was a mist shutting in and making brilliant the -half-darkness of the room at breakfast-time, only feeling that for some -reason it was a good day. “It’s fog--there’s a sort of fog,” she said, -glowing. The fog made the room with the strange brilliant brown light on -the table, on the horsehair chairs, on the shabby length of brown and -yellow oilcloth running out to the bay of the low window, seem to be -rushing through space, alone. It was quite safe, going on its -journey--towards some great good. - -The back door, just across the little basement hall, scrooped inwards -across the oilcloth, jingling its little bell, and was banged to. The -flounter-_crack_ of a rain-cloak smartly shaken out was followed by a -gentle scrabbling in a shoe-box,--the earliest girl, peaceful and calm, -a wonderful sort of girl, coming into the empty basement quietly getting -off her things, with all the rabble of the school coming along the -roads, behind. The jingling door was pushed open again just as her -slippered feet ran upstairs. “Khoo--what a filthy day!” said a -vibrating hard mature voice. Miriam glanced at her time-table, -history--dictation--geography--sums--writing--and shrank to her utmost -air of preoccupation lest either of the elder girls should look in. - -Sounds increased in the little hall, loud abrupt voices, short rallying -laughs, the stubbing and stamping of feet on the oilcloth. At the -expected rattling of the handle of her own door she crouched over her -book. The door opened and was quietly closed again. A small figure flung -itself forward. Miriam was clutched by harsh serge-clad arms. As she -moved, startled, firm cracked lips were pressed against her cheekbone. -“Good morning, Burra,” she said, turning to put an arm round the child. -She caught a glimpse of broad cheeks bulging firmly against a dark bush -of short hair. Large fierce bloodshot eyes glared close to her own. -“Hoo--angel.” The little gasping body stiffened against her shoulder, -pinning down her arm. The crimson face tried to reach her breast. “Have -you changed your boots,” said Miriam coldly. “Hoo--hoo.” The short hard -fingers hurt her. “Go and get them off at once.” Head down Burra rushed -at the door, colliding with the incoming figure of a neat little girl -dressed in velvet-trimmed red merino, with a rose and white face and -short gentle gold hair. She put a little pile of books on the table and -stood still near to Miriam, with her hands behind her. They both looked -down the room out of the window, with quiet unsmiling faces. “What have -you been doing since Friday, Gertie?” Miriam said presently. “We went -for a walk,” said Gertie in a neat liquid little voice, dimpling and -faintly raising her eyebrows. - -The eight little girls who made up the upper class of the junior school -stood in a close row as near as possible to Miriam’s chair at the head -of the table. They were silent and fresh and eagerly crowded, waiting -for her to begin. She kept them silent for a few moments for the -pleasure of having them there with her. She knew that Miss Perne, -sitting in the window space with the youngest class drawn up in a -half-circle for their Scripture lesson, was an approving presence, -keeping her own little class at a level of quiet question and answer -that made a background rather than a disturbance for the adventure of -the elder girls. “Not too close together,” said Miriam at last, -gathering herself with a deep breath; “throw back your shoulders and -stand straight. Don’t lump down on your heels. Let your weight come on -the ball of your feet. Are you all all right? Don’t poke your heads -forward.” As the girls eagerly manoeuvred themselves, wilfully carrying -out her instructions even to turning their heads to face the opposite -wall, she caught most of the eyes in turn smiling their eager -affectionate conspiracy, and restraining her desire to get up then and -there and clasp the little figures one by one, began the lesson. Four of -the girls, two square-built Quakeresses with straight brown frocks, deep -slow voices and dreamy eyes, a white-faced, tawny-haired, thin child -with an eager stammer, and a brilliant little Jewess knew the “principal -facts and dates” of the reign of Edward I by rote backwards and forwards -in response to any form of question. Burra hung her head and knew -nothing. Beadie Featherwell, dreadfully tall, a head taller, with her -twelve years, than the tallest child in the lower school, knew no more -than Burra and stood staring at the wall and biting her lips. A stout -child with open mouth and snoring breath answered with perfect -exactitude from the book, but her answers bore no relationship to the -questions, and Gertie could only pipe replies if the questions were so -put as to contain part of the answer. The white-faced girl was beginning -to gnaw her fingers by the time the questioning was at an end. - -“Well now, what is the difficulty,” said Miriam, “of getting hold of the -events of this queer little reign?” Everybody laughed and was silent -again at once because Miriam’s voice went on, trying to interest both -herself and the successful girls in inventing ways of remembering all -the things that had to be “hooked on to the word Edward.” In less than -ten minutes even the stout snoring girl could repeat the reign -successfully, and for the remainder of their time they talked aimlessly. - -The children standing at ease, saying whatever occurred to them, even -the snoring girl secured from ridicule by Miriam’s consideration of -whatever was offered. Their adventure took them away from their subject -into what Miriam knew “clever” people would call “side issues.” “Nothing -is a side issue,” she told herself passionately with her eyes on the -green glare beyond the window. The breaking up of Miss Perne’s class -left the whole of the lower school on her hands for the rest of the -morning. - - - 2 - -By half-past twelve she was sitting alone and exhausted with aching -throat at her place at the head of the table. - -“Khoo, _isn’t_ it a filthy day!” Polly Allen, a short heavy girl with a -sallow pitted face, thin ill-nourished hair and kind swiftly moving grey -eyes, marched in out of the dark hall with flapping bootlaces. In the -bay she sat down and began to lace up her boots. The laces flicked -carelessly upon the linoleum as she threaded, profaning the little -sanctuary of the window space. “Oh me bones, me poor old bones,” she -muttered. “Eunice!” her hard mature voice vibrated through the room. -“Eunice Dupont!” - -“What’s the jolly row?” said a slow voice at the door. “Wot’s the bally -shindy, beloved?” - -“Like a really beautiful Cheshire cat,” Miriam repeated to herself, -propped studiously on her elbows shrinking, and hoping that if she did -not look round, Eunice’s carved brown curls, her gleaming slithering -opaque oval eyes and her short upper lip, the strange evil carriage of -her head, the wicked lines of her figure, would be withdrawn. “Cheshire, -Cheshire,” she scolded inwardly, feeling the pain in her throat -increase. - -“Nothing. Wait for me. That’s all. Oh, my lungs, bones _and_ et ceteras. -It’s old age, I suppose, Uncle William.” - -“Well, hurry your old age up, that’s all. I’m ready.” - -“Well, don’t go away, you funny cuckoo, you can wait, can’t you?” - -A party of girls straggled in one by one and drifted towards Polly in -the window space. - -“It’s the parties I look forward to.” - -“Oh, look at her tie!” - -“My tie? Six-three at Crisp’s.” - -The sounds of Polly’s bootlacing came to an end. She sat holding a -court. “Doesn’t look forward to parties? She must be a funny cuckoo!” - -“Dancing’s divine,” said a smooth deep smiling voice. “Reversing. Khoo! -with a fella. Khooo!” - -“You surprise me, Edie. You do indeed. Hoh. Shocking.” - -“Shocking? Why? What do you mean, Poll?” - -“Nothing. Nothing. Riang doo too.” - -“I don’t think dancing’s shocking. How can it be? You’re barmy, my son.” - -“Ever heard of Lottie Collins?” - -“Ssh. Don’t be silly.” - -“I don’t see what Lottie Collins has got to do with it. My mother thinks -dancing’s all right. That’s good enough for me.” - -“Well--I’m not your mother.” - -“Nor anyone else’s.” - -“Khoo, _Mabel_.” - -“Who wants to be anyone’s mother?” - -“Not me. Ug. Beastly little brats.” - -“Oh shut _up_. Oh you _do_ make me tired.” - -“Kids are jolly. A1. I hope I have lots.” - -Surprised into amazement, Miriam looked up to consult the face of Jessie -Wheeler, the last speaker--a tall flat-figured girl with a strong -squarish pale face, hollow cheeks, and firm colourless lips. Was it -being a Baptist that made her have such an extraordinary idea? Miriam’s -eyes sought refuge from the defiant beam of her sea-blue eyes in the -shimmering cloud of her hair. The strangest hair in the school; negroid -in its intensity of fuzziness, but saved by its fine mesh. - -“Don’t you adore kiddies, Miss Henderson?” - -“I think they’re rather nice,” said Miriam quickly, and returned to her -book. - -“I should jolly well think they were,” said Jessie fervently. - -“Hope your husband’ll think so too, my dear,” said Polly, getting up. - -“Oh, of course, I should only have them if the fellow wanted me to.” - -“You haven’t got a fella yet, madam.” - -“Of course not, cuckoo. But I shall.” - -“Plenty of time to think about that.” - -“Hoo. Fancy never having a fellow. I should go off my nut.” - -When they had all disappeared Miriam opened the windows. There was still -someone moving about in the hall, and as she stood in the instreaming -current of damp air looking wearily at the concrete--a girl came into -the room. “Can I come in a minute?” she said, advancing to the window. -“I want to speak to you,” she pursued when she reached the bay. She -stood at Miriam’s side and looked out of the window. Half-turning, -Miriam had recognized Grace Broom, one of the elder first-class girls -who attended only for a few subjects. She was a dark short-necked girl -with thick shoulders; a receding mouth and boldly drawn nose and chin -gave her a look of shrewd elderliness. The heavy mass of hair above the -broad sweep of her forehead, her heavy frame and flat-footed walk added -to this appearance. She wore a high-waisted black serge pinafore dress -with black crape vest and sleeves. - -“Do you mind me speaking to you?” she said in a hot voice. Her -black-fringed brown eyes were fixed on the garden railings where people -passed by and Miriam never looked. - -“No,” said Miriam shyly. - -“You know why we’re in mourning?” - -Miriam stood silent with beating heart, trying to cope with the -increasing invasion. - -“Our father’s dead.” - -Hurriedly Miriam noted the superstitious tone in the voice.... This is a -family that revels in plumes and hearses. She glanced at the stiff -rather full crape sleeve nearest to her and sought about in her mind for -help as she said with a blush, “Oh, I see.” - -“We’ve just moved.” - -“Oh yes, I see,” said Miriam, glancing fearfully at the heavy scroll of -profile and finding it expressive and confused. - -“We’ve got a house about a quarter as big as where we used to live.” - -Miriam found it impossible to respond to this confession and still tried -desperately to sweep away the sense of the figure so solidly planted at -her side. - -“I’ve asked our aunt if we can ask you to come to tea with us.” - -“Thank you very much,” said Miriam in one word. - -“When could you come?” - -“Oh, I’m afraid I couldn’t come. It would be impossible.” - -“Oh no. You must come. I shall ask Aunt Lucy to write to Miss Perne.” - -“I really couldn’t come. I shouldn’t be able to ask you back.” - -“That doesn’t matter,” panted the relentless voice. “I’ve wanted to -speak to you ever since you came.” - - - 3 - -When next Miriam saw the black-robed Brooms and their aunt file past the -transept where were the Wordsworth House sittings, she felt that to -visit them might perhaps not be the ordeal she had not dared to picture. -It would be strange. Those three heavy black-dressed women. Their small -new house. She imagined them sitting at tea in a little room. Why was -Grace so determined that she should sit there too? Grace had a life and -a home and was real. She did not know that things were awful. Nor did -Florrie Broom, nor the aunt. But yet they did not look like ‘social’ -people. They were a little different. Not worldly. Not pious either. Nor -intellectual. What could they want with her? She had soon forgotten them -and the congregation assumed its normal look. As the service went on the -thoughts came that came every Sunday. An old woman with a girl at her -side were the only people whose faces were within Miriam’s line of -vision from her place at the wall end of the Wordsworth House pew. The -people in front of them were not even in profile, and those behind were -hidden from her by the angle of the transept wall. To her right she -could just see rising above the heads in the rows of pews in front of -her the far end of the chancel screen. The faces grouped in the transept -on the opposite side of the church were a blur. The two figures sat or -knelt or stood in a heavy silence. They neither sang nor prayed. Their -faces remained unaltered during the whole service. To Miriam they were -its most intimate part. During the sermon she rarely raised her eyes -from the circle they filled for her as they sat thrown into relief by -the great white pillar. Their faces were turned towards the chancel. -They could see its high dim roof and distant altar, the light on the -altar, flowers, shining metal, embroideries, the maze of the east -window, the white choir. They showed no sign of seeing these things. The -old woman’s heavy face with its heavy jaw-bone seemed to have been dead -for years under its coffin-shaped black bonnet. Her large body was -covered by a mantle of thickly ribbed black material trimmed with braid -and bugles. That bright yellow colour meant liver. Whatever she had she -was dying of it. People were always dying when they looked like that. -But it was a bad way to die. The real way was the way of that lady -trailing about over the Heath near Roehampton, dying by inches of an -internal complaint, with her face looking fragile--like the little -alabaster chapelle in the nursery with a candle alight inside. She was -going to die, walking about alone on the Heath in the afternoons. Her -family going on as usual at home; the greengrocer calling. She knew that -everybody was alone and that all the fuss and noise people made all day -was a pretence.... What to _do_? To be walking about with a quiet face -meeting death. Nothing could be so alone as that. The pain, and -struggle, and darkness.... That was what the old woman feared. She did -not think about death. She was afraid and sullen all the time. Stunned, -sitting there with her cold common daughter. She had been common herself -as a girl, but more noisy, and she had married and never thought about -dying, and now she was dying and hating her cold daughter. The daughter, -sitting there with her stiff slatey-blue coat and skirt, her indistinct -hat tied with a thin harsh veil to her small flat head--what a home with -her in it all the time. She would never laugh. Her poor-looking cheeks -were yellowish, her fringe dry, without gloss. She would move her mouth -when she spoke, sideways with a snarling curl of one-half of the upper -lip and have that resentful way of speaking that all North Londoners -have, and the maddening North London accent. The old woman’s voice would -be deep and hollow.... The girl moving heavily about the house wearing -boots and stiff dresses and stiff stays showing their outline through -her clothes. They would be bitter to their servant and would not trust -her. What was the good of their being alive ... a house and a water -system and drains and cooking, and they would take all these things for -granted and grumble and snarl ... the gas meter man would call there. -Did men like that resent calling at houses like that? No. They’d just -say, “The ole party she sez to me.” How good they were, these men. Good -and kind and cheerful. Someone ought to prevent the extravagance of -keeping whole houses and fires going for women like that. They ought to -be in an institution. But they never thought about that. They were -satisfied with themselves. They were self-satisfied because they did not -know what they were like.... _Why_ should you have a house, and -tradesmen calling? - -“_Jehoiakin!_” The rush of indistinct expostulating sound coming from -the pulpit was accompanied for a moment by reverberations of the one -clearly bawled word. The sense of the large cold church, the great stone -pillars, the long narrow windows faintly stained with yellowish green, -the harsh North London congregation stirred and seemed to settle down -more securely. She saw the form of the vicar in the light grey stone -pulpit standing up short and neat against the cold grey stone wall, -enveloped in fine soft folds, his small puckered hands beautifully -cuffed, his plump crumpled little face, his small bald head fringed with -little saffron-white curls, his pink pouched busy mouth. What was it all -about? Pompous pottering, going on and on and on--in the Old Testament. -The whole church was in the Old Testament.... _Honour_ thy father and -thy mother. How horribly the words would echo through the great cold -church. _Why_ honour thy father and thy mother? What had they done that -was so honourable? Everybody was dying in cold secret fear. Christ, the -son of God, was part of it all, the same family ... vindictive. -Christmas and Easter, hard white cold flowers, no real explanation. “I -came not to destroy but to fulfil.” The stagnant blood flushed in her -face and tingled in her ears as the words occurred to her. Why didn’t -everybody die at once and stop it all? - - - 4 - -Miss Haddie paused at the door of her room and wheeled suddenly round to -face Miriam who had just reached the landing. - -“You’ve not seen my little corner,” she tweedled breathlessly, throwing -open her door. - -Miriam went in. “Oh how nice,” she said fearfully, breathing in the -freshness of a little square sun-filled muslin-draped, blue-papered -room. Taking refuge at the white-skirted window, she found a narrow view -of the park, greener than the one she knew. The wide yellow pathway -going up through the cricket ground had shifted away to the right. - -“It’s really a--a--a dressing-room from your room.” - -“Oh,” said Miriam vivaciously. - -“There’s a door, a--a--a door. I daresay you’ve noticed.” - -“Oh! _That’s_ the door in our cupboard!” The dim door behind the hanging -garments led to nothing but to Miss Haddie’s room. She began unbuttoning -her gloves. - -Miss Haddie was hesitating near a cupboard, making little sounds. - -“I suppose we must all make ourselves tidy now,” said Miriam. - -“I thought you didn’t look very happy in church this morning,” cluttered -Miss Haddie rapidly. - -Miriam felt heavy with anger. “Oh,” she said clumsily, “I had the most -frightful headache.” - -“Poor child. I thought ye didn’t look yerself.” - -The window was shut. But the room was mysteriously fresh, far away from -the school. A fly was hovering about the muslin window blind with little -reedy loops of song. The oboe ... in the quintet, thought Miriam -suddenly. “I don’t know,” she said, listening. The flies sang like this -at home. She had heard them without knowing it. She moved in her place -by the window. The fly swept up to the ceiling, wavering on a deep note -like a tiny gong.... Hot sunny refined lawns, roses in bowls on -summerhouse tea-tables, refined voices far away from the Caledonian -Road. - -“Flies don’t _buzz_,” she said passionately. “They don’t _buzz_. Why do -people say they buzz?” The pain pressing behind her temples slackened. -In a moment it would be only a glow. - -Miss Haddie stood with bent head, her face turning from side to side, -with its sour hesitating smile, her large eyes darting their strange -glances about the room. - -“Won’t you sit down a minute? They haven’t sounded the first bell yet.” -Miriam sat down on the one little white-painted, cane-seated chair near -the dressing-table. “Eh--eh,” said Miss Haddie, beginning to unfasten -her veil. “She doesn’t approve of general conversation,” thought Miriam. -“She’s a female. Oh well, she’ll have to see I’m not.” - -“What gave you yer headache?” - -“Oh well, I don’t know. I suppose I was wondering what it was all -about.” - -“I don’t think I quite understand ye.” - -“Well, I mean--what that old gentleman was in such a state of mind -about.” - -“D’ye mean Mr. La Trobe!” - -“Yes. Why do you laugh?” - -“I don’t understand what ye mean.” - -Miriam watched Miss Haddie’s thin fingers feeling for the pins in her -black toque. “Of course not,” she thought, looking at the unveiled -shrivelled cheek.... “thirty-five years of being a lady.” - -“Oh well,” she sighed fiercely. - -“What is it ye mean, my dear?” - ---‘couldn’t make head or tail of a thing the old dodderer said’--no ‘old -boy,’ no--these phrases would not do for Miss Haddie. - -“I couldn’t agree with _anything_ he said.” - -Miss Haddie sat down on the edge of the little white bed burying her -face in her hands and smoothing them up and down with a wiping movement. - -“One can always criticise a sermon,” she said reproachfully. - -“Well, why not?” - -“I mean to say ye _can_,” said Miss Haddie from behind her fingers, -“but, but ye shouldn’t.” - -“You can’t help it.” - -“Oh yes, ye can. If ye listen in the right spirit,” gargled Miss Haddie -hurriedly. - -“Oh, it isn’t only the sermon, it’s the whole thing,” said Miriam -crimsoning. - -“Ye mustn’t think about the speaker,” went on Miss Haddie in faint -hurried rebuke. “That’s wrong. That sets people running from church to -church. You must attend your own parish church in the right spirit, let -the preacher be who--who--what he may.” - -“Oh, but I think that’s positively _dangerous_,” said Miriam gravely. -“It simply means leaving your mind open for whatever they choose to say. -Like Rome.” - -“Eh, no--o--o,” flared Miss Haddie dropping her hands, “nonsense. Not -like Rome at all.” - -“But it _is_. It’s giving up your conscience.” - -“You’re very determined,” laughed Miss Haddie bitterly. - -“I’m certainly not going to give my mind up to a parson for him to do -what he likes with. That’s what it is. That’s what they do. I’ve seen it -again and again. I’ve heard people talking about sermons,” finished -Miriam with vivacious intentness. - -Miss Haddie sat very still with her hands once more pressed tightly -against her face. - -“Oh, my dear. This is a dreadful state of affairs. I’m afraid you’re all -wrong. That’s not it at all. If you listen only for the good, the good -will come to you.” - -“But these men don’t know. How should they? They don’t agree amongst -themselves.” - -“Oh, my dear, that is a very wrong attitude. How long have ye felt like -this?” - -“Oh, all my life,” responded Miriam proudly. - -“I’m very sorry, my dear.” - -“Ever since I can remember. Always.” - -There were ivory-backed brushes on the dressing-table. Miriam stared at -them and let her eyes wander on to a framed picture of an agonised -thorn-crowned head. - -“Were you--have ye--eh--have ye been confirmed?” - -“Oh yes.” - -“Did ye discuss any of your difficulties with yer vicar?” - -“Not I. I knew his mind too well. Had heard him preach for years. He -would have run round my questions. He wasn’t capable of answering them. -For instance, supposing I had asked him what I’ve _always_ wanted to -know. How can people, ordinary people, be expected to be like Christ, as -they say, when they think Christ was supernatural? Of course, if he was -supernatural it was easy enough for him to be as he was; if he was not -supernatural, then there’s nothing in the whole thing.” - -“My _dear_ child! I’m dreadfully sorry ye feel like that. I’d no idea ye -felt like that, poor child. I knew ye weren’t quite happy always; I mean -I’ve thought ye weren’t quite happy in yer mind sometimes, but I’d no -idea--eh, eh, have ye ever consulted anybody--anybody able to give ye -advice?” - -“There you are. That’s exactly the whole thing! _Who_ can one consult? -There isn’t anybody. The people who are qualified are the people who -have the thing called faith, which means that they beg the whole -question from the beginning.” - -“Eh--dear--me--Miriam--child!” - -“Well, I’m made that way. How can I help it if faith seems to me just an -abnormal condition of the mind with fanaticism at one end and -agnosticism at the other?” - -“My dear, ye believe in God?” - -“Well, you see, I see things like this. On one side a prime cause with a -certain object unknown to me, bringing humanity into being; on the other -side humanity, all more or less miserable, never having been consulted -as to whether they wanted to come to life. If that is belief, a South -Sea Islander could have it. But good people, people with faith, want me -to believe that one day God sent a saviour to rescue the world from sin -and that the world can never be grateful enough and must become as -Christ. Well. If God made people he is responsible and ought to save -them.” - -“What do yer parents think about yer ideas?” - -“They don’t know.” - -“Ye’ve never mentioned yer trouble to them?” - -“I did ask Pater once when we were coming home from the Stabat Mater -that question I’ve told you about.” - -“What did he say?” - -“He couldn’t answer. We were just by the gate. He said he thought it was -a remarkably reasonable dilemma. He laughed.” - -“And ye’ve never had any discussion of these things with him?” - -“No.” - -“Ye’re an independent young woman,” said Miss Haddie. - -Miriam looked up. Miss Haddie was sitting on the edge of her bed. A -faint pink flush on her cheeks made her eyes look almost blue. She was -no longer frowning. ‘I’m something new--a kind of different world. She -is wondering. I must stick to my guns,’ mused Miriam. - -“I’ll not ask ye,” said Miss Haddie quietly and cheerfully, “to expect -any help from yer fellow creatures since ye’ve such a poor opinion of -them. But ye’re not happy. Why not go straight to the source?” - -Miriam waited. For a moment the sheen on Miss Haddie’s silk sleeves had -distracted her by becoming as gentle and unchallenging as the light on -her mother’s dresses when there were other people in the room. She had -feared the leaping out of some emotional appeal. But Miss Haddie had a -plan. Strange secret knowledge. - -“I should like to ask ye a question.” - -“Yes?” - -“Well, I’ll put it in this way. While ye’ve watched the doings of yer -fellow creatures ye’ve forgotten that the truth ye’re seeking is a--a -Person.” - -Miriam pondered. - -“That’s where ye ought to begin. And how about--what--what about--I -fancy ye’ve been neglecting the--the means of grace.... I think ye -have.” Miss Haddie rose and crossed the room to a little bookshelf at -the head of her bed, talking happily on. ‘Upright as a dart,’ commented -Miriam mentally, waiting for the fulfilment of the promise of Miss -Haddie’s cheerfulness. Against the straight lines of the wall-paper Miss -Haddie showed as swaying slightly backwards from the waist as she moved. - -The first bell rang and Miriam got up to go. Miss Haddie came forward -with a small volume in her hands and held it out, standing close by her -and keeping her own hold on the volume. “Ye’ll find no argument in it. -Not but I think a few sound arguments would do ye good. Give it a try. -Don’t be stiff-necked. Just read it and see.” The smooth soft leather -slipped altogether into Miriam’s hands and she felt the passing contact -of a cool small hand and noted a faint fine scent coming to her from -Miss Haddie’s person. - -In her own room she found that the soft binding of the book had rounded -corners and nothing on the cover but a small plain gold cross in the -right-hand corner. She feasted her eyes on it as she took off her -things. When the second bell rang she glanced inside the cover. -“Preparation for Holy Communion.” Hurriedly hiding it in her long drawer -under a pile of linen, she ran to the door. Running back again she took -it out and put it, together with her prayer book and hymn book, in the -small top drawer. - - - 5 - -The opportunity to use Miss Haddie’s book came with Nancie’s departure -for a week-end visit. Beadie was in the deeps of her first sleep and the -room seemed empty. The book lay open on her bed. She noted as she placed -it there when she began preparing for bed that it was written by a -bishop, a man she knew by name as being still alive. It struck her as -extraordinary that a book should be printed and read while the author -was alive, and she turned away with a feeling of shame from the idea of -the bishop, still going about in his lawn sleeves and talking, while -people read a book that he had written in his study. But it was very -interesting to have the book to look at, because he probably knew about -modern people with doubts and would not think about them as -‘infidels’--‘an honest agnostic has my sympathy,’ he might say, and it -was possible he did not believe in eternal punishment. If he did he -would not have had his book printed with rounded edges and that -beautiful little cross.... “Line upon Line” and the “Pilgrim’s Progress” -were not meant for modern minds. Archbishop Whateley had a “chaste and -eloquent wit” and was a “great gardener.” A witty archbishop fond of -gardening was simply aggravating and silly. - -Restraining her desire to hurry, Miriam completed her toilet and at last -knelt down in her dressing-gown. Its pinked neck-frill fell heavily -against her face as she leant over the bed. Tucking it into her neck she -clasped her outstretched hands, leaving the book within the circle of -her arms. The attitude seemed a little lacking in respect for the -beautifully printed gilt-edged pages. Flattening her entwined hands -between herself and the edge of the bed, she read very slowly that just -as for worldly communion men cleanse and deck their bodies so for -attendance at the Holy Feast must there be a cleansing and decking of -the spirit. She knelt upright, feeling herself grow very grave. The cold -air of the bedroom flowed round her carrying conviction. Then that -dreadful feeling at early service, kneeling like a lump in the pew, too -late to begin to be good, the exhausted moments by the altar rail--the -challenging light on the shining brass rod, on the priest’s ring and the -golden lining of the cup, the curious bite of the wine in the -throat--the sullen disappointed home-coming; all the strange failure was -due to lack of preparation. She knelt for some moments, without -thoughts, breathing in the cleansing air, sighing heavily at intervals. -What she ought to do was clear. A certain time for preparation could be -taken every night, kneeling up in bed with the gas out if Nancie were -awake, and a specially long time on Saturday night. The decision took -her back to her book. She read that no man can cleanse himself, but it -is his part to examine his conscience and confess his sins with a prayer -for cleansing grace. - -The list of questions for self-examination as to sins past and present -in thought, word, and deed brought back the sense of her body with its -load of well-known memories. Could they be got rid of? She could cast -them off, feel them sliding away like Christian’s Burden. But was that -all? Was it being reconciled with your brother to throw off ill-feeling -without letting him know and telling him you were sorry for unkind deeds -and words? Those you met would find out the change; but all the -others--those you had offended from your youth up--all your family? -Write to them. A sense of a checking of the tide that had seemed to flow -through her finger-tips came with this suggestion, and Miriam knelt -heavily on the hard floor, feeling the weight of her well-known body. -The wall-paper attracted her attention and the honeycomb pattern of the -thick fringed white counterpane. She shut the little book and rose from -her knees. Moving quickly about the room, she turned at random to her -washhand basin and vigorously rewashed her hands in its soapy water. The -Englishman, she reflected as she wasted the soap, puts a dirty shirt on -a clean body, and the Frenchman a clean shirt on a dirty body. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - - 1 - -Miriam felt very proud of tall Miss Perne when she met her in the hall -at the beginning of her second term. Miss Perne had kissed her and held -one of her hands in two small welcoming ones, talking in a gleeful -voice. “Well, my dear,” she said at the end of a little pause, “you’ll -have a clear evening. The gels do not return until to-morrow, so you’ll -be able to unpack and settle yerself in comfortably. Come and sit with -us when ye’ve done. We’ll have supper in the sitting-room. M’yes.” -Smiling and laughing she turned eagerly away. “Of course, Miss Perne,” -said Miriam in a loud wavering voice, arresting her, “I enjoyed my -holidays; but I want to tell you how glad I am to be back here.” - -“Yes, yes,” said Miss Perne hilariously, “we’re all glad.” - -There was a little break in her voice, and Miriam saw that she would -have once more taken her in her arms. - -“I like being here,” she said hoarsely, looking down, and supported -herself by putting two trembling fingers on the hall table. She was -holding back from the gnawing of the despair that had made her sick with -pain when she heard once more the jingle-jingle, plock-plock of the -North London trams. This strong feeling of pride in Miss Perne was -beating it down. “I’m very glad, my dear,” responded Miss Perne in a -quivering gleeful falsetto. ‘If you can’t have what you like you must -like what you have,’ said Miriam over and over to herself as she went -with heavy feet up the four flights of stairs. - - - 2 - -A candle was already burning in the empty bedroom. “I’m back. I’m back. -It’s all over,” she gasped as she shut the door. “And a jolly good thing -too. This is my place. I can keep myself here and cost nothing and not -interfere with anybody. It’s just as if I’d never been away. It’ll -always be like that now. Short holidays, gone in a minute, and then the -long term. Getting out of touch with everything, things happening, -knowing nothing about them, going home like a visitor, and people -talking to you about things that are only theirs, now and not wanting to -hear about yours ... not about the little real everyday things that give -you an idea of anything but only the startling things that are not -important. You have to think of them though to make people -interested--awful, awful, awful, really only putting people further away -afterwards when you’ve told the thing and their interest dies down and -you can’t think of anything else to say. ‘Miss Perne’s hair is -_perfectly_ black--as black as coal, and she’s the eldest, just -_fancy_.’ Then everybody looks up. ‘My room’s downstairs, the room where -I teach, is in the basement. Directly breakfast is over----’ - -“‘Basement? What a pity! Basement rooms are awfully bad,’ and by the -time you have stopped them exclaiming and are just going to begin, you -see that they are fidgetting and thinking about something else.” ... Eve -had listened a little; because she wanted to tell everything about her -own place and had agreed that nobody really wanted to hear the -details.... The landscapes from the windows of the big country house, -all like pictures by Leader, the stables and laundry, a “laundry-maid” -who was sixty-five, the eldest pupil with seven muslin dresses in the -summer and being scolded because she swelled out after two helpings of -meat and two of pie and cream, and the youngest almost square in her -little covert coat and with a square face and large blue eyes and the -puppies who went out in a boat in Weston-super-Mare and were -sea-sick.... Eve did not seem to mind the family being common. Eve was -changing. “They are so jolly and strong. They enjoy life. They’re like -other people.” ... “D’you think that’s jolly? Would you like to be like -that--like other people?” “Rather. I mean to be.” “Do you?” “Of course -it can’t be done all at once. But it’s good for me to be there. It’s -awfully jolly to be in a house with no worry about money and plenty of -jolly food. Mrs. Green is so strong and clever. She can do anything. -She’s good for me, she keeps me going.” “Would you like to be like her?” -“Of course. They’re all so jolly--even when they’re old. Her sister’s -forty and she’s still pretty; not given up hope a bit.” “_Eve!_” - -Eve had listened; but not agreed about the teaching, about making the -girls see how easy it was to get hold of the things and then letting -them talk about other things. “I see how you do it, and I see why the -girls obey you, of course.” Funny. Eve thought it was hard and inhuman. -That’s what she really thought. - -Two newly purchased lengths of spotted net veiling were lying at the top -of her lightly packed trunk partly folded in uncrumpled tissue paper. -She took the crisp dye-scented net very gently into her hands, getting, -sitting alone on the floor by her trunk, the full satisfaction that had -failed her in the shop with Harriett’s surprise at her sudden desire -flowing over the counter and infecting the charm of baskets full of -cheap stockings and common bright-bordered handkerchiefs some of which -had borders so narrow and faint as really hardly to show when they were -scrumpled up. “Veiling, moddom? Yes, moddom,” the assistant had retorted -when she had asked for a veil. “Wot on _earth_ fower?” ... Without -answering Harriett she had bought two. There was no need to have bought -two. One could go back in the trunk as a store. They would be the -beginning of gradually getting a ‘suitable outfit,’ ‘things convenient -for you.’ She got up to put a veil in the little top drawer very -carefully; trying it across her face first. It almost obliterated her -features in the dim candle-light. It would be the greatest comfort on -winter walks, warm and like a rampart. ‘You’ve no idea how warm it keeps -you,’ she could say if anybody said anything. She arranged her clothes -very slowly and exactly in her half of the chest of drawers. “My -appointments ought to be an influence in the room--until all my things -are perfectly refined I shan’t be able to influence the girls as I -ought. I must begin it from now. At the end of the term I shall be -stronger. From strength to strength.” She wished she could go to bed at -once and prepare for to-morrow lying alone in the dark with the trams -going up and down outside as they would do night by night for the rest -of her life. - - - 3 - -The nine o’clock post brought a letter from Harriett. Miriam carried it -upstairs after supper. Placing it unopened on a chair by the head of her -bed under the gas bracket she tried to put away the warm dizzy feeling -it brought her in an elaborate toilet that included the placing in -readiness of everything she would need for the morning. When all was -complete she was filled with a peace that promised to remain -indefinitely as long as everything she had to do should be carried out -with unhurried exactitude. It could be made to become the atmosphere of -her life. It would come nearer and nearer and she would live more and -more richly into it until she had grown like those women who were called -blessed.... She looked about her. The plain room gave her encouragement. -It became the scene of adventure. She tip-toed about it in her -night-gown. All the world would come to her there. Flora knew. Flora was -the same, sweeping the floors and going to bed in an ugly room with two -other servants; but she was in it alone sometimes and knew.... - -“One verse to-night will be enough.” Opening her Bible at random she -read, “And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that -tribulation worketh patience.” Eagerly closing the volume she knelt down -smiling. “Oh do let tribulation work patience in me,” she murmured, -blushing, and got up staring gladly at the wall behind her bed. Shaking -her pillow lengthwise against the ironwork head of the bed, she -established herself with the bed-clothes neatly arranged, sitting up to -read Harriett’s letter before turning out the gas: - -“Toosday morning--You’ve not gone yet, old tooral-ooral, but I’m writing -this because I know you’ll feel blue this evening, to tell you not to. -Becos, it’s _no_ time to Easter and becos here’s a great piece of news. -The last of the Neville Subscription Dances comes in the Easter holidays -and _you’re to come_. D’ye ’_ear_, Liza? Gerald says if you can’t stump -up he’s going to get you a ticket, and anyhow you’ve got to come. You’ll -enjoy it just as much as you did the first and probably more, because -most of the same people will be there. So Goodni’. Mind the lamp-post. -Harry. P.S.--Heaps of love, old silly. You’re just the same. It’s no -bally good pretending you’re not.” - -Miriam felt her heart writhe in her breast. “Get thee behind me, Harry,” -she said, pushing the letter under the pillow and kneeling up to turn -out the gas. When she lay down again her mind was rushing on by -itself.... - - - 4 - -Harry doesn’t realise a bit how short holidays are. Easter--nothing. -Just one dance and never seeing the people again. I was right just now. -I was on the right track then. I must get back to that. It’s no good -giving way right or left; I must make a beginning of my own life.... I -wish I had been called “Patience” and had thin features.... Adam Street, -Adelphi.... “Now do you want to be dancing out there with one of those -young fellows, my dear girl--No? That’s a very good thing for me. I’m an -old buffer who can’t manage more than every other dance or so. But if -you do me the honour of sitting here while those young barbarians romp -their Lancers?... Ah, that is excellent--I want you to talk to me. You -needn’t mind me. Hey? What? I’ve known that young would-be -brother-in-law of yours for many years and this evening I’ve been -watching your face. Do you mind that, dear girl, that I’ve watched your -face? In all homage. I’m a staunch worshipper of womanhood. I’ve seen -rough life as well as suave. I’m an old gold-digger--Ustralia took many -years of my life; but it never robbed me of my homage for women.... - -“That’s a mystery to me. How you’ve allowed your young sister to -overhaul you. Perhaps you have a Corydon hidden away somewhere--or don’t -think favourably of the bonds of matrimony? Is that it? - -“You are not one to be easily happy. But that is no reason why you -should say you pity anyone undertaking to pass through life at your -side. Don’t let your thoughts and ideas allow you to miss happiness. -Women are made to find and dispense happiness. Even intense women like -yourself. But you won’t find it an easy matter to discover your mate. - -“Have you ever thought of committing your ideas to paper? There’s a book -called ‘The Confessions of a Woman.’ It had a great sale and its -composition occupied the authoress for only six weeks. You could write -in your holidays. - -“Think over what I’ve told you, my dear, dear girl. And don’t forget old -Bob Greville’s address. You’re eighteen. He’s only eight; eight Adam -Street. The old Adam. Waiting to hear from the new Eve--whenever she’s -unhappy.” - -He would be there again, old flatterer, with his steely blue eyes and -that strong little Dr. Conelly--Conelly who held you like a vice and -swung you round and kept putting you back from him to say things. “If -only you knew the refreshment it is to dance with a girl who can talk -sense and doesn’t _giggle_.... Yes yes yes, women are _physically_ -incapable of keeping a secret.... Meredith, he’s the man. He understands -woman as no other writer----” And the little dark man--De Vigne--who -danced like a snake.... Tired? Divinely drowsy? That’s what I like. -Don’t talk. Let yourself go. Little snail, Harriett called him. And that -giant, Conelly’s friend, whirling you round the room like a gust, with -his eyes fixed far away in the distance and dropping you with the -chaperones at the end of the dance. If _he_ had suddenly said “Let -yourself go” ... He too would have become a snail. God has made life -ugly. - -Dear Mr. Greville, dear _Bob_. Do you know anything about a writer -called Meredith? If you have one of his books I should like to read it. -No. Dear Bob, I’m simply wretched. I want to talk to you. - - - 5 - -Footsteps sounded on the stairs--the servants, coming upstairs to bed. -No dancing for them. Work, caps and aprons. And those strange rooms -upstairs to sleep in that nobody ever saw. Probably Miss Perne went up -occasionally to look at them and see that they were all right; clean and -tidy.... They had to go up every night, carrying little jugs of water -and making no noise on the stairs, and come down every morning. They -were the servants--and there would never be any dancing. Nobody thought -about them.... They could not get away from each other, and cook.... - -To be a general servant would be very hard work. Perhaps impossible. But -there would be two rooms, the kitchen at the bottom of the house, and a -bedroom at the top, your own. It would not matter what the family was -like. You would look after them, like children, and be alone to read and -sleep.... Toothache. Cheap dentists; a red lamp “painless extractions” -... having to go there before nine in the morning, and be alone in a -cold room, the dentist doing what he thought best and coming back to -your work crying with pain, your head wrapped up in a black shawl. -Hospitals; being quite helpless and grateful for wrong treatment; coming -back to work, ill. Sinks and slops ... quinsey, all alone ... growths -... consumption. - -Go to sleep. It would be better to think in the morning. But then this -clear first impression would be gone and school would begin and go on -from hour to hour through the term, mornings and afternoons and -evenings, dragging you along further and further and changing you, -months and months and years until it was too late to get back and there -was nothing ahead. - -The thing to remember, to keep in mind all the time was to save -money--not to spend a single penny that could be saved, to be determined -about that so that when the temptation came you could just hang on until -it was past. - -No fun in the holidays, no money spent on flowers and gloves and -blouses. Keeping stiff and sensible all the time. The family of the two -little Quaker girls had a home library, with lists, an inventory, -lending each other their books and talking about them, and albums of -pressed leaves and flowers with the Latin names, and went on wearing the -same plain clothes.... You had to be a certain sort of person to do -that. - -It would spoil the holidays to be like that at home. Every penny must be -spent, if only on things for other people. Not spending would bring a -nice strong secret feeling and a horrid expression into one’s eyes. - -The only way was to give up your family and stay at your work, like -Flora, and have a box of half-crowns in your drawer.... Spend and always -be afraid of “rainy days”--or save and never enjoy life at all. - -But going out now and again in the holidays, feeling stiff and -governessy and just beginning to learn to be oneself again when it was -time to go back was not enjoying life ... your money was spent and -people forgot you and you forgot them and went back to your convent to -begin again. - -Save, save. Sooner or later saving must begin. Why not at once. Harry, -it’s no good. I’m old already. I’ve got to be one of those who have to -give everything up. - -I wonder if Flora is asleep? - -That’s settled. Go to sleep. Get thee behind me. Sleep ... the dark cool -room. Air; we breathe it in and it keeps us alive. Everybody has air. -Manna. As much as you want, full measure, pressed down and running -over.... Wonderful. There is somebody giving things, whatever goes ... -something left.... Somebody seeing that things are not quite unbearable, -... but the pain, the pain all the time, mysterious black pain.... - -Into thy hands I commit my spirit. _In manus_ something.... You -understand if nobody else does. But _why_ must I be one of the ones to -give everything up? _Why_ do you make me suffer so? - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - - 1 - -Piecemeal statements in her letter home brought Miriam now and again a -momentary sense of developing activities, but she did not recognise the -completeness of the change in her position at the school until half-way -through her second term she found herself talking to the new pupil -teacher. She had heard apathetically of her existence during -supper-table conversations with the Misses Perne at the beginning of the -term. She was an Irish girl of sixteen, one of a large family living on -the outskirts of Dublin, and would be a boarder, attending the first -class for English and earning pocket money by helping with the lower -school. As the weeks went on and Miriam grew accustomed to hearing her -name--Julia Doyle--she began to associate it with an idea of charm that -brought her a sinking of heart. She knew her position in the esteem of -the Pernes was secure. But this new young teacher would work strange -miracles with the girls. She would do it quite easily and unconsciously. -The girls would be easy with her and would laugh and one would have to -hear them. - -However, when at last her arrival was near and the three ladies -discussed the difficulty of having her met, Miriam plied them until they -reluctantly gave her permission to go, taking a workman’s train that -would bring her to Euston station at seven o’clock in the morning. - -At the end of an hour spent pacing the half-dark platform exhausted with -cold and excitement and the monotonously reiterated effort to imagine -the arrival of one of Mrs. Hungerford’s heroines from a train journey, -Miriam, whose costume had been described in a letter to the girl’s -mother, was startled wandering amidst the vociferous passengers at the -luggage end of the newly arrived train by a liquid colourless intimate -voice at her elbow. “I think I’ll be right to say how d’you do.” - -She turned and saw a slender girl in a middle-aged toque and an ill-cut -old-fashioned coat and skirt. What were they to say to each other, two -dowdy struggling women both in the same box? She must get her to Banbury -Park as quickly as possible. It was dreadful that they should be seen -together there on the platform in their ragbag clothes. At any rate they -must not talk. “Oh, I’m very pleased to see you. I’m glad you’ve come. I -suppose the train must have been late,” she said eagerly. - -“Ah, we’ll be late I dare venture. Haven’t an idea of the hour.” - -“Oh, yes,” said Miriam emphatically, “I’m sure the train’s _late_.” - -“Where’ll we find a core?” - -“What?” - -“We’ll need a core for the luggage.” - -“Oh yes, a cab. We must get a cab. We’d better find a porter.” - -“Ah, I’ve a man here seeking out my things.” - -Inside the cab Julia’s face shone chalky white, and Miriam found that -her eyes looked like Weymouth Bay--the sea in general, on days when -clouds keep sweeping across the sun. When she laughed she had dimples -and the thick white rims of her eyelids looked like piping cord round -her eyes. But she was not pretty. There were lines in her cheeks as well -as dimples, and there was something apologetic in her little gusty -laugh. She laughed a good deal as they started off, saying things, -little quiet remarks that Miriam could not understand and that did not -seem to be answers to her efforts to make conversation. Perhaps she was -not going the right way to make her talk. Perhaps she had not said any -of the things she thought she had said. - -She cleared her throat and looked out of the window thinking over a -possible opening. - -“I’ve never been so glad over anything in my life as hearing you’re one -of the teachers,” said Julia presently. - -“The Pernes call me by my name, so I suppose you will too as you’re a -teacher,” said Miriam headlong. - -“That’s awfully sweet of you,” replied Julia laughing and blushing a -clear deep rose. “It makes anyone feel at home. I’ll be looking out till -I hear it.” - -“It’s----” Miriam laughed. “Isn’t it funny that people don’t like saying -their own names.” - -“I wish you’d tell me about your teaching. I’m sure you’re awf’ly -clever.” - -Miriam gave her a list of the subjects she taught in the lower school. - -“You know all there is to know.” - -“Oh well, and then I take the top girls now for German and the second -class for French reading, and two arithmetic classes in the upper -school, and a ‘shell’ of two very stupid girls to help with their -College of Preceptors.” - -“You’re frightening me.” - - - 2 - -Miriam looked out of the cab window, hardly hearing Julia’s next remark. -The drab brick walls of King’s Cross station were coming towards them. -When they had got themselves and Julia’s luggage out of the cab and into -the train for Banbury Park she was still pondering uneasily over her own -dislike of appearing as a successful teacher. This stranger saw her only -as a teacher. That was what she had become. If she was really a teacher -now, just that in life, it meant that she must decide at once whether -she really meant to teach always. Everyone now would think of her as a -teacher; as someone who was never going to do anything else, when really -she had not even begun to think about doing any of the things that -professional teachers had to do. She was not qualifying herself for -examinations in her spare time as her predecessor had done. Supposing -she did. This girl Julia would certainly expect her to be doing so. What -then? If she were to work very hard and also develop her character, when -she was fifty she would be like Miss Cramp; good enough to be a special -visiting teacher, giving just a few lectures a week at several schools, -talking in a sad voice, feeling ill and sad, having a yellow face and -faded hair and not enough saved to live on when she was too old to work. -Prospect, said the noisy train. That was it, there was no prospect in -it. There was no prospect in teaching. What was there a prospect in, -going along in this North London train with this girl who took her at -her word? - -She turned eagerly to Julia who was saying something and laughing -unconcernedly as she said it. “If you’d like to know what it is I’ve -come over for I’ll tell you at once. I’ve come over to learn Chopang’s -Funeral March. It’s all I think about. When I can play Chopang’s Funeral -March I’ll not call the Queen me aunt.” - - - 3 - -“Well, my dear child, I’m sure I wish I could arrange your life for ye,” -said Miss Haddie that evening. She was sitting on the edge of the -schoolroom table, having come in at ten o’clock to turn out the gas and -found Miriam sitting unoccupied. The room was cold and close with the -long-burning gas, and Miriam had turned upon her with a scornful half -laugh when she had playfully exclaimed at finding her there so late. -Miss Haddie was obviously still a little excited. She had presided at -schoolroom tea and Julia had filled the room with Dublin--the bay, the -streets, the jarveys and their outside cars, her journey, the channel -boat, her surprise at England. - -“Eh, what’s the matter, Miriam, my dear?” For some time Miriam had -parried her questions, fiercely demanding that her mood should be -understood without a clue. Presently they had slid into an irritated -discussion of the respective values of sleep before and sleep after -midnight, in the midst of which Miriam had said savagely, “I wish to -goodness I knew what to do about things.” - -Miss Haddie’s kindly desire gave her no relief. What did she mean but -the hopelessness of imagining that anybody could do anything about -anything. Nobody could ever understand what anyone else really wanted. -Only some people were fortunate. Miss Haddie was one of the fortunate -ones. She had her share in the school and many wealthy relatives and the -very best kind of good clothes and a good deal of strange old-fashioned -jewelry. And whatever happened there was money and her sisters and -relatives to look after her without feeling it a burden because of the -expense. And there she sat at the table looking at what she thought she -could see in another person’s life. - -“If only one knew in the least what one _ought_ to do,” said Miriam -crossly. - -Miss Haddie began speaking in a halting murmur, and Miriam rushed on -with flaming face. “I suppose I shall have to go on teaching all my -life, and I can’t think how on earth I’m going to do it. I don’t see how -I can work in the evenings, my eyes get so tired. If you don’t get -certificates there’s no prospect. And even if I did my throat is simply -agonies at the end of each morning.” - -“Eh! my dear child! I’m sorry to hear that. Why have ye taken to that? -Is it something fresh?” - -“Oh no, my throat always used to get tired. Mother’s is the same. We -can’t either of us talk for ten minutes without feeling it. It’s -perfectly awful.” - -“But, my dear, oughtn’t ye to see someone--have some advice? I mean ye -ought to see a doctor.” - -Miriam glanced at Miss Haddie’s concerned face and glanced away with a -flash of hatred. “Oh no. I s’pose I shall manage.” - -“D’ye think yer wise--letting it go on?” - -Miriam made no reply. - -“Well now, my dear,” said Miss Haddie, getting down off the table, “I -think it’s time ye went to bed.” - -“Phm,” said Miriam impatiently, “I suppose it is.” - -Miss Haddie sat down again. “I wish I could help ye, my dear,” she said -gently. - -“Oh, no one can do that,” said Miriam in a hard voice. - -“Oh yes,” murmured Miss Haddie cheerfully, “there’s One who can.” - -“Oh yes,” said Miriam, tugging a thread out of the fraying edge of the -table cover. “But it’s practically impossible to discover what on earth -they mean you to do.” - -“N--aiche, my dear,” she said in an angry guttural, “ye’re always led.” - -Miriam tugged at the thread and bit her lips. - -“Why do ye suppose ye’ll go on teaching all yer life? Perhaps ye’ll -marry.” - -“Oh no.” - -“Ye can’t tell.” - -“Oh, I never shall--in any case now.” - -“Have ye quarrelled with him?” - -“Oh, well, _him_,” said Miriam roundly, digging a pencil point between -the grainings of the table-cover. “It’s _they_, I think, goodness knows, -I don’t know; it’s so perfectly extraordinary.” - -“You’re a very funny young lady.” - -“Well, I shan’t marry _now_ anyhow.” - -“Have ye refused somebody?” - -“Oh well--there was someone--who went away--went to America--who was -coming back to see me when he came back----” - -“Yes, my dear?” - -“Well, you see, he’s handed in his checks.” - -“Eh, my dear--I don’t understand,” said Miss Haddie thwarted and -frowning. - -“Aw,” said Miriam, jabbing the table, “kicked the bucket.” - -“My dear child, you use such strange language--I can’t follow ye.” - -“Oh well, you see, he went to America. It was in New York. I heard about -it in January. He caught that funny illness. You know. Influenza--and -died.” - -“Eh, my poor dear child, I’m very sorry for ye. Ye _do_ seem to have -troubles.” - -“Ah well, yes, and then the queer thing is that he was really only the -friend of my real friend. And it was my real friend who told me about it -and gave me a message he sent me and didn’t like it, of course. -Naturally.” - -“Well _really_, Miriam,” said Miss Haddie, blushing, with a little laugh -half choked by a cough. - -“Oh yes, then of course one meets people--at dances. It’s appalling.” - -“I wish I understood ye, my dear.” - -“Oh well, it doesn’t make any difference now. I shall hardly ever meet -anybody now.” - -Miss Haddie pondered over the table with features that worked slightly -as she made little murmuring sounds. “Eh no. Ye needn’t think that. Ye -shouldn’t think like that.... Things happen sometimes ... just when ye -least expect it.” - -“Not to me.” - -“Oh, things will happen to ye--never fear.... Now, my dear child, trot -along with ye off to bed.” - -Miriam braced herself against Miss Haddie’s gentle shaking of her -shoulders and the quiet kiss on her forehead that followed it. - - - 4 - -The strengthening of her intimacy with Miss Haddie was the first of the -many changes brought to Miriam by Julia Doyle. At the beginning of the -spring term her two room mates were transferred to Julia’s care. The two -back rooms became a little hive of girls over which Julia seemed to -preside. She handled them all easily. There was rollicking and laughter -in the back bedrooms, but never any sign that the girls were “going too -far,” and their escapades were not allowed to reach across the landing. -Her large front room was, Miriam realised as the term went on, being -secretly and fiercely guarded by Julia. - -The fabric of the days too had changed. All day--during the midday -constitutional when she often found Julia at her side walking in her -curious springy lounging way and took the walk in a comforting silence -resting her weary throat, during the evenings of study and the -unemployed intervals of the long Sundays--Julia seemed to come between -her and the girls. She mastered them all with her speech and laughter. -Miriam felt that when they were all together she was always in some -hidden way on the alert. She never jested with Miriam but when they were -alone, and rarely then. Usually she addressed her in a low tone and as -if half beside herself with some overpowering emotion. It was owing too -to Julia’s presence in the school that an unexpected freedom came to -Miriam every day during the hour between afternoon school and tea-time. - -Persuaded by the rapid increase towards the end of the winter term of -the half-feverish exhaustion visiting her at the end of each day she had -confided in her mother, who had wept at this suggestion of an attack on -her health and called in the family doctor. “More air,” he said testily, -“air and movement.” Miriam repeated this to Miss Perne, who at once -arranged that she should be free if she chose to go out every afternoon -between school and tea-time. - -At first she went into the park every day. It was almost empty during -the week at that hour. The cricket green was sparsely decked with -children and their maids. A few strollers were left along the poplar -avenue and round the asphalt-circled lake; but away on the further -slopes usually avoided in the midday walks because the girls found them -oppressive, Miriam discovered the solitary spring air. Day by day she -went as if by appointment to meet it. It was the same wandering eloquent -air she had known from the beginning of things. Whilst she walked along -the little gravel pathways winding about over the clear green slopes in -the flood of afternoon light it stayed with her. The day she had just -passed through was touched by it; it added a warm promise to the hours -that lay ahead--tea-time, the evening’s reading, the possible visit of -Miss Haddie, the quiet of her solitary room, the coming of sleep. - -One day she left the pathways and strayed amongst pools of shadow lying -under the great trees. As she approached the giant trunks and the detail -of their shape and colour grew clearer her breathing quickened. She felt -her prim bearing about her like a cloak. The reality she had found was -leaving her again. Looking up uneasily into the forest of leaves above -her head she found them strange. She walked quickly back into the -sunlight, gazing reproachfully at the trees. There they were as she had -always known them; but between them and herself was her governess’ veil, -close drawn, holding them sternly away from her. The warm comforting -communicative air was round her, but she could not recover its secret. -She looked fearfully about her. To get away somewhere by herself every -day would not be enough. If that was all she could have, there would -come a time when there would be nothing anywhere. For a day or two she -came out and walked feverishly about in other parts of the park, -resentfully questioning the empty vistas. One afternoon, far away, but -coming towards her as if in answer to her question, was the figure of a -man walking quickly. For a moment her heart cried out to him. If he -would come straight on and, understanding, would walk into her life and -she could face things knowing that he was there, the light would come -back and would stay until the end--and there would be other lives, on -and on. She stood transfixed, trembling. He grew more and more distinct -and she saw a handbag and the outline of a bowler hat; a North London -clerk hurrying home to tea. With bent head she turned away and dragged -her shamed heavy limbs rapidly towards home. - - - 5 - -Early in May came a day of steady rain. Enveloped in a rain-cloak and -sheltered under her lowered umbrella she ventured down the hill towards -the shops. Near the railway arch the overshadowed street began to be -crowded with jostling figures. People were pouring from the city trams -at the terminus and coming out of the station entrance in a steady -stream. Hard intent faces, clashing umbrellas, the harsh snarling -monotone of the North London voice gave her the feeling of being an -intruder. Everything seemed to wonder what she was doing down there -instead of being at home in the schoolroom. A sudden angry eye above a -coarse loudly talking mouth all but made her turn to go with instead of -against the tide; but she pushed blindly on and through and presently -found herself in a quiet side street just off the station road looking -into a shop window.... “1 lb. super cream-laid boudoir note--with -envelopes--1s.” Her eyes moved about the window from packet to packet, -set askew and shining with freshness. If she had not brought so much -note-paper from home she could have bought some. Perhaps she could buy a -packet as a Christmas present for Eve and have it in her top drawer all -the time. But there was plenty of note-paper at home. She half turned to -go, and turning back fastened herself more closely against the window -meaninglessly reading the inscription on each packet. Standing back at -last she still lingered. A little blue-painted tin plate sticking out -from the side of the window announced in white letters “Carter -Paterson.” Miriam dimly wondered at the connection. Underneath it hung a -cardboard printed in ink, “Circulating Library, 2d. weekly.” This was -still more mysterious. She timidly approached the door and met the large -pleasant eye of a man standing back in the doorway. - -“Is there a library here?” she said with beating heart. - -She stood so long reading and re-reading half familiar titles, “Cometh -up as a Flower,” “Not like other Girls,” “The Heir of Redcliffe,” books -that she and Harriett had read and books that she felt were of a similar -type, that tea was already on the schoolroom table when she reached -Wordsworth House with an unknown volume by Mrs. Hungerford under her -arm. Hiding it upstairs, she came down to tea and sat recovering her -composure over her paper-covered “Cinq Mars,” a relic of the senior -Oxford examination now grown suddenly rich and amazing. To-day it could -not hold her. “The Madcap” was upstairs, and beyond it an unlimited -supply of twopenny volumes and Ouida. Red-bound volumes of Ouida on the -bottom shelf had sent her eyes quickly back to the safety of the upper -rows. Through the whole of tea-time she was quietly aware of a -discussion going on at the back of her mind as to who it was who had -told her that Ouida’s books were bad; evil books. She remembered her -father’s voice saying that Ouida was an extremely able woman, quite a -politician. Then of course her books were all right, for grown-up -people. It must have been someone at a dance who had made her curious -about them, someone she had forgotten. In any case, whatever they were, -there was no one now to prevent her reading them if she chose. She would -read them if she chose. Write to Eve about it first. No. Certainly not. -Eve might say “Better not, my dear. You will regret it if you do. You -won’t be the same.” Eve was different. She must not be led by Eve in any -case. She must leave off being led by Eve--or anybody. The figures -sitting round the table, bent over their books, quietly disinclined for -conversation or mischief under the shrewd eye of Miss Haddie, suddenly -looked exciting and mysterious. But perhaps the man in the shop would be -shocked. It would be impossible to ask for them; unless she could -pretend she did not know anything about them. - - - 6 - -For the last six weeks of the summer term she sat up night after night -propped against her upright pillow and bolster under the gas jet reading -her twopenny books in her silent room. Almost every night she read until -two o’clock. She felt at once that she was doing wrong; that the secret -novel-reading was a thing she could not confess, even to Miss Haddie. -She was spending hours of the time that was meant for sleep, for restful -preparation for the next day’s work, in a “vicious circle” of -self-indulgence. It was sin. She had read somewhere that sin promises a -satisfaction that it is unable to fulfil. But she found when the house -was still and the trams had ceased jingling up and down outside that she -grew steady and cool and that she rediscovered the self she had known at -home, where the refuge of silence and books was always open. Perhaps -that self, leaving others to do the practical things, erecting a little -wall of unapproachability between herself and her family that she might -be free to dream alone in corners had always been wrong. But it was -herself, the nearest most intimate self she had known. And the discovery -that it was not dead, that her six months in the German school and the -nine long months during which Banbury Park life had drawn a veil even -over the little slices of holiday freedom, had not even touched it, -brought her warm moments of reassurance. It was not perhaps a “good” -self, but it was herself, her own familiar secretly happy and rejoicing -self--not dead. Her hands lying on the coverlet knew it. They were again -at these moments her own old hands, holding very firmly to things that -no one might touch or even approach too nearly, things, everything, the -great thing that would some day communicate itself to someone through -these secret hands with the strangely thrilling finger-tips. Holding -them up in the gaslight she dreamed over their wisdom. They knew -everything and held their secret, even from her. She eyed them, communed -with them, passionately trusted them. They were not “artistic” or -“clever” hands. The fingers did not “taper” nor did the outstretched -thumb curl back on itself like a frond--like Nan Babington’s. They were -long, the tips squarish and firmly padded, the palm square and bony and -supple, and the large thumb joint stood away from the rest of the hand -like the thumb joint of a man. The right hand was larger than the left, -kindlier, friendlier, wiser. The expression of the left hand was less -reassuring. It was a narrower, lighter hand, more flexible, less -sensitive and more even in its touch--more smooth and manageable in -playing scales. It seemed to belong to her much less than the right; but -when the two were firmly interlocked they made a pleasant curious whole, -the right clasping more firmly, its thumb always uppermost, its fingers -separated firmly over the back of the left palm, the left hand clinging, -its fingers close together against the hard knuckles of the right. - -It was only when she was alone and in the intervals of quiet reading -that she came into possession of her hands. With others they oppressed -her by their size and their lack of feminine expressiveness. No one -could fall in love with such hands. Loving her, someone might come to -tolerate them. They were utterly unlike Eve’s plump, white, inflexible -little palms. But they were her strength. They came between her and the -world of women. They would be her companions until the end. They would -wither. But the bones would not change. The bones would be laid -unchanged and wise, in her grave. - - - 7 - -She began her readings with Rosa Nouchette Carey. Reading her at home, -after tea by the breakfast-room fireside with red curtains drawn and the -wind busy outside amongst the evergreen shrubs under the window, it had -seemed quite possible that life might suddenly develop into the thing -the writer described. From somewhere would come an adoring man who -believed in heaven and eternal life. One would grow very good; and after -the excitement and interest had worn off one would go on, with firm -happy lips being good and going to church and making happy matches for -other girls or quietly disapproving of everybody who did not believe -just in the same way and think about good girls and happy marriages and -heaven, keeping such people outside. Smiling, wise and happy inside in -the warm; growing older, but that did not matter because the adored man -was growing older too. - -Now it had all changed. The quiet house and fireside, gravity, -responsibility, a greying husband, his reading profile always dear, both -of them going on towards heaven, “all tears wiped away,” tears and -laughter of relief after death, still seemed desirable, but “women.” ... -Those awful, awful women, she murmured to herself stirring in bed. I -never thought of all the _awful_ women there would be in such a life. I -only thought of myself and the house and the garden and the man. What an -escape! Good God in heaven, what an escape! Far better to be alone and -suffering and miserable here in the school, alive.... - -Then there’ll be whole heaps of books, millions of books I can’t -read--perhaps nearly all the books. She took one more volume of Rosa, in -hope, and haunted its deeps of domesticity. “I’ve gone too far.” ... If -Rosa Nouchette Carey knew me, she’d make me one of the bad characters -who are turned out of the happy homes. I’m some sort of bad unsimple -woman. Oh, damn, damn, she sighed. I don’t know. Her hands seemed to -mock her, barring her way. - - - 8 - -Then came a series of Mrs. Hungerford--all the volumes she had not -already read. She read them eagerly, inspirited. The gabled country -houses, the sunlit twilit endless gardens, the deep orchards, the -falling of dew, the mists of the summer mornings, masses of flowers in -large rooms with carved oaken furniture, wide staircases with huge -painted windows throwing down strange patches of light on shallow -thickly carpetted stairs. These were the things she wanted; gay -house-parties, people with beautiful wavering complexions and masses of -shimmering hair catching the light, fragrant filmy diaphanous dresses; -these were the people to whom she belonged--a year or two of life like -that, dancing and singing in and out the houses and gardens; and then -marriage. Living alone, sadly estranged, in the house of a husband who -loved her and with whom she was in love, both of them thinking that the -other had married because they had lost their way in a thunderstorm or -spent the night sitting up on a mountain-top or because of a clause in a -will, and then one day both finding out the truth.... That is what is -meant by happiness ... happiness. But these things could only happen to -people with money. She would never have even the smallest share of that -sort of life. She might get into it as a governess--some of Mrs. -Hungerford’s heroines were governesses--but they had clouds of hair and -were pathetically slender and appealing in their deep mourning. She read -volume after volume, forgetting the titles--the single word ‘Hungerford’ -on a cover inflamed her. Her days became an irrelevance and her evenings -a dreamy sunlit indulgence. Now and again she wondered what Julia Doyle -would think if she knew what she was reading and how it affected -her--whether she would still watch her in the way she did as she went -about her work pale and tired, whether she would go on guarding her so -fiercely? - - - 9 - -At last exasperated, tired of the mocking park, the mocking happy books, -she went one day to the lower shelf, and saying very calmly, “I think -I’ll take a Ouida,” drew out “Under Two Flags” with a trembling hand. -The brown-eyed man seemed to take an interminable time noting the number -of the book, and when at last she got into the air her limbs were heavy -with sadness. That night she read until three o’clock and finished the -volume the next night at the same hour, sitting upright when the last -word was read, refreshed. From that moment the red-bound volumes became -the centre of her life. She read “Moths” and “In Maremma” slowly word by -word, with an increasing steadiness and certainty. The mere sitting with -the text held before her eyes gave her the feeling of being strongly -confronted. The strange currents which came whenever she was alone and -at ease flowing to the tips of her fingers, seemed to flow into the book -as she held it and to be met and satisfied. As soon as the door was shut -and the gas alight, she would take the precious, solid trusty volume -from her drawer and fling it on her bed, to have it under her eyes while -she undressed. She ceased to read her Bible and to pray. Ouida, Ouida, -she would muse with the book at last in her hands. I want bad -things--strong bad things.... It doesn’t matter, Italy, the sky, bright -hot landscapes, things happening. I don’t care what people think or say. -I am older than anyone here in this house. I am myself. - - - 10 - -... If you had loved, if you loved, you could die, laughing, gasping out -your life on a battlefield, fading by inches in a fever-swamp, or living -on, going about seamed and old and ill. Whatever happened to you, if you -had cared, fearing nothing, neither death nor hell. God came. He would -welcome and forgive you. Life, struggle, pain. Happy laughter with -twisted lips--all waiting somewhere outside, beyond. It would come. It -must be made to come. - - - 11 - -Who was there in the world? Ted had failed. Ted belonged to the Rosa -Nouchette Carey world. He would marry one of those women. Bob knew. Bob -Greville’s profile was real. Sitting on the wide stairs at the Easter -Subscription Dance, his soft fine white hair standing up, the straight -line of polished forehead, the fine nose and compressed lips, the sharp -round chin with the three firm folds underneath it, the point of his -collar cutting across them, the keen blue eyes looking straight out -ahead, across Australia. The whole face listening. He had been listening -to her nearly all the evening. Now and again quiet questions. She could -go on talking to him whenever she liked. Go to him and go on talking, -and talking, safely, being understood. Talking on and on. But he was -old. Living old and alone in chambers in Adam Street--Adelphi. - - - 12 - -One day just before the end of the summer term, Miss Perne asked Miriam -to preside over the large schoolroom for the morning. The first and -second-class girls were settled there at their written examination in -English history. Rounding the schoolroom door she stood for a moment in -the doorway. The sunlight poured in through the wide bay window and the -roomful of quiet girls seemed like a field. Jessie Wheeler’s voice broke -the silence. “It’s the Hen,” she shouted gently. “It’s the blessed Hen! -Oh, _come_ on. You going to sit with us?” - -“Yes. Be quiet,” said Miriam. - -“Oh, thank goodness,” groaned Jessie, supported by groans and murmurs -from all over the room. - -“Be quiet, girls, and get on with your papers,” said Miriam in a tone of -acid detachment from the top of her tide. She sat feeling that her arms -were round the entire roomful, that each girl struggling alone with the -list of questions was resting against her breast. “I’m going away from -them. I must be going away from them,” ran her thoughts regretfully. -“They can’t keep me. This is the utmost. I’ve won. There’ll never be -anything more than this, here.” It would always be the same--with -different girls. Certainty. Even the sunlight paid a sort of homage to -the fathomless certainty she felt. The sunlight in this little -schoolroom was telling her of other sunlights, vast and unbroken, -somewhere--coming, her own sunlights, when she should have wrenched -herself away. It was there; she glanced up again and again to watch it -breaking and splashing all over the room. It would come again, but how -differently. Quite soon. She might have spared herself all her -agonising. The girls did not know where she belonged. They were holding -her. But she would go away, to some huge open space. Leave them--ah, it -was unkind. But she had left them already in spirit. - -If they could all get up together now and sing, let their voices peal -together up and up, throw all the books out of the window, they might go -on together, forward into the sunshine, but they would not want to do -that. Hardly any of them would want to do that. They would look at her -with knowing eyes, and look at the door, and stay where they were. - -The room was very close. Polly Allen and Eunice Dupont, sitting together -at a little card-table in the darkest corner of the room, were -whispering. With beating heart Miriam got up and went and stood before -them. “You two are talking,” she said with her eyes on the thickness of -Polly’s shoulders as she sat in profile to the room. Eunice, opposite -her, against the wall, flashed up at her her beautiful fugitive grin as -from the darkness of a wood. History, thought Miriam. What has Eunice to -do with history, laws, Henry II, the English Constitution? “You don’t -talk,” she said coldly, feeling as she watched her that Eunice’s pretty -clothes were stripped away and she were stabbing at her soft rounded -body, “at examinations. Can’t you see that?” Eunice’s pale face grew -livid. “First because it isn’t fair and also because it disturbs other -people.” You can tell all the people who cheat by their smile, she -reflected on her way back. Eunice chuckled serenely two or three times. -“What have these North London girls to do with studies?” ... There was -not a single girl like Eunice at Barnes. Even the very pretty girls were -... refined. - - - 13 - -That afternoon Miriam spent her hour of leisure in calling on the Brooms -to enquire for Grace, who had been ill the whole of the term. She found -the house after some difficulty in one of a maze of little rows and -crescents just off the tram-filled main road. “She’s almost -perfect--almost perfection,” said Mrs. Philps, the Aunt Lucy Miriam had -heard of and seen in church. - -They had been together in the little drawing-room talking about Grace -from the moment when Miriam was shown in to Mrs. Philps sitting darning -a duster in a low chair by the closed conservatory door. The glazed -closed door with the little strips of window on either side giving on to -a crowded conservatory made the little room seem dark. To Miriam it -seemed horribly remote. Her journey to it had been through immense -distances. Threading the little sapling-planted asphalt-pavemented -roadways between houses whose unbroken frontage was so near and so bare -as to forbid scrutiny, she felt she had reached the centre, the home and -secret of North London life. Off every tram-haunted main road, there -must be a neighbourhood like this where lived the common-mouthed -harsh-speaking people who filled the pavements and shops and walked in -the parks. To enter one of the little houses and speak there to its -inmates would be to be finally claimed and infected by the life these -people lived, the thing that made them what they were. At Wordsworth -House she was held up by the presence of the Pernes and Julia Doyle. -Here she was helpless and alone. When she had discovered the number she -sought and, crossing the little tiled pathway separated from the pathway -next door by a single iron rail, had knocked with the lacquered knocker -against the glazed and leaded door, her dreams for the future faded. -They would never be realised. They were just a part of the radiance that -shone now from the spacious houses she had lived in in the past. The -things she had felt this morning in the examination room were that, too. -They had nothing to do with the future. All the space was behind. Things -would grow less and less. - - - 14 - -Admitted to the dark narrowly echoing tiled passage, she stated her -errand and was conducted past a closed door and the opening of a narrow -staircase which shot steeply, carpeted with a narrow strip of -surprisingly green velvet carpeting, up towards an unlit landing and -admitted to Mrs. Philps. - -“Wait a minute, Vashti,” said Mrs. Philps, holding Miriam’s hand as she -murmured her errand. “You’ll stay tea? Well, if you’re sure you can’t -I’ll not press you. Bring the biscuits and the sherry and two white -wine-glasses, Vashti. Get them now and bring them in at once. Sit down, -Miss Henderson. She’s little better than a step-girl. They’re all the -same.” Whilst she described her niece’s illness, Miriam wondered over -the immense bundle of little even black sausage-shaped rolls of hair -which stuck out, larger than her head and smoothed to a sphere by a -tightly drawn net, at the back of her skull. She was short and stout and -had bright red cheeks that shone in the gloom and rather prominent large -blue eyes that roamed as she talked, allowing Miriam to snatch -occasional glimpses of china-filled what-nots and beaded ottomans. -Presently Vashti returned clumsily with the wine, making a great bumping -and rattling round about the door. “You stupid thing, you’ve brought -claret. Don’t you know sherry when you see it? It’s at the back--behind -the Harvest Burgundy.” “I shall have to go soon,” said Miriam, relieved -at the sight of the red wine and longing to escape the sherry. Vashti -put down the tray and stood with open mouth. Even with her very high -heels she looked almost a dwarf. The room seemed less oppressive with -the strange long-necked decanter and the silver biscuit box standing on -a table in the curious greenish light. Mrs. Philps accepted the claret -and returned busily to her story, whilst Miriam sipped and glanced at a -large print in a heavy black frame leaning forward low over the small -white marble mantelpiece. It represented a young knight in armour -kneeling at an altar with joined and pointed hands held to his lips. An -angel standing in mid-air was touching his shoulder with a sword. “Why -doesn’t she kiss the top of his head,” thought Miriam as she sipped her -wine. The distant aisles and pillars of the church made the room seem -larger than it was. “I suppose they all look into that church when they -want to get away from each other,” she mused as Mrs. Philps went on with -her long sentences beginning “And Dr. Newman said--” And there was a -little mirror above a bulging chiffonier which was also an escape from -the confined space. Looking into it, she met Mrs. Philps’s glowing face -with the blue eyes widely staring and fixed upon her own, and heard her -declare, with her bunched cherry-coloured lips, that Grace was ‘almost -perfection.’ “Is she?” she responded eagerly, and Mrs. Philps elaborated -her theme. Grace, then, with her heavy body and strange hot voice, lying -somewhere upstairs in a white bed, was the most important thing in this -dark little house. “She was very near to death then,” Mrs. Philps was -saying tearfully, “very near, and when she came round from her delirium, -one of the first things she said to me as soon as she was strong enough -to whisper, was that she was perfectly certain about there being another -life.” Mrs. Philps’s voice faded and she sat with trembling lips and -eyes downcast. “_Did_ she!” Miriam almost shouted, half-rising from her -seat and turning from contemplating Mrs. Philps in the mirror to look -her full in the face. The dim green light streaming in from the -conservatory seemed like a tide that made everything in the room rock -slightly. A touch would sweep it all away and heaven would be there all -round them. “Did she,” whispered Miriam in a faint voice that shook her -chest. “‘Aunt,’ she said,” went on Mrs. Philps steadily, as the room -grew firm round Miriam and the breath she drew seemed like an early -morning breath, “‘I want to say something quickly,’ she said, ‘in case I -die. It’s that I know--for a positive fact, there is another life.’” - -“What a perfectly stupendous thing,” said Miriam. “It’s so important.” - -“I was much impressed. Of course, I knew she was nearly perfect. But -we’ve not been in the habit of talking about religion. I asked her if -she would like to see the vicar. ‘Oh no,’ she said, ‘there’s no need. He -knows.’ I doubt if he knows as much as she does. But I didn’t make a -point of it.” - -“Oh, but it’s simply wonderful. It’s much more important than anything a -vicar could say. It’s their business to say those things.” - -“I don’t know about that. But she was so weak that I didn’t press it.” - -“But it’s so important. What a wonderful thing to have in your family. -Did she say anything more?” - -“She hasn’t returned to the subject again. She’s very weak.” - -Wild clutching thoughts shook at Miriam. If only Grace could suddenly -appear in her night-gown, to be questioned. Or if she herself could stay -on there creeping humbly about in this little house, watering the -conservatory and darning dusters, being a relative of the Brooms, -devoting herself to Grace, waiting on her, hearing all she had to say. -What did it matter that the Brooms wore heavy mourning and gloated over -funerals if Grace upstairs in her room had really seen the white light -away in the distance far away beyond the noise of the world? - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - - 1 - -Harriett’s ringed fingers had finished dipping and drying the blue and -white tea-service. She sat for a moment staring ahead down-stream. -Sitting opposite her, Gerald watched her face with a half smile. Miriam -waited sitting at her side. It was the first moment of silence since she -had come home at midday. From the willow-curtained island against which -they were moored came little crepitations and flittings. Ahead of them -the river blazed gold and blue, hedged by high spacious trees. -“_Come_-to-tea, _come_-to-tea, hurryup-dear,” said a bird suddenly from -the island thicket. - -“D’you know what bird that is, Gerald?” asked Miriam. - -“Not from Adam,” breathed Gerald, swaying on his seat with a little -laugh. “It’s a bird. That’s all I know.” - -“We’d better unmoor, silly,” muttered Harriett briskly, gathering up the -tiller ropes. - -“Right, la reine.” - -“Look here, let me do something this time, pull or something.” - -“You sit still, my dear.” - -“But I should simply love to.” - -“You shall pull down-stream if you like later on when the bally sun’s -down. My advice to you now is to go and lounge in the bow.” - -“Oh yes, Mim, you try it. Lie right down. It’s simply heavenly.” - -The boat glided deliciously away up-stream as Miriam, relinquishing her -vision of Harriett sitting very upright in the stern in her white drill -dress, and Gerald’s lawn-shirted back and long lean arms grasping the -sculls, lay back on the bow cushions with her feet comfortably -outstretched under the unoccupied seat in front of her. Six hours ago, -shaking hands with a roomful of noisy home-going girls--and now nothing -to do but float dreamily out through the gateway of her six weeks’ -holiday. The dust of the school was still upon her; the skin of her face -felt strained and tired, her hands were tired and hot, her blouse dim -with a week of school wear, and her black skirt oppressed her with its -invisible burden of grime. But she was staring up at a clean blue sky -fringed with tree-tops. She stretched herself out more luxuriously upon -her cushions. The river smoothly moving and lapping underneath the boat -was like a cradle. The soft fingers of the air caressed her temples and -moved along the outlines of her face and neck. Forty-two days ... like -this. To-morrow she would wake up a new person ... sing, and shout with -Harriett. She closed her eyes. The gently lifting water seemed to come -nearer; the invading air closed in on her. She gave herself ecstatically -to its touch; the muscles of her tired face relaxed and she believed -that she could sleep; cry or sleep. - - - 2 - -It was Gerald who had worked this miraculous first day for her. -“Boating” hitherto had meant large made-up parties of tennis-club -people, a fixed day, uneasy anticipations as to the weather, the -carrying of hampers of provisions and crockery, spirit lamps and -kettles, clumsy hired randans, or little fleets of stupidly competing -canoes, lack of space, heavy loads to pull, the need for ceaseless -chaff, the irritating triumphs of clever “knowing” girls in smart -clothes, the Pooles, or really beautiful people, like Nan Babington and -her cousin. Everything they said sounding wonderful and seeming to -improve the scenery; the jokes of the men, even Ted always joked all the -time, the misery of large noisy picnic teas on the grass, and in the end -great weariness and disappointment, the beauty of the river and the -trees only appearing the next day or perhaps long afterwards. - -This boat was Gerald’s own private boat, a double-sculling skiff, -slender and gold-brown, beautifully fitted and with a locker containing -everything that was wanted for picnicking. They had arranged their -expedition at lunch-time, trained to Richmond, bought fruit and cakes -and got the boat’s water-keg filled by one of Redknap’s men. Gerald knew -how to do things properly. He had always been accustomed to things like -this boat. He would not care to have anything just anyhow. “Let’s do the -thing decently, la reine.” He would keep on saying that at intervals -until Harriett had learned too. How he had changed her since Easter when -their engagement had been openly allowed. The clothes he had bought for -her, especially this plain drill dress with its neat little coat. The -long black tie fastened with the plain heavy cable broach pinned in -lengthwise half-way down the ends of the tie, which reached almost to -her black belt. That was Gerald. Her shoes, the number of pairs of -light, expensive, beautifully made shoes. Her bearing, the change in her -voice, a sort of roundness about her old Harryish hardness. But she was -the same Harry, the Harry he had seen for the first time snorting with -anger over Mr. Marth’s sentimental singing at the Assembly Rooms -concert. “My hat, wasn’t la reine fuming!” He would forgive her all her -ignorance. It was her triumph. What an extraordinary time Harry would -have. Gerald was well-off. He had a private income behind his Canadian -Pacific salary. His grandfather had been a diplomatist, living abroad -nearly all the time, and his wealthy father and wealthy mother with a -large fortune of her own had lived in a large house in Chelsea, giving -dinner parties and going to the opera until nearly all the capital had -gone, both dying just in time to leave enough to bring Gerald in a small -income when he left Haileybury. And the wonderful thing was that Gerald -liked mouching about and giggling. He liked looking for hours in shop -windows and strolling on the Heath eating peppermints. - - - 3 - -Everything had disappeared into a soft blackness; only on the water a -faint light was left. It came and went; sometimes there was nothing but -darkness and the soft air. The small paper lantern swinging at the bow -made a little blot of light that was invisible from the stroke seat. The -boat went swiftly and easily. Miriam felt she could go on pulling for -hours at the top of her strength through the night. Leaning forward, -breasting the featureless darkness, sweeping the sculls back at the full -reach of her arms, leaning back and pressing her whole weight upwards -from the footboard against the pull of the water, her body became an -outstretched elastic system of muscles, rhythmically working against the -smooth dragging resistance of the dark water. Her sleeves were rolled -up, her collar-stud unfastened, her cool drowsy lids drooped over her -cool eyes. Each time she leaned backwards against her stroke, pressing -the footboard, the weight of her body dragged at a line of soreness -where the sculls pressed her hands, and with the final fling of the -water from the sculls a little stinging pain ran along the pads of her -palms. To-morrow there would be a row of happy blisters. - -“You needn’t put more beef into it than you like, Mirry.” Gerald’s voice -came so quietly out of the darkness that it scarcely disturbed Miriam’s -ecstacy. She relaxed her swing, and letting the sculls skim and dip in -short easy strokes, sat glowing. - -“I’ve never pulled a boat alone before.” - -“It shows you can’t be a blue-stocking, thank the Lord,” laughed Gerald. - -“Who said I was?” - -“I’ve always understood you were a very wise lady, my dear.” - -“Nobody told you she was a blue-stocking, silly. You invented the word -yourself.” - -“I? I invented blue-stocking?” - -“Yes, you, silly. It’s like your saying women never date their letters -just because your cousins don’t.” - -“Vive la reine. The Lord deliver me from blue-stockings, anyhow.” - -“All _right_, what _about_ it? There aren’t any here!” - -“You’re not one, anyhow.” - - - 4 - -The next day after tea Eve arrived home from Gloucestershire. - -Miriam had spent the day with Harriett. After breakfast, bounding -silently up and downstairs, they visited each room in turn, chased each -other about the echoing rooms and passages of the basement and all over -the garden. Miriam listened speechlessly to the sound of Harriett’s -heels soft on the stair carpet, ringing on the stone floors of the -basement, and the swish of her skirts as she flew over the lawn -following surrounding responding to Miriam’s wild tour of the garden. -Miriam listened and watched, her eyes and ears eagerly gathering and -hoarding visions. It could not go on. Presently some claim would be made -on Harriett and she would be alone. But when they had had their fill of -silently rushing about, Harriett piloted her into the drawing-room and -hastily began opening the piano. A pile of duets lay on the lid. She had -evidently gathered them there in readiness. Wandering about the room, -shifting the familiar ornaments, flinging herself into chair after -chair, Miriam watched her and saw that her strange quiet little snub -face was lit and shapely. Harriett, grown-up, serene and well-dressed -and going to be married in the spring, was transported by this new -coming together. When they had played the last of the duets that they -knew well, Harriett fumbled at the pages of a bound volume of operas in -obvious uncertainty. At any moment Miriam might get up and go off and -bring their sitting together on the long cretonne-covered duet stool to -an end. “Come on,” roared Miriam gently, “let’s try this”; and they -attacked the difficult pages. Miriam counted the metre, whispered it -intoned and sang it, carrying Harriett along with shouts “go _on_, go -_on_” when they had lost each other. They smashed their way along by -turns playing only a single note here and there into the framework of -Miriam’s desperate counting, or banging out cheerful masses of -discordant tones, anything to go on driving their way together through -the pages while the sunlight streamed half seen into the conservatory -and the flower-filled garden crowded up against the windows, anything to -come out triumphantly together at the end and to stop satisfied, the -sounds of the house, so long secretly known to them both, low now around -them, heard by them together, punctuating their joy. The gong sounded -for lunch. “Eve,” Miriam remembered suddenly, “Eve’s coming this -afternoon.” The thought set gladness thundering through her as she rose -from the piano. “Let’s go for a walk after lunch,” she muttered. -Harriett blushed. - -“Awri,” she responded tenderly. - - - 5 - -The mile of gently rising roadway leading to the Heath was overarched by -huge trees. Shadowy orchards, and the silent sunlit outlying meadows and -park land of a large estate streamed gently by them beyond the trees as -they strode along through the cool leaf-scented air. They strode -speechlessly ahead as if on a pilgrimage, keeping step. Harriett’s -stylish costume had a strange unreal look in the great lane, under the -towering trees. Miriam wondered if she found it dull and was taking it -so boldly because they were walking along it together. Obviously she did -not want to talk. She walked along swiftly and erect, looking eagerly -ahead as if, when they reached the top and the Heath and the windmill, -they would find something they were both looking for. Miriam felt she -could glance about unnoticed and looked freely, as she had done so many -hundreds of times before, at the light on the distant meadows and lying -along the patches of undergrowth between the trunks of the trees. They -challenged and questioned her silently as they had always done and she -them, in a sort of passionate sulkiness. They gave no answer, but the -scents in the cool tree-filled air went on all the time offering steady -assurance, and presently as walking became an unconscious rhythm and the -question of talk or no talk had definitely decided itself, the challenge -of the light was silenced and the shaded roadway led on to paradise. Was -there anyone anywhere who saw it as she did? Anyone who looking along -the alley of white road would want to sit down in the roadway or kneel -amongst the undergrowth and shout and shout? In the north of London -there were all those harsh street voices infesting the trees and the -parks. No! they did not exist. There was no North London. Let them die. -They did not know the meaning of far-reaching meadows, park-land, deer, -the great silent Heath, the silent shoulders of the windmill against the -far-off softness of the sky. Harsh streetiness ... cunning, knowing ... -do you _blame_ me? ... or charwomanishness, smarmy; churchy or chapelish -sentimentality. Sentimentality. No need to think about them. - -“Never the time and the place and the loved one all together.” Who said -that? Was it true? Dreadful. It couldn’t be. So many people had seen -moonlit gardens, together. All the happy people who were sure of each -other. “I say, Harriett,” she said at the top of her voice, bringing -Harriett curvetting in the road just in front of her. “I say, listen.” -Harriett ran up the remaining strips of road and out on to the Heath. It -was ablaze with sunlight--as the river and the trees had been -yesterday--a whole day of light and Eve on her way home, almost home. -Harriett must not know how she was rushing to Eve; with what tingling -fingers. “Oh, what I was going to ask you was whether you can see the -moonlight like it is when you are alone, when Gerald is there.” - -“... It isn’t the same as when you are alone,” said Harriett quietly, -arranging the cuff of her glove. - -“Do explain what you mean.” - -“Well, it’s different.” - -“I see. You don’t know how.” - -“It’s quite different.” - -“Does Gerald like the moonlight?” - -“_I_ dunno. I never asked him.” - -“Fancy the Roehampton people living up here all the time.” - -“There’s their old washing going flip-flap over there.” - -Harriett was finding out that she was back in the house with Eve. - -“Let’s rush to the windmill. Let’s sing.” - -“Come on; only we can’t rush and sing too.” - -“Yes we can, come on.” Running up over hillocks and stumbling through -sandy gorse-grown hollows they sang a hunting song, Miriam leading with -the short galloping phrases, Harriett’s thinner voice dropping in, -broken and uncertain, with a strange brave sadness in it that went to -Miriam’s heart. - - - 6 - -“Eve, you look exactly like Dudley’s gracious lady in these things. -Don’t you feel like it?” Eve stopped near the landing window and stood -in her light green canvas dress with its pale green silk sleeves -shedding herself over Miriam from under her rose-trimmed white chip hat. -Miriam was carrying her light coat and all the small litter of her -journey. “Go on up,” she said, “I want to talk,” and Eve hurried on, -Miriam stumblingly following her, holding herself in, eyes and ears wide -for the sight and sound of the slender figure flitting upstairs through -the twilight. The twilight wavered and seemed to ebb and flow, -suggesting silent dawn and full midday, and the house rang with a -soundless music. - -“It was Mrs. Wallace who suggested my _wearing_ all my best things for -the journey,” panted Eve; “they don’t get crushed with packing and they -needn’t get dirty if you’re careful.” - -“You look exactly like Dudley’s gracious lady. You know you do. You know -it perfectly well.” - -“They do seem jolly now I’m back. They don’t seem anything down there. -Just ordinary with everybody in much grander things.” - -“How do you mean, grander? What sort of things?” - -“Oh, all sorts of lovely white dresses.” - -“It is extraordinary about all those white dresses,” said Miriam -emphatically, pushing her way after Eve into Sarah’s bedroom. “Can I -come in? I’m coming in. Sarah says it’s because men like them and she -gets simply sick of girls in white and cream dresses all over the place -in the summer, and it’s a perfect relief to see anyone in a colour in -the sun. They have red sunshades sometimes, but Sarah says that’s not -enough; you want people in colours. I wonder if there’s anything in it?” - -“Of course there is,” said Sarah, releasing the last strap of Eve’s -trunk. - -“They’d _all_ put on coloured things if it weren’t for that.” - -“Men tell them.” - -“Do they?” - -“The engaged men tell them--or brothers.” - -“I can’t think how you get to know these things, sober Sally.” - -“Oh, you can tell.” - -“Well, then, _why_ do men like silly white and cream dresses, pasty, -whitewashy clothes altogether?” - -“It’s something they want; it looks different to them.” - -“Sarah knows all sorts of things,” said Miriam excitedly, watching the -confusion of the room from the windows. “She says she knows why the -Pooles look down and smirk; their dimples and the line of their chins; -that men admire them looking down like that. _Isn’t_ it frightful. -Disgusting. And men don’t seem to see through them.” - -“It’s those kind of girls get on best.” - -Miriam sighed. - -“Oh well, don’t let’s think about them. Not to-night, anyhow,” cooed -Eve. - -“Sarah says there are much more awful reasons. I can’t think how she -finds them all out. Sober Sally. I know she’s right. It’s too utterly -sickening somehow, for words.” - -“Mim.” - -“_Pooh_--barooo, _baroooo_.” - -“Mim----” - -“Damnation.” - -“Mimmy--Jim.” - -“I said DAMNATION.” - -“Oh, it’s all right. What have we got to do with horrid knowing people.” - -“Well, they’re there, all the time. You can’t get away from them. -They’re all over the place. Either the knowing ones or the simpering -ones. It’s all the same in the end.” - -Eve quietly began to unpack. “Oh well,” she smiled, “we’re _all_ -different when there are men about to when we’re by ourselves. We all -make eyes in a way.” - -“Eve! What a perfectly beastly thing to say.” - -“It isn’t, my dear,” said Eve pensively. “You should see yourself; you -do.” - -“Sally, _do_ I?” - - - 7 - -“Of course you do,” giggled Eve quietly, “as much as anybody.” - -“Then I’m the most crawling thing on the face of the earth,” thought -Miriam, turning silently to the tree-tops looming softly just outside -the window; “and the worst of it is I only know it at moments now and -again.” The tree-tops serene with some happy secret cast her off, and -left her standing with groping crisping fingers unable to lift the -misery that pressed upon her heart. “God, what a filthy world! God what -a filthy world!” she muttered. “Everyone hemmed and hemmed and hemmed -into it.” Harriett came in and stepped up on to the high canopied bed. -“Ullo,” she said in general, sitting herself up tailor-fashion in the -middle of the bed so that the bright twilight fell full upon her head -and the breast and shoulders of her light silk-sleeved dress. Humming -shreds of a violin obligato, Eve rustled out layer after layer of -paper-swathed garments, to be gathered up by Sarah moving solidly about -between the wardrobe and the chest of drawers in her rather heavy boots. -There would not be any talk. But silently the room filled and -overflowed. Turning at last from her window, Miriam glanced at her -sisters and let her thoughts drop into the flowing tide. Harry, sitting -there sharp and upright in the fading light, coming in to them with her -future life streaming out behind her spreading and shining and rippling, -herself the radiant point of that wonderful life, actually there, neatly -enthroned amongst them, one of them, drawing them all with her out -towards its easy security; Eve, happy with her wardrobe of dainty -things, going fearlessly forward to some unseen fate, not troubling -about it. Sarah’s strange clean clear channel of wisdom. Where would it -lead? It would always drive straight through everything. - -All these things meant that the mere simple awfulness of things -at home had changed. These three girls she had known so long as -fellow-prisoners, and who still bore at moments in their eyes, their -movements, the marks of the terrors and uncertainties amongst which -they had all grown up, were going on, out into life, scored and -scarred, but alive and changeable, able to become quite new. Memories -of strange crises and the ageing deadening shifts they had invented -to tide them over humiliating situations were here crowded in the -room together with them all. But these memories were no longer as -they had so often been, the principal thing in the room whenever they -were all gathered silently together. If Eve and Harriett had got away -from the past and now had happy eyes and mouths.... Sarah’s solid -quiet cheerfulness, now grown so large and free that it seemed even -when she was stillest to knock your mind about like something in a -harlequinade.... Why had they not all known in the past that they would -change? Why had they been so oppressed whenever they stopped to think? - -Those American girls in “Little Women” and “Good Wives” made fun out of -everything. But they had never had to face real horrors and hide them -from everybody, mewed up. - - - 8 - -When it was nearly dark Sarah lit the gas. Harriett had gone downstairs. -Miriam lowered the Venetian blinds, shutting out the summer. To-morrow -it would be there again, waiting for them when they woke in the morning. -In her own and Harriett’s room the daylight would be streaming in -through the Madras muslin curtains, everything in the room very silent -and distinct; nothing to be heard but the little flutterings of birds -under the eaves. You could listen to it for ever if you kept perfectly -still. When you drew back the curtains the huge day would be standing -outside clear with gold and blue and dense with trees and flowers. - -Sarah’s face was uneasy. She seemed to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. -Presently she faced them, sitting on a low rocking chair with her -tightly clasped hands stretched out beyond her knees. She glanced -fearfully from one to the other and bit her lips. “What now,” thought -Miriam. The anticipated holidays disappeared. Of course. She might have -known they would. For a moment she felt sick, naked and weak. Then she -braced herself to meet the shock. I must sit tight, I must sit tight and -not show anything. Eve’s probably praying. Oh, make haste, Sally, and -get it over. - -“What’s the matter, Sally?” said Eve in a low voice. - -“Oh, Eve and Mim, I’m awfully sorry.” - -“You’d better tell us at once,” said Eve, crimsoning. - -“Haven’t you noticed anything?” - -Miriam looked at Sarah’s homely prosperous shape. It couldn’t be -anything. It was a nightmare. She waited, pinching her wrist. - -“What is it, Sally?” breathed Eve, tapping her green-clad knee. Clothes -and furniture and pictures ... houses full of things and people talking -in the houses and having meals and pretending, talking and smiling and -pretending. - -“It’s mother.” - -“What on earth do you mean, Sarah?” said Miriam angrily. - -“She’s ill. Bennett took her to a specialist. There’s got to be--she’s -got to have an operation.” - -Miriam drew up the blind with a noisy rattle, smiling at Eve frowning -impatiently at the noise. Driving the heavy sash up as far as it would -go, she leaned her head against the open frame. The garden did not seem -to be there. The tepid night air was like a wall, a black wall. For a -moment a splintered red light, like the light that comes from a violent -blow on the forehead, flashed along it. Sarah and Eve were talking in -strange voices, interrupting each other. It would be a relief to do -something, faint or something selfish. But she must hear what they were -saying; listen to both the voices cutting through the air of the hot -room. Propped weak-limbed against the window open-mouthed for air she -forced herself to hear, pressing her cold hands closely together. The -gas light that had seemed so bright hardly seemed to light the room at -all. Everything looked small, even Grannie’s old Chippendale bedstead -and the double-fronted wardrobe. The girls were little monkey ghosts -babbling together beside Eve’s open trunk. Did they see that it was -exactly like a grave? - - - 9 - -The sun shone through the apple trees, making the small half-ripe apples -look as though they were coated with enamel. - -It was quite clear that if they did go away together, the four of them, -she, Eve, Gerald and Harriett to Brighton or somewhere, they would be -able to forget. You could tell that from the strange quiet easy tone of -Harriett’s and Gerald’s voices. There would be the aquarium. She -supposed they would go to the aquarium with its strange underground -smell of stagnant sea air and stare into the depths of those strange -green tanks and watch the fish flashing about like shadows or skimming -by near the front of the tank with the light full on their softly tinted -scales. Harriett sat steadily at her side on the overturned seed-box, -middle-aged and responsible, quietly discussing the details of the plan -with Gerald, cross-legged at their feet on the grass plot. They had not -said anything about the reasons for going; but of course Gerald must -know all that. He knew everything now, all about the money troubles, all -the awful things, and it seemed to make no difference to him. He made -light of it. It was humiliating to think that he had come just as things -had reached their worst, the house going to be sold, Pater and mother -and Sarah going into lodgings in September, and the maddening helpless -worry about mother and all the money for that. And yet it was a good -thing he had known them all in the old house and seen them there, even -pretending to be prosperous. And yet the house and garden was nothing to -him. Just a house and garden. Harriett’s house and garden, and he was -going to take Harriett away. The house and garden did not matter. - -She glanced at the sunlit fruit trees, the thickets of the familiar -kitchen garden, the rising grass bank at the near end of the distant -lawn, the eloquent back of the large red house. He could not see all the -things there were there, all the long years, or know what it was to have -that cut away and nothing ahead but Brighton aquarium with Harriett and -Eve, and then the school again, and disgraceful lodgings in some strange -place, no friends and everybody looking down on them. She met his eyes -and they both smiled. - -“Keep her perfectly quiet for the next few weeks, that’s the idea, and -when it’s all over she’ll be better than she’s ever been in her life.” - -“D’you think so?” - -“I don’t think, I know she will; people always are. I’ve known scores of -people have operations. It’s nothing nowadays. Ask Bennett.” - -“Does he think she’ll be better?” - -“Of course.” - -“Did he say so?” - -“Of _course_ he did.” - -“Well, I s’pose we’d really better go.” - -“Of course, we’re going.” - -“I’m going to look for a place in a family after next term. I shall give -notice when I get back. You get more money in a family Eve says, and -home life, and if you haven’t a home they’re only too glad to have you -there in the holidays too.” - -“You take my advice, my dear girl. Don’t go into a family. Eve’ll find -it out before she’s much older.” - -“I must have more money.” - -“Mirry’s so silly. She insists on paying her share of Brighton. Isn’t -she an owl?” - -“Oh well, of course, if she’s going to make a point of spending her cash -when she needn’t she’d better find a more paying job. That’s certain -sure.” - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - - 1 - -“You know I’m funny. I never talk to young ladies.” - -Miriam looked leisurely at the man walking at her side along the -grass-covered cliff; his well-knit frame, his well-cut blue serge, the -trimness of collar and tie, his faintly blunted regular features, clean -ruddy skin and clear expressionless German blue eyes. Altogether he was -rather like a German, with his red and white and gold and blue colouring -and his small military moustache. She could imagine him snapping -abruptly in a booming chest voice, “Mit Frauen spreche ich über_haupt_ -nicht.” But he spoke slowly and languidly, he was an Englishman and -somehow looked like a man who was accustomed to refined society. It was -true he never spoke at the boarding-house meals, excepting an occasional -word with his friend, and he had been obliged to join their Sunday walk -because his friend was so determined to come. Still he was not awkward -or clumsy either at table or now. Only absolutely quiet, and then saying -such a startling rather rude thing quite suddenly. One could stare at -him to discover the reason of his funny speech, because evidently he was -quite common, not a bounder but quite a common young man, speaking of -women as ‘young ladies.’ Then how on earth did he manage to look -distinguished. Oppressed and ill at ease she turned away to the -far-reaching green levels and listened to the sea tumbling heavily far -below against the cliffs. Away ahead Eve and her little companion -walking jauntily along, his tight dust-coloured curls exposed to the -full sunlight, his cane swinging round as he talked and laughed, seemed -to be turning inland towards the downs. They had seen Ovingdean in the -distance, stupid Ovingdean that everybody had talked about at breakfast, -and were finding the way. How utterly silly. They did not see how -utterly silly it was to make up your mind to “go to Ovingdean” and then -go to Ovingdean. How utterly silly everybody and everything was. - -Eve looked very straight and slim and was walking happily, bending her -head a little as she always did when she was listening. Their backs -looked happy. And here she was forced to walk with this nice-looking -strange solid heavyish man and his cold insulting remark; almost the -only thing he had said since they had been alone together. It had been -rather nice walking along the top of the cliff side by side saying -nothing. They walked exactly in step and his blunted features looked -quite at ease; and she had gone easily along disposing of him with a -gentle feeling of proprietorship, and had watched the gentle swing and -movement of the landscape as they swung along. It seemed secure and -painless and was gradually growing beautiful, and then suddenly she felt -that he must have his thoughts, men were always thinking, and would be -expecting her to be animated and entertaining. Lumpishly she had begun -about the dullness of the beach and promenade on Sundays and the need to -find something to do between dinner and tea--lies. All conversation was -a lie. And somehow she had led him to his funny German remark. - -“How do you mean?” she said at last anxiously. It was very rude -intruding upon him like that. He had spoken quite simply. She ought to -have laughed and changed the conversation. But it was no laughing -matter. He did not know what he was saying or how horribly it hurt. A -worldly girl would chaff and make fun of him. It was detestable to make -fun of men; just a way of flirting. But Sarah said that being rude to -men or talking seriously to them was flirting just as much. Not true. -Not true. And yet it was true, she did want to feel happy walking along -with this man, have some sort of good understanding with him, him as a -man with her as a woman. Was that flirting? If so she was just a more -solemn underhand flirt than the others, that was all. She felt very sad. -Anyhow she had asked her question now. She looked at his profile. -Perhaps he would put her off in some way. Then she would walk slower and -slower until Harriett and Gerald caught them up and come home walking -four in a row, taking Harriett’s arm. His face had remained quite -expressionless. - -“Well,” he said at length in his slow well-modulated tone, “I always -take care to get out of the way when there are any young ladies about.” - -“When do you mean?” _I_ didn’t ask you to come, _I_ don’t want to talk -to you you food-loving, pipe-loving, comfort-loving beast, she thought. -But it would be impossible to finish the holiday and go back to the -school with this strange statement uninvestigated. - -“Well, when my sisters have young ladies in in the evening I always get -out of the way.” - -Ah, thought Miriam, you are one of those men who flirt with servants and -shop-girls ... perhaps those awful women.... Either she must catch Eve -up or wait for Harriett ... not be alone any longer with this man. - -“I see. You simply run away from them,” she said scornfully; “go out for -a walk or something.” A small Brixton sitting-room full of Brixton -girls--Gerald said that Brixton was something too chronic for words, -just like Clapham, and there was that joke about the man who said he -would not go to heaven even if he had the chance because of the strong -Clapham contingent that would be there--after all ... - -“I go and sit in my room.” - -“Oh,” said Miriam brokenly, “in the winter? Without a fire?” - -Mr. Parrow laughed. “I don’t mind about that. I wrap myself up and get a -book.” - -“What sort of book?” - -“I’ve got a few books of my own; and there’s generally something worth -reading in ‘Tit-Bits.’” - -How did he manage to look so refined and cultured? Those girls were -quite good enough for him, probably too good. But he would go on -despising them and one of them would marry him and give him beef-steak -puddings. And here he was walking by the sea in the sunlight, confessing -his suspicions and fears and going back to Brixton. - -“You’ll have to marry one of those young ladies one day,” she said -abruptly. - -“That’s out of the question, even if I was a marrying man.” - -“Nonsense,” said Miriam, as they turned down the little pathway leading -towards the village. Poor man, how cruel to encourage him to take up -with one of those giggling dressy girls. - -“D’you mean to say you’ve been never specially interested in anybody?” - -“Yes. I never have.” - - - 2 - -Ovingdean had to be faced. They were going to look at Ovingdean and then -walk back to the boarding-house to tea. Now that she knew all about his -home-life she would not be able to meet his eyes across the table. Two -tired elm trees stood one on either side of the road at the entrance to -the village. Here they all gathered and then went forward in a strolling -party. - -When they turned at last to walk home and fell again into couples as -before, Miriam searched her empty mind for something to say about the -dim, cool musty church, the strange silent deeps of it there amongst the -great green downs, the waiting chairs, the cold empty pulpit and the -little cold font, and the sunlit front of the old Grange where King -Charles had taken refuge. Mr. Parrow would know she was speaking -insincerely if she said anything about these things. There was a long, -long walk ahead. For some time they walked in silence. “D’you know -anything about architecture?” she said at last angrily ... cruel silly -question. Of course he didn’t. But men she walked with ought to know -about architecture and be able to tell her things. - -“No. That’s a subject I don’t know anything about.” - -“D’you like churches?” - -“I don’t know that I’ve ever thought about it.” - -“Then you probably don’t.” - -“Oh, well, I don’t know about that. I don’t see any objection to them.” - -“Then you’re probably an atheist.” - -“I don’t know, I’m sure.” - -“Do you go to church?” - -“I can’t say I do in the usual way, unless I’m on a holiday.” - -“Perhaps you go for walks instead?” - -“Well, I generally stay in bed and have a rest.” - -That dreadful room with the dreadful man hiding in it and reading -“Tit-Bits” and staying in bed in it on bright Sunday mornings. - -How heavily they were treading on the orange and yellow faces of the Tom -Thumbs scattered over the short green grass. - -“How much do you think people could marry on?” said Mr. Parrow suddenly -in a thin voice. - -“Oh well, that depends on who they are.” - -“I suppose it does do that.” - -“And where they are going to live.” - -“D’you think anyone could marry on a hundred and fifty?” - -“Of course,” said Miriam emphatically, mentally shivering over the -vision of a tiresome determined cheerful woman with a thin pinched -reddish nose, an everlasting grey hat and a faded ulster going on year -after year; two or three common children she would never be able to -educate, with horribly over-developed characters. It was rather less -than the rent of their house. “Of course, everything would depend on the -woman,” she said wisely. After all a hundred and fifty, with no doubt -and anxiety about it was a very wonderful thing to have. Probably -everybody was wasteful, buying the wrong things and silly things, -ornaments and brooches and serviette rings; ... and not thinking things -out and not putting things down in books and not really enjoying -managing the hundred and fifty and always wanting more. It ought to be -quite jolly being thoroughly common and living in a small way and having -common neighbours doing the same. - -“But you think if a man could find a young lady who could agree about -prices it would be possible.” - -“Of course it would.” - -The houses on the eastern ridges of Brighton came into sight in the -distance and stood blazing in the sunlight. There was a high half -broken-down piece of fencing at the edge of the cliff to their left a -little ahead of them, splintered and sunlit. - -“How much a week is a hundred and fifty a year?” - -“Three pound.” - -They gravitated towards the fence and stood vaguely near it looking out -across the unruffled glare of the open sea. Why had she always thought -that the bright blue and gold ripples seen from the beach and the -promenade on jolly weekdays was the best of the sea? It was much more -lovely up there, the great expanse in its quiet Sunday loneliness. You -could see and think about far-off things instead of just dreaming on the -drowsy hot sands, seeing nothing but the rippling stripes of bright blue -and bright gold. She put her elbows on the upper bar. Mr. Parrow did the -same and they stood gazing out across the open sea--Mr. Parrow was -probably wondering how long they were going to stand silently there and -thinking about his tea ... of course; let him stand--until Eve’s voice -sounded near them in a dimpling laugh. They walked home in a row, Eve -and Mr. Green in the centre, asking riddles one against the other. Every -time Miriam spoke Mr. Parrow laughed or made some little responsive -sound. - - - 3 - -When Mr. Green and Mr. Parrow went back to London at the end of the week -Eve and Miriam saw them off at the station. The four went off boldly -together down the flight of white stone steps and made their way up into -the town. - -“Good-bye,” called Miss Meldrum affectionately from the doorway. “I -shall send both of you a copy of the photograph.” - -“It’s most generous of Miss Meldrum to go to all that expense to give us -a pleasant memento,” said Mr. Green in his small ringing voice as they -all swung out into the clean bare roadway. Miriam felt as if they were a -bit of the photograph walking up the hill, and went freely and -confidently along with a sense of being steered and guided by Miss -Meldrum. Why had she had the group taken--so odd and bold of her, having -the photographer waiting in the garden for them before they had finished -breakfast, and then laughing and talking and pushing them all about as -if they were her dearest friends. It was whilst they were all out in the -garden together, hanging about and being arranged, with the -photographer’s voice like the voice of a ventriloquist, knocking them -coldly about, that Gerald and Mr. Green had arranged about the evening -at the Crystal Palace on the last day of Miriam’s holiday. Miriam had -held back from the group, feeling nervous about her hair, there had been -no time to go to their rooms, and had forced Eve to do the same. -Harriett, with a cheerful shiny face, was sitting on the grass with -Gerald in a line with the traveller from Robinson and Cleaver’s, and his -thin-voiced sheeny-haired mocking fiancée. They all looked very small -and bald. The fiancée kept clearing her throat and rearranging her smart -feet and rattling her bangles. The traveller’s heavy waxed moustache was -crooked and his slippery blue eyes looked like the eyes of an old man. -Next to him were two newly arrived restively sneering young men, one on -either side of the saintly-faced florist’s assistant from Wigmore -Street, who sat in an easy pose with her skirt draping gracefully over -her feet and her long white chin propped on her hands. She looked -reproachfully about amongst the laughing and talking and seemed to feel -that they were all in church. - -Miss Meldrum and Miss Stringer, the two bald Scotch chemists who went -out every evening to look for a comet, the pale frowning girl from -Plaistow with her mad-eyed cousin whose grey curls bunched in a -cherry-coloured velvet band seemed to say “death--death” to Miriam more -dreadfully out here amongst the greenery than when she suddenly caught -sight of them at table, sat disconnectedly in chairs behind the -squatters on the grass. At the last moment she and Eve were obliged to -fall in at the back of the group with Mr. Green and Mr. Parrow, and now -the four of them were walking in a row up the staring white hill with -the evening at the Crystal Palace ahead of them in far-away London. It -was quite right. They were being like ‘other people.’ People met and -made friends and arranged to meet again. And then things happened. It -was quite right and ordinary and safe and warm. Of course Eve and Mr. -Green must meet again. He was evidently quite determined that they -should. That was what was carrying them all so confidently up the hill. -Perhaps he would in the end turn into another Gerald. When they turned -off into the unfamiliar Brighton streets Eve and Mr. Green went on -ahead. Walking quickly in step along the narrow pavement amongst the -unconcerned Brighton townspeople they looked so small and pitiful. - - - 4 - -The brilliant sunlight showed up all the shabbiness of Mr. Green’s -London suit. He looked even smaller than he did in his holiday tweed. -Miriam wanted to call to them and stop them, stop Eve’s bright figure -and her mop of thickly twisted brown hair and ask her what she was -dreaming of, leave the two men there and go back, go out away alone with -Eve down to the edge of the sea. She hesitated in her walking, not -daring even to glance at her companion who was trudging along with bent -head, carrying his large brown leather bag. The street was crowded and -she manoeuvred so that everyone they met should pass between them. -Perhaps they would be able to reach the station without being obliged to -speak to each other. Parrow. It was either quite a nice name or pitiful; -like a child trying to say sparrow. Did he know that to other people it -was a strange, important sort of name, rounded like the padding in the -shoulders of his coat and his blunted features? - -Nobody knew him at all well. Not a single person in the world. If he -were run over and killed on the way to the station, nobody would ever -have known anything about him.... People did die like that ... probably -most people; in a minute, alone and unknown; too late to speak. - -Something was coming slowly down the middle of the roadway from amongst -the confusion of the distant traffic; an elephant--a large grey -elephant. Firmly delicately undisturbed by the noise of the street, the -huge crimson gold-braided howdah it carried on its back, and the -strange, coloured things coming along behind it, the thickening of -people on the pavement and the suddenly increased noise of the town, it -came stepping. It was wonderful. “Wise and beautiful! Wise and -beautiful!” cried a voice far away in Miriam’s brain. It’s a circus said -another voice within her.... He doesn’t know he’s in a circus.... She -hurried forward to reach Eve. Eve turned a flushed face. “I _say_; it’s -a circus,” said Miriam bitingly. The blare of a band broke out farther -up the street. People were jostled against them by a clown who came -bounding and leaping his way along the crowded pavement crying -incoherent words with a thrilling blatter of laughter. The elephant was -close upon them alone in the road space cleared by its swinging walk.... -If only everyone would be quiet they could hear the soft padding of its -feet. Slowly, gently, modestly it went by followed by a crowd of smaller -things; sad-eyed monkeys on horseback in gold coatlets, sullen caged -beasts on trolleys drawn by beribboned unblinkered human-looking horses, -tall white horses pacing singly by, bearing bobbing princesses and men -in masks and cloaks. - - - 5 - -Here and there in the long sunlit hours of the holiday by the Brighton -sea Miriam found the far-away seaside holidays of her childhood. Going -out one afternoon with Eve and Miss Stringer walking at Eve’s side, -listening to the conversation of the two girls, she had felt when they -reached the deserted end of the esplanade and proposed turning round and -walking home, an uncontrollable desire to be alone, and had left them, -impatiently, without a word of excuse and gone on down the grey stone -steps and out among the deserted weed-grown sapphire-pooled chalk -hummocks at the foot of the cliffs. For a while she was chased by little -phrases from Miss Stringer’s quiet talking--“if you want people to be -interested in you, you must be interested in them”; “you can get on with -everybody if you make up your mind to”--and by the memory of her -well-hung clothes and her quiet regular features spoilt by the nose that -Gerald said was old-maidish, and her portmanteau full of finery, -unpacked on the first-floor landing outside the tiny room she -occupied--piles of underlinen startlingly threaded with ribbons. - -At the end of half an hour’s thoughtless wandering over the weed-grown -rocks she found herself sitting on a little patch of dry silt at the end -of a promontory of sea-smoothed hummocks with the pools of bright -blue-green fringed water all about her watching the gentle rippling of -the retreating waves over the weedy lower levels. She seemed long to -have been listening and watching, her mind was full of things she felt -she would never forget, the green-capped white faces of the cliffs, a -patch of wet sand dotted with stiffly waiting seagulls, the more distant -wavelets ink black and golden pouring in over the distant hummocks, the -curious whispering ripples near her feet. She must go back. Her mind -slid out making a strange half-familiar compact with all these things. -She was theirs, she would remember them all, always. They were not alone -because she was with them and knew them. She had always known them she -reflected, remembering with a quick pang a long, unpermitted wandering -out over the cliff edge beyond Dawlish, the sun shining on pinkish sandy -scrub, the expression of the bushes; hurrying home with the big rough -spaniel that belonged to the house they had hired. She must have been -about six years old. She had gone back with a secret, telling them -nothing of the sunlight or the bushes, only of a strange lady, sitting -on the jetty as she came down over the sands, who had caught her in her -arms and horribly kissed her. She had forgotten the lady and been so -happy when she reached home that no one had scolded her. And when they -questioned her it seemed that there was only the lady to tell them -about. Her mother had looked at her and kissed her. And now she must go -back again, and say nothing. The strange promise, the certainty she felt -out here on the rocks must be taken back to the Brighton front and the -boarding-house. It would disappear as soon as she got back. Here on the -Brighton rocks it was not so strong as it had been in Dawlish. And it -would disappear more completely. There had been during the intervening -years holidays with Sarah and Eve and Harriett in seaside lodgings, over -which the curious conviction that possessed her now had spread like a -filmy veil. But now it would hardly ever come; there were always people -talking, the strangers one worked for, or the hard new people like Miss -Stringer, people who had a number of things they were always saying. - -She tried to remember when the strange independent joy had begun and -thought she could trace it back to a morning in the garden at Babington, -the first thing she could remember, when she had found herself toddling -alone along the garden path between beds of flowers almost on a level -with her head and blazing in the sunlight. Bees with large bodies were -sailing heavily across the path from bed to bed, passing close by her -head and making a loud humming in the air. She could see the flowers -distinctly as she walked quickly back through the afternoon throng on -the esplanade; they were sweet williams and “everlasting” flowers, the -sweet williams smelling very strongly sweet in her nostrils, and one -sheeny brown everlasting flower that she had touched with her nose, -smelling like hot paper. - - - 6 - -She wanted to speak to someone of these things. Until she could speak to -someone about them she must always be alone. Always quite alone, she -thought, looking out as she walked across the busy stretch of sea -between the two piers, dotted with pleasure boats. It would be -impossible to speak to anyone about them unless one felt perfectly sure -that the other person felt about them in the same way and knew that they -were more real than anything else in the world, knew that everything -else was a fuss about nothing. But everybody else seemed to be really -interested in the fuss. That was the extraordinary thing. Miss Meldrum -presiding at the boarding-house table with her white padded hair and her -white face and bright steady brown eyes, listening to everybody and -making jokes with everybody and keeping things going, sometimes looked -as if she knew it was all a pretence, but if you spoke to her she would -think you were talking about religion and would kiss you. She had -already kissed Miriam once--for playing accompaniments to the hymns on a -Sunday evening, and made her feel as if there were some sly secret -between them. If she played the hymns again she would play them stonily -... mother would look as she always did if you suddenly began to talk -anything about things in general as if you were going to make some -confession she had been waiting for all her life. Now, with the -operation and all the uncertainty ahead she would probably cry. She -would want to explain in some way, as she had done one day long ago; how -dreadful it had been ... mother, I never feel tired, not really tired, -and however I behave I always feel frightfully happy inside ... my -blessed chick, it’s your splendid health--and the influence of the Holy -Spirit.... But I hate everybody.... What foolish nonsense. You mustn’t -think such things. You will make yourself unpopular.... - -She must keep her secret to herself. This Brighton life crushed it back -more than anything there had been in Germany or at Banbury Park. In -Germany she had found it again and again, and at Banbury Park, though it -could never come out and surround her, it was never far off. It lurked -just beyond the poplars in the park, at the end of the little empty -garden at twilight, amongst the books in the tightly packed bookcase. It -was here, too, in and out the sunlit days. As one opened the door of the -large, sparely furnished breakfast-room it shone for a moment in the -light pouring over the table full of seated forms; it haunted the -glittering scattered sand round about the little blank platform where -the black and white minstrels stood singing in front of their harmonium, -and poured out across the blaze of blue and gold sea ripples, when the -town band played Anitra’s Dance or the moon song from the Mikado; it lay -all along the deserted promenade and roadway as you went home to lunch, -and at night it spoke in the flump flump of the invisible sea against -the lower woodwork of the pier pavilion. - - - 7 - -But every day at breakfast over the eggs, bacon and tomatoes--knowing -voices began their day’s talking, the weary round of words and ugly -laughter went steadily on, narrow horrible sounds that made you feel -conscious of the insides of people’s throats and the backs of their -noses--as if they were not properly formed. The talk was like a silly -sort of battle.... Innuendo, Miriam would say to herself, feeling that -the word was too beautiful for what she wanted to express; _double -entendre_ was also unsatisfactory. These people were all enemies -pretending to be friends. Why did they pretend? Why not keep quiet? Or -all sing between their eating, different songs, it would not matter. She -and Eve and Harriett and Gerald did sometimes hum the refrains of the -nigger minstrels’ songs, or one of them would hum a scrap of a solo and -all three sing the chorus. Then people were quiet, listening and smiling -their evil smiles and Miss Meldrum was delighted. It seemed improper and -half-hearted as no one else joined in; but after the first few days the -four of them always sang between the courses at dinner. Gerald did not -seem to mind the chaffy talk and the vulgar jokes, and would generally -join in; and he said strange disturbing things about the boarders, as if -he knew all about them. And he and Harriett talked to the niggers too -and found out about them. It spoilt them when one knew that they -belonged to small London musical halls, and had wives and families and -illnesses and trouble. Gerald and Harriett did not seem to mind this. -They did not seem to mind anything out of doors. They were free and hard -and contemptuous of everyone except the niggers and a few very -stylish-looking people who sailed along and took no notice of anybody. -Gerald said extraordinary, disturbing things about the girls on the -esplanade. Miriam and Eve were interested in some of the young men they -saw. They talked about them and looked out for them. Sometimes they -exchanged glances with them. Were she and Eve also “on show”; waiting to -be given “half an inch”; would she or Eve be “perfectly awful in the -dark”? Did the young men they specially favoured with their notice say -things about them? When these thoughts buzzed about in Miriam’s brain -she wanted to take a broom and sweep everybody into the sea.... She -discovered that a single steady unexpected glance, meeting her own, from -a man who had the right kind of bearing--something right about the set -of the shoulders--could disperse all the vague trouble she felt at the -perpetual spectacle of the strolling crowds, the stiffly waiting -many-eyed houses, the strange stupid bathing-machines, and send her -gaily forward in a glad world where there was no need to be alone in -order to be happy. A second encounter was sad, shameful, ridiculous; the -man became absurd and lost his dignity; the joyous sense of looking -through him right out and away to an endless perspective, of being told -that the endlessness was there and telling that the endlessness was -there had gone; the eyes were eyes, solid and mocking and helpless--to -be avoided in future; and when they had gone, the sunset or the curious -quivering line along the horizon were no longer gateways, but hard -barriers, until by some chance one was tranquilly alone again--when the -horizon would beckon and lift and the pathway of gold across the sea at -sunset call to your feet until they tingled and ached. - -Life was ugly and cruel. The secret of the sea and of the evenings and -mornings must be given up. It would fade more and more. What was life? -Either playing a part all the time in order to be amongst people in the -warm or standing alone with the strange true real feeling--alone with a -sort of edge of reality on everything; even on quite ugly common -things--cheap boarding-houses face towels and blistered window frames. - - - 8 - -Since Mr. Green and Mr. Parrow had left, they had given up going to pier -entertainments and had spent most of their time sitting in a close row -and talking together, in the intervals of the black and white minstrel -concerts and the performances of the town band. They had drifted into -this way of spending their time; there was never any discussion or -alteration of the day’s programme. It worked like a charm and there was -no sign of the breaking of the charm. Miriam was sometimes half afraid -just as they settled themselves down that someone, probably Gerald or -Eve might say ‘Funny, isn’t it, how well we four get on,’ and that -strange power that held them together and kept everything away would be -broken before the holiday came to an end. But no one did and they went -on sitting together in the morning on the hot sand--the moving living -glinting sand that took the sting as soon as you touched it with your -hand out of everything there might be in the latest letter from -home--hearing the niggers from ten to eleven, bathing from eleven to -twelve, sitting afterwards fresh and tingling and drowsy in canopied -chairs near the band until dinner-time, prowling and paddling in the -afternoon and ranging themselves again in chairs for the evening. - -They said nothing until almost the end of their time about the passage -of the days; but they looked at each other, each time they settled down, -with conspiring smiles and then sat, side by side, less visible to each -other than the great sunlit sea or the great clean salt darkness, -stranded in a row with four easy idle laughing commenting voices, away -alone and safe in the gaiety of the strong forgetful air--talking things -over. The far-away troublesome crooked things, all cramped and painful -and puzzling came out one by one and were shaken and tossed away along -the clean wind. And there was so much for Gerald to hear. He wanted to -hear everything--any little thing--“Just like a girl; it’s awfully jolly -for Harry he’s like that. She’ll never be lonely,” agreed Miriam and Eve -privately.... “He’s a perfect dear.” One night towards the end of their -time they talked of the future. It had begun to press on them. There -seemed no more time for brooding even over Eve’s fascinating little -pictures of life in the big country house, or Miriam’s stories and -legends of Germany--she said very little about Banbury Park fearing the -amazement and disgust of the trio if anything of the reality of North -London should reach them through her talk and guessing the impossibility -of their realising the Pernes--or Gerald’s rich memories of the opulence -of his early home life, an atmosphere of spending and operas and -banquets and receptions and distinguished people. During the evening, in -a silent interval, just as the band was tuning up to begin its last -tune, Gerald had said with quiet emphasis, “Well, anyhow, girls, you -mark my words the old man won’t make any more money. Not another penny. -You may as well make up your minds to that.” Then the band had broken -into their favourite Hungarian dance. Three of them sat blissfully back -in their deck chairs, but Miriam remained uncomfortably propped forward, -eagerly thinking. The music rushed on, she saw dancers shining before -her in wild groups, in the darkness, leaping and shouting, their feet -scarcely touching the earth and a wild light darted about them as they -shouted and leapt. “Set Mirry up in some sort of business,” quoted her -mind from one of Gerald’s recent soliloquies. She knew that she did not -want that. But the dancing forms told her of the absurdity of going back -without protest to the long aching days of teaching in the little school -amongst those dreadful voices which were going, whatever she did for -them, to be dreadful all their lives. Nothing she could do would make -any difference to them. They did not want her. They were quite happy. -Her feelings and thoughts, her way of looking at things, her desire for -space and beautiful things and music and quietude would never be their -desire. Reverence for things--had she reverence? She felt she must have -because she knew they had not; even the old people; only superstition -... North London would always be North London, hard, strong, sneering, -money-making, noisy and trammy. Perhaps the difference between the north -and the south and her own south-west of London was like the difference -between the north and the south of England.... Green’s “History of the -English People” ... spinning-jennys began in the Danish north, hard and -cold, with later sunsets. In the south was Somersetshire lace. North -London meant twenty pounds a year and the need for resignation and -determination every day. Eve had thirty-five pounds and a huge garden -and new books and music ... a book called “Music and Morals” and -interesting people staying in the house. And Eve had not been to Germany -and could not talk French. “You are an idiot to go on doing it. It’s -wrong. Lazy,” laughed the dancers crowding and flinging all round her. -“I ought,” she responded defiantly, “to stay on and make myself into a -certificated teacher.” “Certificated?” they screamed wildly sweeping -before her in strange lines of light. “If you do you will be like Miss -Cramp. Certificates--little conceited papers, and you dead. Certificates -would finish you off--Kill--Kill--Kill--_Kill_--_Kill!!_” Bang. The band -stopped and Miriam felt the bar of her chair wounding her flesh. The -trail of the dancers flickered away across the sea and her brain was -busily dictating her letter to Miss Perne: “and therefore I am obliged, -however reluctantly, to take this step, as it is absolutely necessary -for me to earn a larger salary at once.” - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - - 1 - -The Henderson party found Mr. Green and Mr. Parrow waiting in the dim -plank-floored corridor leading from the station to the main building of -the Crystal Palace. When the quiet greetings were over and they had -arranged a meeting-place at the end of the evening in case any of the -party should be lost, they all tramped on up the resounding corridor. -Miriam found herself bringing up the rear with Mr. Parrow. They were -going on up the corridor, through the Palace and out into the summer -evening. They had all come to go out into the summer evening and see the -fireworks. All but she had come meaning to get quite near to the ‘set -pieces’ and to look at them. She had not said anything about meaning to -get as far away from the fireworks as possible. She had been trusting to -Mr. Parrow for that. Now that she was with him she felt that perhaps it -was not quite fair. He had come meaning to see the fireworks. He would -be disappointed. She would be obliged to tell him presently, when they -got out into the night. They were all tramping quickly up along the -echoing corridor. No one seemed to be talking, just feet, tramp, tramp -on the planking, rather quickly. It was like the sound of workmen’s feet -on the inside scaffolding of a half-built house. The corridor was like -something in the Hospital for Incurables ... that strange old woman -sitting in the hall with bent head laughing over her crochet, and Miss -Garrett whom they had come to see sitting up in bed, a curtained bed in -a ward, with a pleated mob cap all over the top of her head and half-way -down her forehead, sitting back against large square pillows with her -hands clasped on the neat bed-clothes and a “sweet, patient” look on her -face, coughing gently and spitting, spitting herself to death ... -rushing away out of the ward to wait for mother downstairs in the hall -with the curious smells and the dreadful old woman.... What was it, -chick?... Sick, mother, I felt sick, I couldn’t stay. It was rage; rage -with that dreadful old woman. People probably told her she was patient -and sweet, and she had got that trick of putting her head on one side. -She was not sweet. She was one of the worst of those dreadful people who -would always make people believe in a particular way, all the time. She -had a great big frame. If she had done anything but sit as she sat, in -that particular way, one could have stayed. - -They were all standing looking at some wonderful sort of clock, a -calendar-clock--‘a triumph of ingenuity,’ said Mr. Green’s bright reedy -voice. The building had opened out and rushed up, people were passing to -and fro. “We don’t want to stay inside; let’s go out,” said Gerald. The -group broke into couples again and passed on. Miriam found herself with -Mr. Parrow once more. Of course she would be with him all the evening. -She must tell him at once about the fireworks. She ought not to have -come, if she did not mean to see the fireworks. It was mean and feeble -to cheat him out of his evening. Why had she come; to wander about with -him, not seeing the fireworks. What an idiotic and abominable thing. Now -that she was here at his side it was quite clear that she must endure -the fireworks. Anything else would be like asking him to wander about -with her alone. She did not want to wander about with him alone. She -took an opportunity of joining Eve for a moment. They had just walked -through a winter garden and were standing at the door of a concert room, -all quite silent and looking very shy. “Eve,” she said hurriedly in a -low tone, “d’you want to see the beastly fireworks?” - -“Beastly? Oh, of course, I do,” said Eve in a rather loud embarrassed -tone. How dreadfully self-conscious they all were. Somebody seemed to be -speaking. “What _sticks_ my family are--I had no idea,” muttered Miriam -furiously into Eve’s face. Eve’s eyes filled with tears, but she stood -perfectly still, saying nothing. Miriam wheeled round and stared into -the empty concert room. It was filled with a faint bluish light and -beyond the rows of waiting chairs and the empty platform a huge organ -stood piled up towards the roof. The party were moving on. What a queer -place the Crystal Palace is ... what a perfectly horrible place for a -concert ... pianissimo passages and those feet on those boards tramping -about outside.... What a silly muddle. Mr. Parrow was waiting for her to -join the others. They straggled along past booths and stalls, meeting -groups of people, silent and lost like themselves. Now they were passing -some kind of stonework things, reliefs, antique, roped off like the -seats in a church. Just in front of them a short man holding the red -cord in his hands was looking at a group with some ladies. “_Why_,” he -said suddenly in a loud cheerful voice, stretching an arm out across the -rope and pointing to one of the reliefs, “it’s Auntie and Grandma!” -Miriam stared at him as they passed, he was so short, shorter than any -of the ladies he was with. “It’s the only way to see these things,” he -said in the same loud harsh cheerful voice. Miriam laughed aloud. What a -clever man. - -“Do you like statues?” said Mr. Parrow in a low gentle tone. - -“I don’t know anything about them,” said Miriam. - -“I can’t bear fireworks,” she said hurriedly. - -They were in the open at last. In the deepening twilight many people -were going to and fro. In the distance soft dark masses of trees stood -out against the sky in every direction. Not far away the ghostly frames -of the set pieces reared against the sky made the open evening seem as -prison-like as the enclosure they had just left. Round about the -scaffolding of these pieces dense little crowds were collecting. - -“Don’t you want to see the fireworks?” - -“I want to get away from them.” - -“All right, we’ll get lost at once.” - -“It isn’t,” she explained a little breathlessly, in relief, suddenly -respecting him, allowing him to thread a way for her through the -increasing crowd towards the open evening, “that I don’t want to see the -fireworks, but I simply can’t stand the noise.” - -“I see,” laughed Mr. Parrow gently. They were making towards the open -evening along a narrow gravel pathway, like a garden pathway. Miriam -hurried a little, fearing that the fireworks might begin before they got -to a safe distance. - -“I never have been able to stand a sudden noise. It’s torture to me to -walk along a platform where a train may suddenly shriek.” - -“I see. You’re afraid of the noise.” - -“It isn’t fear--I can’t describe it. It’s agony. It’s like pain. But -much much worse than pain. It’s--it’s--annihilating.” - -“I see; that’s very peculiar.” - -Their long pathway was leading them towards a sweet-scented density, dim -bowers and leafy arches appeared just ahead. - -“It was much worse even than it is now when I was a little thing. When -we went to the seaside I used to sit in the train nearly dead until it -had screamed and started. And there was a teacher who sneezed--a noise -like a hard scream--at school. She used to go on sneezing--twenty times -or so. I was only six and I dreaded going to school just for that. Once -I cried and they took me out of the room. I’ve never told anyone. Nobody -knows.” - -“You’ve told me.” - -“Yes.” - -“It’s very interesting. You shan’t go anywhere near the fireworks.” - - - 2 - -A large rosy flare, wavering steadily against the distant trees showed -up for a moment the shapes and traceries of climbing plants surrounding -their retreat. A moment afterwards with a dull boom a group of white -stars shot up into the air and hovered, melting one by one as the crowd -below moaned and crackled its applause. - -Miriam laughed abruptly. “That’s jolly. How clever people are. But it’s -much better up here. It’s like not being too near at the theatre.” - -“I think we’ve got the best view certainly.” - -“But we shall miss the set pieces.” - -“The people down there won’t see the rosary.” - -“What’s that black thing on our left down there?” - -“That’s the toboggan run. We ought to go on that.” - -“What is it like?” - -“It’s fine; you just rush down. We must try it.” - -“Not for worlds.” - -Mr. Parrow laughed. “Oh you must try the toboggan; there’s no noise -about that.” - -“I really couldn’t.” - -“Really?” - -“Absolutely. I mean it. Nothing under the sun would induce me to go on a -toboggan.” - -They sat watching the fireworks until they were tired of the whistling -rockets, showers of stars and golden rain, the flaming bolts that shot -up from the Battle of the Nile, the fizzlings and fire spurtings of the -set pieces and the recurrent moanings and faint patterings of applause -from the crowd. - -“I wish they’d do some more coloured flares of light up the trees like -they did at first. It was beautiful--more real than these things. ‘Feu -d’artifice’ artificial fire--all these noisy things. Why do people -always like a noise? Men. All the things men have invented, trains and -cannons and things make a frightful noise.” - -“The toboggan’s not noisy. Come and try the toboggan.” - -“Oh no.” - -“Well--there’s the lake down there. We might have a boat.” - -“Do you know how to manage a boat?” - -“I’ve been on once or twice; if you like to try I’ll manage.” - -“No; it’s too dark.” What a plucky man. But the water looked cold. And -perhaps he would be really stupid. - -A solitary uniformed man was yawning and whistling at the top of the -deserted toboggan run. The faint light of a lamp fell upon the square -platform and the little sled standing in place at the top of a shiny -slope which shot steeply down into blackness. - -“We’d better get on,” said Miriam trembling. - -“Well, you’re very graceful at giving in,” remarked Mr. Parrow, handing -her into the sled and settling with the man. - -He got that sentence out of a book, thought Miriam wildly as she heard -the man behind them say “Ready? Off you go!” ... Out of a book a book a -book--_Oh_--_ooooh_--how ab_solutely_ glorious, she yelled as they shot -down through the darkness. _Oh_, she squealed into the face laughing and -talking beside her. She turned away, shouting, for the final rush, they -were flying--involuntarily her hand flung out, they were tearing -headlong into absolute darkness, and was met and firmly clasped. They -shot slackening up a short incline and stood up still hand in hand, -laughing incoherently. - -“Let’s walk back and try again,” said Mr. Parrow. - -“Oh no; I enjoyed it most frightfully; but we mustn’t go again. Besides, -it must be fearfully late.” - -She pulled at her hand. The man was too near and too big. His hand was -not a bit uncertain like his speech, and for a moment she was glad that -she pulled in vain. “Very well,” said Mr. Parrow, “but we must find our -way off the grass and strike the pathway.” Drawing her gently along, he -peered about for the track. “Let me go,” said her hand dragging gently -at his. “No” said the firm enclosure, tightening “not yet.” What does it -matter? flashed her mind. Why should I be such a prude? The hand gave -her confidence. It was firm and strong and perfectly serious. It was a -hand like her own hand and comfortingly strange and different. Gently -and slowly he guided her over the dewy grass. The air that had rushed so -wildly by them a few minutes ago was still and calm and friendly; the -distant crowd harmless and insignificant. The fireworks were over. The -pathway they had missed appeared under their feet and down it they -walked soberly, well apart, but still hand in hand until they reached -the borders of the dispersing crowd. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - - 1 - -When Miriam sat talking everything over with the Pernes at supper, on -the first night of the term, detached for ever from the things that -engrossed them, the school-work, Julia Doyle’s future, the peculiarities -of the visiting teachers, the problem of the “unnatural infatuation” of -two of the boarders with each other, the pros and cons of a -revolutionary plan for taking the girls in parties to the principal -London museums, she made the most of her triumphant assertion that she -had absolutely nothing in view. She found herself decorously waiting, -armed at all points, through the silent interval while the Pernes took -in the facts of her adventurous renunciation. She knew at once that she -would have to be desperately determined.... But after all they could not -do anything with her. - -Sitting there, in the Perne boat, still taking an oar and determined to -fling herself into the sea ... she ought not to have told them she was -leaving them just desperately, without anything else in prospect; -because they were so good, not like employers. They would all feel for -her. It was just like speaking roughly at home. Well, it was done. She -glanced about. Miss Haddie, across the table behind her habitual bowl of -bread and milk had a face--the face of a child surprised by injustice. -‘I was right--I was right,’ Miriam gasped to herself as the light flowed -in. ‘I’m escaping--just in time.... Emotional tyranny.... What a good -expression ... that’s the secret of Miss Haddie. It was awful. She’s -lost me. I’m free. Emotional tyranny.’ ... ‘My hat, Mirry, you’re beyond -me. How much do you charge for that one. Say it again,’ she seemed to -hear Gerald’s friendly voice. Go away Gerald. True. True. All the truth -and meaning of her friendship with Miss Haddie in one single flash. How -_fearfully_ interesting life was. Miss Haddie wrestling with her, -fighting for her soul; praying for her, almost driving her to the early -service and always ready to quiver over her afterwards and to ask her if -she had been happy.... And now angry because she was escaping. - -She appealed to Miss Deborah and met a flash of her beautiful soft -piercing eyes. Her delicate features quivered and wrinkled almost to a -smile. But Miss Deborah was afraid of Miss Jenny who was already -thinking and embarking on little sounds. Miriam got away for a moment in -a tumult, with Miss Deborah. ‘Oh,’ she shouted to her in the depths of -her heart, ‘you are heavenly young. You _know_. Life’s like Robinson -Crusoe. Your god’s a great big Robinson Crusoe. You know that anything -may happen any minute. And it’s all right.’ She laughed and shook -staring at the salt-cellar and then across at Miss Haddie whose eyes -were full of dark fear. Miss Haddie was alone and outraged. ‘She thinks -I’m a fraud besides being vulgar ... life goes on and she’ll wonder and -wonder about me puzzled and alone.’ ... She smiled at her her broadest, -happiest, home smile, one she had never yet reached at Banbury Park. -Flushing scarlet Miss Haddie smiled in return. - -“Eh--my dear girl,” Miss Jenny was saying diffidently at her side, -“isn’t it a little unwise--very unwise--under the circumstances--with -the difficulties--well, in fact with all ye’ve just told us--have ye -thought?” When Miriam reached her broad smile Miss Jenny stopped and -suddenly chuckled. “My _dear_ Miriam! I don’t know. I suppose we don’t -know ye. I suppose we haven’t really known ye as ye are. But come, have -ye thought it out? No, ye haven’t,” she ended gravely, looking along the -table and flicking with her forefinger the end of her little red nose. - -Miriam glanced at her profile and her insecure disorderly bunch of hair. -Miss Jenny was formidable. She would recommend certificates. Her eye -wavered towards Miss Deborah. - -“My dear Jenny,” said Miss Deborah promptly, “Miriam is not a child. She -must do as she thinks best.” - -“But don’t ye see my point, my dear Deborah? I don’t say she’s a child. -She’s a madcap. That’s it.” She paused. “Of course I daresay she’ll fall -on her feet. Ye’re a most extraordinary gel. I don’t know. Of course ye -can come _back_--or stay here in yer holidays. Ye know _that_, my dear,” -she concluded, suddenly softening her sharp little voice. - -“I don’t _want_ to go,” cried Miriam with tear-filled eyes. They were -one person in the grip of a decision. Miss Haddie sat up and moved her -elbows about. All four pairs of eyes held tears. - -“My dear--I wish we could give ye more, Miriam,” murmured Miss Jenny; -“we don’t want to lose ye, ye’ve pulled the lower school together in a -remarkable way”; Miss Deborah was drawing little breaths of protest at -this descent into gross detail; “the children are interested. We hear -that from the parents. We shall be able to give ye excellent -testimonials.” - -“Oh, I don’t care about that,” responded Miriam desperately. -‘Fancy--Great Scott--parents--behind all my sore throats--I’ve never -heard about that. It’s all coming out now,’ she thought. - -“Well--my dear--now----” began Miss Jenny hesitatingly. Feeling herself -slipping, Miriam clung harshly to her determination and drew herself up -to offer the set of the pretty blouse Gerald and Harriett had bought her -in Brighton as a seal on her irrevocable decision to break with Banbury -Park. It was a delicate sheeny green silk, with soft tuckers. - -“What steps have ye taken?” asked Miss Jenny in a quizzical -business-like tone. - -“It’s very kind of you,” said Miriam formally, and went on to hint -vaguely and convincingly at the existence of some place in a family in -the country that would be sure to fall to her lot through the many -friends to whom Eve had written on her behalf, turning away from the -feast towards the freedom of the untenanted part of the room. The -sitting had to be brought to an end.... In a moment she would be utterly -routed.... Her lame statements were the end of the struggle. She knew -she was demonstrating in her feeble broken tones a sort of blind -strength they knew nothing of and that they would leave it at that, -whatever they thought, if only there were no more talk. - - - 2 - -When they had left the room and Flora came in for the supper things, -instead of sitting as usual at the far end of the table pretending to -read, she stood planted on the hearthrug watching her. Flora’s hands -were small and pale and serenely despairing like her face. She cleared -the table quietly. She had nothing to hope for. She did not know she had -nothing to hope for. Whatever happened she would go quietly on doing -things ... in the twilight ... on a sort of edge. People would die. -Perhaps people had already died in her family. But she would always be -the same. One day she would die, perhaps of something hard and slow and -painful with that small yellowish constitution. - -She would not be able to go on looking serene and despairing with people -round her bed helping her. When she died she would wait quietly with -nothing to do, blind and wondering. Death would take her into a great -festival--things for her for herself. She would not believe it and would -put up her hands to keep it off. But it would be all round her in great -laughter, like the deep roaring and crying of a flood. Then she would -cry like a child. - -Why was it that for some people, for herself, life could be happy now. -It was possible now to hear things laugh just by setting your teeth and -doing things; breaking into things, chucking things about, refusing to -be held. It made even the dreadful past seem wonderful. All the days -here, the awful days, each one awful and hateful and painful. - -Flora had gathered up her tray and disappeared, quietly closing the -door. But Flora had known and somehow shared her triumph, felt her -position in the school as she stood planted and happy in the middle of -the Pernes’ hearthrug. - - - 3 - -“An island is a piece of land entirely surrounded by water.” - -Miriam kept automatically repeating these words to herself as the newly -returned children clung about her the next morning in the schoolroom. It -was a morning of heavy wind and rain and the schoolroom was dark, and -chilly with its summer-screened fireplace. The children seemed to her -for the first time small and pathetic. She was deserting them. After -fifteen months of strange intimacy she was going away for ever. - -During the usual routine days the little girls always seemed large and -formidable. She was quite sure they were not so to the other teachers, -and she hesitated when she thought over this difference, between the -explanation which accounted for their size and redoubtableness by her -own feebleness and the one to which she inclined when she felt her -success as a teacher. - -She had discovered that the best plan was to stand side by side with the -children in face of the things they had to learn, treating them as -equals and fellow-adventurers, giving explanations when these were -necessary, as if they were obvious and might have been discovered by the -children themselves, never as if they were possessions of her own, to be -imparted, never claiming a knowledge superior to their own. ‘The -business of the teacher is to make the children independent, to get them -to think for themselves, and that’s much more important than whether -they get to know facts,’ she would say irrelevantly to the Pernes -whenever the question of teaching came up. She bitterly resented their -vision of children as malleable subordinates. And there were many -moments when she seemed to be silently exchanging this determination of -hers with her pupils. Good or bad, she knew it was the secret of her -influence with them, and so long as she was faithful to it both she and -they enjoyed their hours together. Very often she was tired, feeble with -fatigue and scamping all opportunities; this too they understood and -never took advantage of her. One or two of them would even when she -failed try to keep things going on her own method. All this was sheer -happiness to her, the bread and wine of her days. - -But now and again, perhaps during the mid-morning recess, this -impersonal relationship gave way and the children clung fawning all -round her, passionately competing for nearness, touching and clinging -and snatching for kisses. There was no thought or uprightness or -laughter then, their hands were quick and eloquent and their eyes wide -and deeply smiling with those strange women’s smiles. Sometimes she -could respond in kind, answering to their smiles and caresses, making -gentle foolish sounds and feeling their passion rise to a frenzy of -adoration. The little deprecating consoling sounds that they made as -they clung told her that if she chose steadily to remain always gentle -and deprecating and consoling and reproachful she could dominate them as -persons and extort in the long run a complete personal obedience to -herself, so that they would do their work for her sake and live by and -through her, adoring her--as a goddess--and hating her. Even as they -fawned she knew they were fighting between their aching desire for a -perfection of tenderness in her and their fear lest she should fulfil -the desire. She was always tempted for an instant to yield and fling -herself irrevocably into the abyss, letting the children go on one by -one into the upper school, carrying as her gift only a passionate memory -such as she herself had for one of her nursemaids; leaving her -downstairs with an endless succession of new loves, different, but -always the same. She would become like a kind of nun, making a bare -subsistence, but so beloved always, so quivering and tender and -responsive that human love would never fail her, and when strength -failed there would be hands held out to shelter her decline. But the -vision never held her for more than a moment. There was something in the -thought of such pure personal sentiment that gave her a feeling of -treachery towards the children. Mentally she flung them out and off, -made them stand upright and estranged. She could not give them personal -love. She did not want to; nor to be entangled with them. They were -going to grow up into North London women, most of them loudly scorning -everything that was not materially profitable; these would remember her -with pity--amusement. A few would escape. These would remember her at -strange moments that were coming for them, moments when they would -recognise the beauty of things like ‘the Psalm of Life’ that she had -induced them to memorise without understanding it. - -This morning a sense of their softness and helplessness went to her -heart. She had taught them so little. But she had forced them to be -impersonal. Almost savagely she had done that. She had never taken them -by a trick.... - - - 4 - -And now they were going to be Julia’s children. - -Julia would teach them--alone there in the room with them, filling the -room for them--in her own way.... - -There would be no more talk about general ideas.... - -She would have to keep on the “object” lessons, because the Pernes had -been so pleased with the idea and the children had liked them. There -would still be those moments, with balls for the solar system and a -candle for the sun, and the blinds down. But there would not be anything -like that instant when all the eyes round the table did nothing but -watch the movement of a shadow on a ball ... the relief afterwards, the -happiness and the moment of intense love in the room--never to be -forgotten, all of them knowing each other, all their differences gone -away, even the clever watchful eyes of the cheating little Jewess, real -and unconscious for a moment. Julia would be watching the children as -much as the shadow, and the children would never quite forget Julia. She -would get to know a great deal about the children, but there would be no -reverence for big cold outside things. She would teach them to be kind. -“Little dorlings.” She thought all children were darlings and talked to -them all in her wheedling, coaxing, adoring way. If one or two were not, -it was the fault of the way they were treated, something in the -‘English’ way of dealing with them. Nearly all the elder girls she -disapproved of, they were no longer children--they were English. She was -full of contempt and indignant laughter for them, and of pity for the -‘wee things’ who were growing up. Yet she got on with them all and had -the secret of managing them without letting them see her feelings. - -There _was_ something specially bad in the English way of bringing up -children. Not the ‘education’ exactly, but something else, something in -the way they were treated. Something in the way they were brought up -made English women so awful--with their smiles. Julia did not smile or -smirk. She laughed a great deal, often to tears. And she would often -suddenly beam. It was like a light coming from under her thick white -skin. Was Julia the answer to the awfulness of Englishwomen? If, as -Julia said, the children were all right and only the girls and grown-ups -awful, it must be something in the way the children were treated. - - - 5 - -Yet Julia was not impersonal. - -Miss Deborah, ... teaching the whole school to be ‘good’ in the -Fairchild way; with her beautiful quivering nodding black head held -high--blinking, and not looking at the girls separately--in a grave -voice, full of Scripture history, but broken all the time, quivering -with laughter and shoutings which she never uttered ... hilarious, ... -she taught a system of things she had been brought up in. But all the -same, she rushed along sweeping the girls with her ... and the girls -believed her. If I taught her system I should have false lips and the -girls would not believe me. If ever anyone had the courage to tell her -of any dreadful thing, she would weep it all away; and the person would -begin all over again certainly, as much as possible in the Fairchild way -... again and again until they died. Supposing a murderer came and sat -down in the hall? Supposing Miss Deborah had been brought up as a -Thug--killing people from behind?... - -Miss Jenny, exasperatedly trying to wake all the girls up to the -importance of public life, sitting round in their blouses and skirts, -half-amused and sometimes trying to argue, because the tone of Miss -Jenny’s voice made them sorry for the other side. Politics, politics, -reading history and the newspapers, the importance of history if you -wanted to have any understanding of your own times. To come into the -room to take the class after Miss Jenny always meant finding her stating -and protesting and tapping the end of her nose, and the air hot and -excited, and the girls in some sort of state of excitement which could -only be got over by being very quiet and pretending not to notice them -except to be very surprised if there were any disturbance. - -Miss Haddie, in horror of their badness, teaching them to master little -set tasks because it was shocking to be an idler; loving the sinner but -hating the sin much more, with a sort of horror like a girl, a horror in -her eyes that was the same as the horror of insects, fearing God who was -so close in the room, gloomily, all the time--wanting to teach them all -to fawn on Christ. Christ would make everything all right if you made up -to him. “Faint not nor fear, his arms are near. He faileth not and thou -art dear.” Awful.... - -And then Julia, making the children love her, herself, as a person. They -would all love her in time. Even Burra after her first grief would fling -herself upon Julia.... Gertie would not though, ever. Cold, quiet little -Gertie, the doctor’s daughter. She would make no response however much -she were kissed and called a little darling. Gertie even as a child was -the English thing that Julia disliked. Julia, with all her success was -not the answer to the problem of why Englishwomen were abominable. She -left out so much. “Julia, you know, I think things are more important -than people. Much more. People, if you let them for one single instant, -grin and pounce upon you and try to make you forget things. But they’re -there all the time and you have to go back to them,” and Julia laughing -suddenly aloud, “Ah--you’re a duck--a tonic.” And everyone was a little -afraid of Julia, the children, the boarders whom she managed so -high-handedly with her laughter, even the Pernes. - - - 6 - -Perhaps Julia’s ‘personal’ way and the English ‘personal’ way were -somehow both wrong and horrid ... girls’ schools were horrid, bound to -be horrid, sly, mean, somehow tricky and poisonous. It was a hopeless -problem. The English sentimental way was wrong, the way of Englishwomen -with children--it made them grow up with those treacherous smiles. - -The scientific and ‘æsthetic’ way, the way of the Putney school--ah, -blessed escape!... But it left nearly all the girls untouched. - -Julia’s sentimental way was better than the English sentimental way; its -smiles had tears and laughter too, they were not so hypocritical. But it -was wrong. It was the strongest thing though in the Wordsworth House -school. - - - 7 - -Julia was not happy. She dreamed fearful dreams.... Why did she speak of -them as if they were something that no one in this English world into -which she had come would understand? She had her strange nights all to -herself there across the landing; either lying awake or sleeping and -moaning all the time. The girls in her room slept like rocks and did not -know that she moaned. They knew she had nightmares and sometimes cried -out and woke them. But passing the open door late at night one could -hear her moaning softly on every breath with closed lips. That was -Julia, her life, all laid bare, moaning.... She knows she is alive and -that there is no escape from being alive. But it has never made her feel -breathless with joy. She laughs all day, at everybody and everything, -and at night when she is naked and alone she moans; moan, moan, moan, -heart-broken; wind and rain alone in the dark in a great open space. - -She sometimes hinted at things, those real unknown things that were her -own life unshared by anybody; in a low soft terrible broken voice, with -eyes dilated and quivering lips; quite suddenly, with hardly any words. -And she would speak passionately about the sea, how she hated it and -could not look at it or listen to it; and of woods, the horror of woods, -the trees and the shadowiness, making her crisp her hands--ah yes, _les -mains crispées_, that was the word; and she had laughed when it was -explained to her. - -It was not that she had troubles at home. Those things she seemed to -find odd and amusing, like a story of the life of some other -person--poverty and one of her sisters ‘very peculiar,’ another engaged -to a scamp and another going to be a shop-assistant, and two more, -‘doties’ very young, being brought up in the country with an aunt. -Everything that happened to people and all the things people did seemed -to her funny and amusing, “tickled her to death.” Harriett’s engagement -amused her really, though she pretended to be immensely interested and -asked numbers of questions in a rich deep awe-struck voice ... -blarney.... But she wanted to hear everything, and she never forgot -anything she was told. And she had been splendid about the -operation--really anxious, quite conscious and awake across the landing -that awful night and really making you feel she was glad afterwards. -“Poor Mrs. Henderson--I was never so glad in my life”--and always -seeming to know her without having her explained. She was real there, -and so strange in telling the Pernes about it and making it all easy. - - - 8 - -Miriam leaned upon Julia more and more as the term went on, hating and -fearing her for her secret sorrow and wondering and wondering why she -appeared to have such a curious admiration and respect for herself. She -could understand her adoration for the Pernes; she saw them as they were -and had a phrase which partly explained them, “no more knowledge of the -world than babes”--but what was it in herself that Julia seemed so -fiercely and shyly to admire? - -She knew she could not let Julia know how she enjoyed washing her hands, -in several soapings, in the cold water, before dinner. They would go -their favourite midday walk, down the long avenue in the park through -the little windings of the shrubbery and into the chrysanthemum show, -strolling about in the large green-house, all the girls glad of the -escape from a set walk, reading over every day the strange names on the -little wooden stakes, jokes and gigglings and tiresomenesses all kept -within bounds by the happiness that there was, inside the great quiet -steamy glass-house, in the strange raw bitter scent of the great -flowers, in the strange huge way they stood, and with all their -differences of shape and colour staring quietly at you, all in the same -way with one expression. They were startling, amongst their grey leaves; -and they looked startled and held their heads as if they knew they were -beautiful. The girls always hurried to get to the chrysanthemums and -came away all of them walking in twos relieved and happy back through -the cold park to dinner. But Julia, who loved the flowers, though she -made fun of their names in certain moods and dropped them _sotto voce_ -into the general conversation at the dinner-table would have, Miriam -felt sure, scorned her own feeling of satisfaction in the great -hand-washing and the good dinner. And she detested pease pudding with -the meat, and boiled suet pudding with treacle. - - - 9 - -She ate scarcely anything herself, keeping her attention free and always -seeming to be waiting for someone to say something that was never said. -Her broad-shouldered, curiously buoyant, heavy, lounging, ill-clad form, -her thick white skin, her eyes like a grey-blue sea, her dark masses of -fine hair had long been for Miriam the deepest nook in the meal-time -gatherings--she rested there unafraid of anything the boarders might say -or do. She would never be implicated. Julia would take care of that, -heading everything off and melting up the difficulties into some -absurdity that would set all the Pernes talking. Julia lounged easily -there, controlling the atmosphere of the table. And the Pernes knew it -unconsciously, they must know it; any English person would know it ... -though they talked about her untidiness and lack of purpose and -application. Julia was a deep, deep nook, full of thorns. - - - 10 - -Julia had spoiled the news of Sarah’s engagement to Bennett Brodie. It -had been such a wonderful moment. The thick envelope coming at midday in -Bennett’s hand-writing--such a surprise--asking Miss Perne’s permission -to read it at the dinner-table--reading the startling sentences in the -firm curved hand--‘assert my privilege as your prospective -brother-in-law by announcing that I’m on the track of a job that I think -will suit you down to the ground,’ the curious splash, gravy on the -cloth as somebody put the great dish on the table, far-away vexation and -funny familiar far-away discomfort all round the table, ‘no more of this -until I’ve got full particulars on the tapis; but it may, oh Grecian -Mariamne, not be without interest to you to hear that that sister of -yours does not appear to be altogether averse to taking over the -management of the new house and the new practice and the new -practitioner, and that the new practitioner is hereby made anew in a -sense that is more of an amazement to him than it doubtless will be to -your intuitive personality. That life had such happiness in store for -him is not the least of the many surprises that have come his way. He -can only hope to prove not unworthy; and so a hearty au revoir from -yours affectionately.’ ... Then Bennett would always be there amongst -the home things ... with his strange way of putting things; he would -give advice and make suggestions ... and Sarah’s letter ... a glance at -it showing short sentences, things spoken in a low awe-struck voice.... -‘We had been to an entertainment together.... Coming home along the -avenue. I was so surprised. He was so quiet and serious and humble.’ ... -All the practical things gone away in a moment, leaving only a sound of -deep music, ... mornings and evenings. Sarah alone now, at last, a -person, with mornings and evenings and her own reality in everything. No -one could touch her or interfere any more. She was standing aside, -herself. She would always be Sarah, someone called Sarah. She need never -worry any more, but go on doing things.... And then looking up and -finding all the table eagerly watching and saying suddenly to Miss Perne -‘another of my sisters is engaged’ and everybody, even Trixie and -Beadie, excited and interested. - - - 11 - -The news, the great great news, wonderful Sarah away somewhere in the -background with her miracle--telling it out to the table of women was a -sort of public announcement that life was moving out on to wider levels. -They all knew it, pinned there; and how dear and glad they were, for a -moment, making it real, acknowledging by their looks how wonderful it -was. Sarah, floating above them all, caught up out of the darkness of -everyday life.... And then Julia’s eyes--veiled for a moment while she -politely stirred and curved her lips to a smile--cutting through it all, -seeming to say that nothing was really touched or changed. But when the -table had turned to jealousy and resentment and it was time to pretend -to hide the shaft of light and cease to listen to the music, Julia, cool -and steady, covered everything up and made conversation. - - - 12 - -And the thought of Julia was always a disturbance in going to tea with -the Brooms. Grace Broom was the only girl in the school for whom she had -an active aversion. She put one or two questions about them, ‘You really -like going there?’ ‘You’ll go on seeing them after you leave?’ and -concluded carelessly ‘that’s a mystery to me----’ - -Sitting at tea shut in in the Brooms’ little dining-room with the blinds -down and the dark red rep curtains drawn and the gas-light and brilliant -fire-light shining on the brilliantly polished davenport in the -window-space and the thick bevelled glass of the Satsuma-laden mahogany -sideboard, the dim cracked oil-painting of Shakespeare above the -mantel-shelf, the dark old landscapes round the little walls, the new -picture of Queen Victoria leaning on a stick and supported by Hindu -servants, receiving a minister, the solid silver tea-service, the fine -heavily edged linen table-cover, the gleaming, various, delicately -filled dishes, the great bowl of flowers, the heavy, carven, unmoved, -age-long dreaming faces of the three women with their living interested -eyes, she would suddenly, in the midst of a deep, calm undisturbing -silence become aware of Julia. Julia would not be impressed by the -surroundings, the strange silent deeps of the room. She would discover -only that she was with people who revered “our Queen” and despised “the -working classes.” It would be no satisfaction to her to sit drinking -from very exquisite old china, cup after cup of delicious very hot tea, -laughing to tears over the story of the curate who knelt insecurely on a -high kneeling stool at evening service in a country church and crashing -suddenly down in the middle of a long prayer went on quietly intoning -from the floor, or the madeira cake that leapt from the cake-dish on an -at-home day and rolled under the sofa. She would laugh, but she would -look from face to face, privately, and wonder. She would not really like -the three rather dignified seated forms with the brilliant, tear-filled -eyes, sitting on over tea, telling anecdotes, and tales of long strange -illnesses suffered by strange hidden people in quiet houses, weddings, -deaths, the stories of families separated for life by quarrels over -money, stories of far-off holidays in the country; strange sloping rooms -and farmhouse adventures; the cow that walked into the bank in a little -country town.... Mrs. Philps’ first vision, as a bride, of the English -Lakes, the tone of her voice as she talked about all these things. - -The getting together and sitting about and laughing in the little room -would never be to her like being in a world that was independent of all -the other worlds. She would not want to go again and again and sit, just -the four women, at tea, talking. The silent, beautifully kept, -experienced old furniture all over the house would not fill her with -fear and delight and strength. It would be no satisfaction to her to put -on her things in front of the huge plate glass of the enormous -double-fronted wardrobe in the spare-room with its old Bruges ware and -its faded photographs of the interiors of unknown churches, rows and -rows of seats and a faded blur where the altar was, thorn-crowned heads -and bold scrolly texts embroidered in crimson and gold silken mounted -and oak-framed. And when she went home alone along the quiet, dark, -narrow, tree-filled little roadways she would not feel gay and strong -and full of personality. - - - 13 - -On prize-giving day, Miriam’s last day, Julia seemed to disappear. For -the first time since she had come to the school it was as if she were -not there. She was neither talking nor watching nor steering anything at -all. Again and again during the ceremonies Miriam looked at her sitting -or moving about, pale and plain and shabby, one of the crowd of girls. - -The curious power of the collected girls, their steady profiles, their -movements, their unconcerned security rose and flooded round Miriam as -it had done when she first came to the school. But she no longer feared -it. It was going on, harsh and unconscious and determined, next term. -She was glad of it; the certainty thrilled her; she wanted to convey -some of her gladness to Julia, but could not catch her eye. - -Her gladness carried her through the most tedious part of the day’s -performances, the sitting in a listening concourse, doors open, in the -schoolroom, while some ten of the girls went one by one with stricken -faces into the little drawing-room and played the piece they had learned -during the term. Their shame and confusion, the anger and desperation of -their efforts, the comments of the listeners and their violent ironic -applause roused her to an intensity of sympathy. How they despised the -shame-faced tinkling; how they admired the martyrs. - -Their strong indifference seemed to centre in the cold pale scornful -face of Jessie Wheeler, sitting squarely there with defiant eyes, -waiting for the future; the little troop of children she dreamed of. - -These North London girls would be scornful mocking fiancées. They would -be adored by their husbands. Secretly they would forget their husbands -in their houses and children and friends. - - - 14 - -Julia was the last player. She sidled swiftly out of the room; even her -habitual easy halting lounge seemed to have deserted her; and almost at -once, slow and tragic and resignedly weeping came the opening notes of -Chopin’s Funeral March. Sitting in the front row of the little batch of -children from the lower school who faced the room from the window bay, -Miriam saw, in fancy, Julia’s face as she sat at the drawing-room -piano--the face she had when she talked of the woods and the sea. The -whole of the long march, including the major passage, was the voice of -Julia’s strange desolation. She played painfully, very slowly and -carefully, with tender respectful attention, almost without emphasis. -She was not in the least panic-stricken; anyone could feel that; but she -had none of the musical assurance that would have filled the girls with -uneasy admiration and disgust. They were pleased and amused. And far -away, Julia was alone with life and death. She made two worlds plain, -the scornful world of the girls and her own shadow-filled life. - -Miriam longed for the performance to be at an end so that the girls -might reassert themselves. - - - 15 - -An important stirring was going on at the little table where Miss Cramp -sat with the Pernes; only their heads and shoulders showing above the -piles of prize-books. Miss Perne stood up and faced the room smiling and -gently muttering. Presently her voice grew clear and she was making -little statements and pronouncing names, clearly and with gay tender -emphasis, the names of tall bold girls in the first class. One by one -they struggled to the table and stood gentle and disturbed with flushed -enlightened faces. Not a single girl could stand unconcerned before Miss -Perne. Even Polly Allen’s brow was shorn of its boldness. - -The girls knew. They would remember something of what the Pernes had -tried to give them. - -The room was unbearably stuffy. The prize-giving was at an end. Miriam’s -own children had struggled to the table and come back to her for the -last time. - -Miss Perne was making a little speech ... about Miss Henderson’s -forthcoming departure. Why did people do these formal things? She would -be expected to make some response. For a moment she had the impulse to -get up and rush away through the hall, get upstairs and pack and send -for a four-wheeler. But from behind came hands dragging at a fold of her -dress and the sound of Burra’s hard sobbing. She felt the child’s head -bowed against her hip. A child at her side twisted its hands together -and sat with its head held high, drawing sharp breaths. Miss Perne’s -voice went on. She was holding up an umbrella, a terrible, expensive, -silver-mounted one. The girls had subscribed. - -Miriam sat with beating heart waiting for Miss Perne’s voice to cease, -pressing back towards the support of Burra and other little outstretched -clutchings and the general snuffling of her class, grappling with the -amazement of hearing from various quarters of the room violent and -repeated nose-blowings, and away near the door in the voice of a girl -she had hardly spoken to a deep heavy contralto sobbing. - -Presently she was on her feet with the tightly-rolled silken twist of -the umbrella heavy in her hands. Her stiff lips murmured incoherent -thanks in a strange thin voice--Harriett’s voice with the life gone from -it. - - - NOTE.--_A further instalment of this book is in preparation._ - - - PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY - WM. BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PLYMOUTH - - - - - A NEW SERIES - Modern Plays - - - A New Series of Plays by present-day English playwrights, also - translations of the dramatists of the Continent. Including the - dramatic work of - - STRINDBERG - TCHEKHOFF - SUDERMANN - HAUPTMANN - JOHN GALSWORTHY - EDEN PHILLPOTTS - ALFRED SUTRO - MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD - HADDON CHAMBERS - HENRY ARTHUR JONES - - OVER 30 VOLUMES NOW READY - - -------- - - Cloth. Crown 8vo. 2s. net a volume. (Inland post 3d.) - - -------- - - List of volumes can be obtained from Booksellers, or from - the Publishers - - -------- - - - - - A FAMOUS SERIES - OVER 40 VOLUMES NOW PUBLISHED - The Reader’s Library - - - COPYRIGHT WORKS OF INDIVIDUAL - MERIT AND PERMANENT VALUE BY - AUTHORS OF REPUTE - - INCLUDING WORKS BY - - HILAIRE BELLOC - STOPFORD BROOKE - W. H. HUDSON - COVENTRY PATMORE - AUGUSTINE BIRRELL - JOHN GALSWORTHY - RICHARD JEFFERIES - ANTON TCHEKHOFF - SIR LESLIE STEPHEN - CUNNINGHAME GRAHAM - - AND OTHERS - - Well printed and well bound Library Editions. Crown 8vo. - Blue cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. net a volume. (Postage 4d.) - - -------- - - Ask to see a list at a Bookseller’s, or write direct to the - Publishers - - -------- - - - - - Messrs. DUCKWORTH & CO.’S - SPRING - ANNOUNCEMENTS - 1916 - - - -------- - - - - - GENERAL LITERATURE - - - D. H. LAWRENCE - - Twilight in Italy. By D. H. LAWRENCE, author of “Sons and - Lovers,” “The Prussian Officer,” etc. Cloth gilt. In the Uniform - Edition of Mr. Lawrence’s Works. Crown 8vo, 6s. - - This volume of travel vignettes by Mr. Lawrence, shows him in a - fresh medium. Mr. Lawrence has published novels, stories, poems, - and a play, and now he appears with a volume of studies or - impressions, of life and scenes in the North of Italy. Some of - the chapters appeared serially in the English Review and the - Westminster Gazette, but they have been revised and rewritten for - publication in book form. Several chapters, however, now appear - for the first time. The volume will be published uniform with the - author’s collected works, which are being issued in a library - edition. - - -------- - - BY THE SAME AUTHOR - - Amores: Poems. By D. H. LAWRENCE. Cloth gilt. Crown 8vo, 5s. net; - postage, 4d. - - - PRESS OPINIONS ON MR. LAWRENCE’S PREVIOUS BOOK OF VERSE - “LOVE POEMS” - - “The book of the moment in verse.”--Bookman. - - “Imagination, apprehension, economy of means, and delicate - ecstatic beauty are in these verses.”--The Times. - - “We have nothing but praise for this book of love - poems.”--English Review. - - -------- - - - - - A UNIFORM EDITION OF THE - Works of D. H. Lawrence - - - Cloth Gilt. Crown 8vo, 6s. each - - Sons and Lovers. A Novel - - The Prussian Officer, and other Stories - - The Trespasser. A Novel - - The White Peacock. A Novel - - -------- - - The Widowing of Mrs. Holroyd. A Play. (3s. 6d. net) - - Love Poems (5s. net) - - “D. H. Lawrence is a master.”--Daily Telegraph. - - “‘Sons and Lovers’ is a great book.”--Standard. - - “No novel of recent years is the equal of ‘The - Trespasser.’”--Observer. - - “Mr. Lawrence, with this volume (‘The Prussian Officer’), takes - his place in the first flight of modern writers.”--English - Review. - - “‘The Widowing of Mrs. Holroyd’ has the qualities of finished - craftsmanship. It is packed with significance and suggestion. It - has the power to exalt and enrich the mind and the - emotions.”--Times. - - “‘The White Peacock’ aroused enthusiasm and now ‘The Trespasser’ - has appeared. It is no common novel. Helena is a grand full - length portrait. There are pieces of writing which could not be - surpassed.... A picture as powerful as any painted by an artist - in words.”--Saturday Review, in a review of “The Trespasser.” - - “Evidently written at a white heat of inspiration. Wonderfully - sustained. A remarkable book to be read by the discriminating and - the experienced.”--The Morning Post, in a review of “The - Trespasser.” - - “A wonderful piece of portraiture. Strong, admirable and - pathetic.”--Daily Telegraph, in a review of “Sons and Lovers.” - - “A study of warring loves and passions, containing much beauty. - The sheer hard matter of living is vividly presented; the toil of - existence in village and town, the solace of nature, the joy of - respite from labour admirably realised and presented.”--Times, in - a review of “Sons and Lovers.” - - -------- - - - - - THE READERS’ LIBRARY - - - New Volume - - PRINCE KROPOTKIN - - Ideals and Realities in Russian Literature. By PRINCE PETER - KROPOTKIN. New and Revised Edition. Type Reset. In the Readers’ - Library. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. net; postage, 5d. - - This very important book has been unobtainable for some time, but - it now appears with author’s alterations and corrections, so that - it is entirely up to date. - - The interest in Russian literature which has grown so remarkably - during the last few years is likely to increase still further in - the near future. Until the nineties, the Russian writers, with - the single exception of Tolstoi, were unknown in this country. - To-day translations of Russian fiction and drama are published - very frequently, and the writings of Tourguéniev, Dostoieffsky, - Tchekoff, Gorky are known to a great number of readers. - - In order to appreciate and understand Russian literature an - authoritative volume such as this is essential to the reader. - Prince Kropotkin surveys the whole field--Early folk - literature--Folklore--Songs--Sagas--Poetry--Drama and - Fiction--right to the present day. He gives full biographical - information concerning the outstanding figures, with a full and - critical account of their work and ideas. The lesser figures are - treated proportionately, so as to form a full and informative as - well as critical volume. The tone of the book is “popular” in the - sense that it is very easily read and apprehended. This does not - mean that the subject is treated in any way superficially. - - A work of sound criticism which should be in every public and - private library. - - -------- - - - New Volume - - FRANCIS STOPFORD - - Life’s Great Adventure. By FRANCIS STOPFORD, author of “The Toil - of Life.” Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. net; postage, 5d. - - Mr. Francis Stopford’s ideas on life and service are expressed in - these essays for those on the threshold of life. They are - addressed primarily to those who have yet to face the more - serious problems of life, not the very young, but those entering - on the responsibilities of parentage, or those who are to be - counted on as being in charge of the succeeding generation. - - *** A full descriptive booklet of over forty volumes of the - Readers’ Library, illustrated with portraits, can be had - free on request. - - -------- - - - An American Poet - - WALT MASON - - Horse Sense. Poems. By WALT MASON. With Prefatory Letter by JOHN - MASEFIELD. Fcap. 8vo, 2s. 6d. net; postage, 4d. - - Walt Mason’s verse has attracted a great deal of attention when - it has appeared from time to time in the daily press. He has been - described as the high priest of ‘horse sense,’ and this - collection of his prose poems is calculated to reveal him - particularly in the light of a practical man of vigorous mind, - whose sense of values is sound and who expresses his views - tersely and emphatically. He writes with singular facility, and - has complete mastery of rhythm and rhyme. His range is from grave - to gay, from wholehearted endorsement of some homely virtue to - vigorous condemnation of cant, fraud, and shams of all kinds. - - Mr. John Masefield writes:--“I read Walt Mason with great - delight. His poems have wonderful fun and kindliness, and I have - enjoyed them the more for their having so strongly all the - qualities I liked so much in my American friends when I was - living in the United States. - - “I don’t know any book which has struck me as so genuine a voice - of the American nature. - - “I am glad that his work is gaining a wider and wider - recognition.” - - -------- - - - South America as it is To-day - - ROGER W. BABSON - - The Future of South America. By ROGER W. BABSON. With 16 - Illustrations and Two Maps. 407 pages. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. net; - postage, 6d. - - There is astonishingly little in the literature about South - America which explains what that continent really means to - business people who are open to extend their trade in foreign - markets. Such an interpretation is given in this book, together - with an interesting account of the picturesque and romantic sides - of South American life, its history, customs and resources, also - information for the business man. Mr. Babson is known as a writer - on economic questions and as an interpreter of statistical data - and industrial and business conditions. He has for years - methodically studied South America and its business - possibilities. He is peculiarly fitted to draw conclusions about - South America as an economic problem, which will be of the utmost - value to the banker, manufacturer, exporter, investor, and the - general student of foreign relations, affairs, and trade. - - The book is especially authoritative and official on account of - the fact that leading government officials, usually the - Presidents of the various countries, have co-operated with Mr. - Babson. - - As a result his book should prove a suggestive volume for all - having or hoping to have business relations with the countries - described and also for the general reader who is interested in - the economic side of the problem. - - -------- - - CHARLES M. DOUGHTY - - The Titans. A Dramatic Poem. By CHARLES M. DOUGHTY, author of - “Travels in Arabia Deserta,” “The Dawn in Britain,” “The Cliffs,” - “The Clouds,” etc. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 5s. net; postage, 5d. - - SOME PRESS OPINIONS ON MR. DOUGHTY’S EARLIER WORKS - - “The sense of England is the burning thing in these two dramas; - the sense of England as only wartime can make it, which glows - through all the magnificent monologue with which ‘The Cliffs’ - open, or which brightens into most exquisite flame in ‘The - Clouds.’”--LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE, in the Quarterly Review. - - “Mr. Doughty occupies a position by himself. The vigorous impulse - and imaginative strength of his genius have created their own - medium. Work which owes its power to the bigness of its design - and the sheer weight of imagination and intellect. - - “This is an amazingly vivid picture of the fury and wreckage of - war. In part of the poem Mr. Doughty approaches more nearly to - the idyllic than in any other of his works. It is a great work, - full of faith and thought and compelling sincerity, and rich - poetic beauty.”--Spectator. - - “Mr. Doughty is the prophet of Patriotism. Wandering in the - Muses’ Garden, he has received the divine call to chant patriot - hymns, and it is his mission to rouse his country to a sense of - the wrath to come in the guise of ‘air-flying Eastlanders.’ ‘The - Clouds,’ is a passionate plea for the nation. His verse is - astoundingly vivid and vehement, every now and then breaking into - a startling beauty.”--English Review. - - “Mr. Doughty’s ideas and his outlook might be those of Nelson’s - captains could they be called back to life. He thrills our - imagination. His historical sense is so vital and far-reaching, - his patriotic imagination so deeply rooted in the soil of our - forbears’ achievements.... A poem that, we venture to think, will - become a classic. ‘The Clouds,’ as an achievement, possesses a - creative actuality, a breadth of vision, an intensity of - imaginative life. The effect of the poem is cumulative, and no - quotation can convey any idea of the atmosphere of the whole - varied picture.”--The Nation. - - -------- - - - A New Impression - - JOHN MORSE - - An Englishman in the Russian Ranks: Ten Months’ Fighting in - Poland. By JOHN MORSE. 4th printing. Crown 8vo, 6s. - - SOME PRESS OPINIONS - - “This remarkably impressive book is probably the most notable - piece of war literature the war has yet produced.”--The Times. - - “Tolstoy’s pictures of Sebastopol or Dostoievsky’s account of - Siberia do not haunt one much more than episodes in this - book.”--Spectator. - - “Those who wish to see the war without any illusion cannot afford - to miss this the most impressive book that has so far appeared - about it.”--Country Life. - - “This book is one of the most remarkable the war has yet given - us.... He keeps us spellbound with his artless narrative.... This - is decidedly a war book to be read.”--Daily News. - - “We can but offer our sincere congratulations to Mr. Morse on his - splendid achievement; through him the name of Englishman will - stand firmer in Russia, firmer in the world.”--Saturday Review. - - “The war continues to provide incidentally many vivid narratives - ... and this narrative ... must certainly be reckoned one of the - most interesting out of many.”--Evening Standard. - - “It is a most astonishing book.”--Daily Express. - - “Having served for ten months as a volunteer in the Russian Army, - the author has had such strange adventures that his experiences - have provided material for what is undoubtedly one of the most - remarkable books concerning the war.”--Outlook. - - “As a witness of what actually happened on the Russian frontier - Mr. Morse comes forward with a book of engrossing interest.... - The story of his escape and privations which followed is - thrilling in the extreme and related with a quiet restraint and - modesty which, as in every chapter of the book, are an earnest of - truth.”--Daily Telegraph. - - “Mr. Morse has written a book which, as far as I know, is unique. - It is an extraordinarily vivid account of an Englishman who - enlisted in the Russian rank and fought all through the - early--and they were in many ways the most terrible--months of - the war. As a picture of war it is literally haunting. Mr. Morse - writes with the conviction of one who has seen all he desires to - prove. Apart from the book’s value as a personal narrative, it is - notable for the fine description it gives of life in the Russian - Army; while those who thirst for adventure will find no book of - fiction stir them more greatly than this author’s account of how - he was captured and how he escaped.”--Tatler. - - -------- - - - THEOLOGY - - THE REV. CANON RASHDALL, F.B.A. - - Conscience and Christ. By THE REV. CANON HASTINGS RASHDALL, - D.Litt. (Oxon), D.C.L. (Durham), F.B.A., author of “Philosophy - and Religion,” etc. Crown 8vo, 5s. net; postage, 5d. - - The book is an attempt to answer the question “in what relation - does the authority of Conscience, which most Christians - acknowledge, stand to the authority of Jesus Christ?” The first - chapter is a brief enquiry into the nature of Conscience on the - one hand and of various forms of external authority on the other. - The answer given is that no external authority can be taken as an - absolutely final guide for conduct unless it does commend itself - to the enlightened Conscience: it is contended that the teaching - of Jesus Christ does so commend itself. In the second chapter is - attempted the investigation of the recent teaching which makes - “Eschatology” the answer of Christ’s message, and treats his - moral teaching as a mere “Interimsethik.” The third chapter - examines the actual contents of that teaching; the fourth deals - with some commonly urged objections to the Christian Ethic--the - finality of this Ethic is asserted upon condition that the - necessity of development is fully recognised. The fifth chapter - examines the nature of the development which the fundamental - principles taught by Jesus have received and must continue to - receive in the Christian Church. The sixth chapter is devoted to - a brief examination of other ethical systems, philosophical and - religious, and endeavours to show that not one of them can be - regarded as a satisfactory substitute for Christianity while the - permanent elements of each are recognised and included in the - Christian ideal. It is also contended that the highest ethical - influence of Christianity is inseparable from a reverent - following of the personal Christ. - - -------- - - THE REV. E. GRIFFITH-JONES, D.D. - - Faith and Immortality. By THE REV. E. GRIFFITH-JONES, B.A., D.D., - Principal of the United Independent College, Bradford. Author of - “The Challenge of Christianity to a World at War,” “The Ascent - Through Christ.” Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. net; postage, 5d. - - -------- - - - STUDIES IN THEOLOGY--New Volumes - - THE REV. CHARLES A. BRIGGS, D.D. - - History of the Study of Theology. By the late CHARLES AUGUSTUS - BRIGGS, D.D., D.Litt., of the Union Theological Seminary, New - York. In Two Volumes. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. net each volume; - postage, 5d. - - -------- - - THE REV. PRINCIPAL FORSYTH, M.A., D.D. - - The Justification of God. By THE REV. PRINCIPAL P. T. FORSYTH, - M.A., D.D., of the Hackney Theological College, University of - London. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. net; postage, 5d. - - Other Volumes already published in the Series are:-- - - Christianity and Ethics. By ARCHIBALD B. D. ALEXANDER, M.A., D.D. - - The Environment of Early Christianity. By S. ANGUS, M.A., Ph.D. - - The Christian Hope: A Study in the Doctrine of the Last Things. - By W. ADAMS BROWN, Ph.D., D.D. - - Christianity and Social Questions. By WILLIAM CUNNINGHAM, F.B.A., - D.D., D.Sc. - - A Handbook of Christian Apologetics. By A. E. GARVIE, D.D. - - A Critical Introduction to the Old Testament. By GEORGE BUCHANAN - GRAY, D.D., D.Litt. - - Gospel Origins. By WILLIAM WEST HOLDSWORTH, M.A. - - Faith and Its Psychology. By WILLIAM R. INGE, D.D. - - Christianity and Sin. By ROBERT MACKINTOSH, D.D. - - Protestant Thought before Kant. By A. C. MCGIFFERT, Ph.D., D.D. - - The Theology of the Gospels. By JAMES MOFFATT, D.D., D.Litt. - - History of Christian Thought since Kant. By EDWARD CALDWELL - MOORE, D.D. - - The Doctrine of the Atonement. By J. K. MOZLEY, M.A. - - Revelation and Inspiration. By JAMES ORR, D.D. - - A Critical Introduction to the New Testament. By ARTHUR SAMUEL - PEAKE, D.D. - - Philosophy and Religion. By HASTINGS RASHDALL, D.Litt. (Oxon), - D.C.L. (Durham), F.B.A. - - The Holy Spirit. By T. REES, M.A. (Lond.), B.A. (Oxon.). - - The Religious Ideas of the Old Testament. By H. WHEELER ROBINSON, - M.A. - - The Text and Canon of the New Testament. By ALEXANDER SOUTER, - D.Litt. - - Christian Thought to the Reformation. By HERBERT B. WORKMAN, - D.Litt. - - -------- - - - FICTION - - BERNARD CAPES - - If Age Could. By BERNARD CAPES, author of “A Jay of Italy,” “The - Lake of Wine,” etc. - - Mr. Bernard Capes’ new novel, “If Age Could,” will rank among the - most important of the many popular books which bear his name-- - - “If Youth but Knew” - “If Age Could” - - Eustace Ward discovered that his ward Veronica appealed more to - his senses than he had ever thought possible. He had come to - think he was proof against the effects of feminine charm except - in a detached and esthetic way. He is, however, held back by the - fear that she regards him as old. The aloof and self-centred - attitude towards life of both him and his ward with their ample - means is shown without insistence, while the events of August - 1914 do not greatly disturb their self-sufficiency. The - subsequent bombardment of the North-East coast brings tragedy - very near to Ward’s country seat. It is then that they for the - first time consciously and on an impulse do an action which is - for another’s benefit and which involves their own complete - sacrifice. - - -------- - - TEMPLE BAILEY - - Contrary Mary. A Novel. By TEMPLE BAILEY. 352 pages. Crown 8vo, - 6s. - - “Contrary Mary” will win her way to the hearts of all who meet - her, and the story of the fortunes of her family will provide - restful enjoyment for a very large circle of readers. It is - seldom that a clean, sweet story is not open to the criticism of - being “pretty.” “Contrary Mary” is, however, an exceptional book, - and while it shows the best side of human nature it can never be - charged with being mawkish or sugary. While it has no bad - characters, and only one unfortunate one, the reader is aware - that the author has a firm grip on life. It is clever work, and - shows the author as a writer of depth and feeling. - - -------- - - BEY SOMERVILLE - - The Passing of Nahla. A Story of the Desert. By BEY SOMERVILLE. - Crown 8vo, 6s. - - This story of Nahla, a native girl child, and of the white man - who educates and makes a companion of her, is full of atmosphere. - The baby girl is an amusing companion for the educated, - temperamental poet, and to see her develop under his guidance and - tuition is for him of unfailing interest. In the intense life of - the East she is very quickly a grown woman. Her devotion is - pathetic in its self abasement, and she is ready to accept either - life or death at his hands. The inevitable tragedy is when the - desire comes to the man to return to his own people and their - code of life. It is then he has to reckon with Nahla’s jealousy - and fierce devotion. - - Apart from the story the book is worth reading for its rendering - of the call and influence of the desert on a highly developed - personality. The author feels its magic spell and is very - successful in transmitting it to the reader. - - -------- - - DOROTHY M. RICHARDSON - - Backwater. A Novel. By DOROTHY M. RICHARDSON, author of “Pointed - Roofs.” Crown 8vo, 6s. - - Those who read “Pointed Roofs” will remember taking leave of - Miriam as she got in the train for home, after her term as - assistant teacher in a German school was ended. “Backwater” - continues the narrative of Miriam’s life, the period now being - the emotional period of life, when life is at its fullest. - - The reception given to “Pointed Roofs” has given Miss Richardson - a status. She is recognized as a writer whose method is original - and “different,” and who is thereby successful in conveying by - means of a few strokes the vital experiences of her characters - and their action on one another. Mr. J. D. Beresford, who - contributed an introduction to “Pointed Roofs,” admitted having - read the story three times, the pleasure he experienced at the - first being increased by subsequent readings. He considers - “Backwater” even more interesting. - - -------- - - E. C. BOOTH - - Fondie. A Novel. By E. C. BOOTH, author of “The Cliff End,” “The - Doctor’s Lass.” Crown 8vo, 6s. - - This story of Fondie Bassiemoor, his life, and also that of the - inhabitants of Wivvle, a Yorkshire village, is a big novel in - every way. Mr. Booth’s unhurried method requires a large canvas, - and although the story is long for a modern novel the feeling of - the reader at the finish is that on no account would he have it - shorter. - - Mr. Booth pictures the everyday life of a rural village in - Yorkshire with all its types and characters clearly and lovingly - drawn; the comedy and tragedy of life painted with the sure hand - of an artist and master craftsman. The natural tone and accent of - speech is reproduced, but there is nothing irritating in its - transcription as the author renders the Yorkshire dialect in such - manner and so naturally that no unusual effort is required to - read it. - - The note of comedy is preserved through the greater part of the - book, but the sadness of life is not ignored. To each their - place. - - The author’s previous books have been unreservedly praised, but - it is thought by competent judges that “Fondie” is a particular - advance on any of his earlier work. For a comparison one must go - to the early work of Thomas Hardy. Perhaps “Far from the Madding - Crowd” is the closest. Mr. Booth’s “Fondie” will stand the - comparison very well. - - -------- - - MARY AGNES HAMILTON - - Dead Yesterday. By MARY AGNES HAMILTON, author of “Less than the - Dust,” “Yes.” Crown 8vo, 6s. - - This novel has been described by critics who have read it in - manuscript as both clever and brilliant. It is notably modern in - its feeling and outlook, its detail and allusions revealing its - author’s interest in the artistic and social ideas which were - current in 1914. The action of the story begins before the war, - but is carried past August 1914, and finishes towards the end of - 1915. It gives a very effective picture of an educated and - bohemian coterie whose sophisticated attitude towards life is - sharply challenged by the realization of the need to fight for - national existence. - - -------- - - MILDRED GARNER - - Harmony. A Novel. By MILDRED GARNER. Crown 8vo. 6s. - - The scent of old-fashioned flowers, the drowsy hum of bees, and - the quiet spell of the countryside is realized in every page of - “Harmony.” Peacewold is a harbour of refuge where gather those in - need of the sympathy which the Little Blue Lady unfailingly has - for her friends when they are distressed in spirit or body. To - her comes Star worn out with months of settlement work in Bethnal - Green, and Harmony whose sight is restored after years of - blindness. Robin Grey, the austere Richard Wentworth and his son - Bede, all come and she gives to each from the fulness of her - spirit and faith. Willow, whose story the book is, also has - reason to love the Little Blue Lady who has been as a mother to - her. - - The book is distinguished for its shining faith and belief in the - inherent goodness of human nature when subject to right - influences. The searchings of heart when love comes and - temporarily wrecks the harmony of Peacewold are shown to be for - the good of those concerned and helpful to them in their - development. - - “Harmony” is essentially a novel of sentiment and should - certainly find many readers. It is earnest and sincere, and - promises well for the author’s future as a successful novelist. - - -------- - - RICHARD HARDING DAVIS - - Somewhere in France. Stories. By RICHARD HARDING DAVIS, author of - “With the Allies,” etc., etc. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. - net. - - A new volume by the popular war correspondent. The stories are - varied in theme, and are not solely devoted to war. The title of - the book is obtained from the first story which is of spying and - spies during the German advance on Paris. - - -------- - - LESLIE MONTGOMERY - - Mr. Wildridge of the Bank. An Irish Novel. By LESLIE MONTGOMERY. - Crown 8vo, 6s. - - Mr. Leslie Montgomery will be welcomed as an acquisition to the - ranks of humorous novelists. Like George Birmingham he writes of - the North of Ireland and shows the everyday life of a small town. - The competition of the local managers of the two banks to secure - the account of the heir to a fortune is very amusing and always - strictly probable. How Mr. Wildridge gets the capital subscribed - for the woollen factory: how the confiding Rector and his - daughter are saved from dishonour, and how Orangemen and Sinn - Feiners, Protestants and Catholics are cunningly induced to work - for the prosperity of the town in order to ‘dish’ each other are - all related in an easy and convincing way. The story is told in - light comedy vein, at times becoming madcap farce, and yet it - cannot be said that the bounds of possibility are ever surpassed. - There is not an unpleasant or disagreeable character in the book, - and the humour is at the expense of everyone in the town. Anthony - Wildridge is always cultivated, adroit and audacious, and - deserves all his success. At the close he discovers that he is - younger and more susceptible than he thought he was. - - -------- - - DUCKWORTH & CO., COVENT GARDEN, LONDON, W.C. - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes - - -The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical -errors were silently corrected. Further careful corrections, some after -consulting other editions, are listed here (before/after): - - [p. 68]: - ... to an end just as the picture of the French count ... - ... to an end just as the picture of the French court ... - - [p. 86]: - ... back to the table so that nobody “poked.” She ... - ... backs to the table so that nobody “poked.” She ... - - [p. 252]: - ... and canons and things make a frightful noise.” ... - ... and cannons and things make a frightful noise.” ... - - [p. 277]: - ... That life and such happiness in store for him is ... - ... That life had such happiness in store for him is ... - - [p. 283]: - ... lounge seemed to have deserted her; and almost ... - ... lounge seemed to have deserted her; and almost at ... - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BACKWATER *** - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/2/2/56221/ - - -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. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply -to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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