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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/8131-0.txt b/8131-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4112742 --- /dev/null +++ b/8131-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10793 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Misses Mallett, by E. H. Young + +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: The Misses Mallett + +Author: E. H. Young + +Release Date: June 17, 2003 [eBook #8131] +[Most recently updated: January 19, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Suzanne Shell, Anne Reshnyk, cam, Delphine Lettau, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSES MALLETT *** + + + + +The Misses Mallett + +(The Bridge Dividing) + +by E. H. Young + + +Contents + + BOOK I ROSE + BOOK II HENRIETTA + BOOK III ROSE AND HENRIETTA + + + + +Book I: _Rose_ + + +§ 1 + +On the high land overlooking the distant channel and the hills beyond +it, the spring day, set in azure, was laced with gold and green. Gorse +bushes flaunted their colour, larch trees hung out their tassels and +celandines starred the bright green grass in an air which seemed +palpably blue. It made a mist among the trees and poured itself into +the ground as though to dye the earth from which hyacinths would soon +spring. Far away, the channel might have been a still, blue lake, the +hills wore soft blue veils and, like a giant reservoir, the deeper blue +of the sky promised unlimited supplies. There were sheep and lambs +bleating in the fields, birds sang with a piercing sweetness, and no +human being was in sight until, up on the broad grassy track which +branched off from the main road and had the larch wood on one side and, +on the other, rough descending fields, there appeared a woman on a +horse. The bit jingled gaily, the leather creaked, the horse, smelling +the turf, gave a snort of delight, but his rider restrained him +lightly. On her right hand was the open country sloping slowly to the +water; on her left was the stealthiness of the larch wood; over and +about everything was the blue day. Straight ahead of her the track +dipped to a lane, and beyond that the ground rose again in fields +sprinkled with the drab and white of sheep and lambs and backed by the +elm trees of Sales Hall. She could see the chimneys of the house and +the rooks’ nests in the elm tops and, as though the sight reminded her +of something mildly amusing, the smoothness of her face was ruffled by +a smile, the stillness of her pose by a quick glance about her, but if +she looked for anyone she did not find him. There were small sounds +from the larch wood, little creakings and rustlings, but there was no +human footstep, and the only visible movements were made by the breeze +in the trees and in the grass, the flight of a bird and the distant +gambolling of lambs. + +She rode on down the steep, stony slope into the lane, and after +hesitating for a moment she turned to the right where the lane was +broadened by a border of rich grass and a hedge-topped bank. Here +primroses lay snugly in their clumps of crinkled leaves and, wishing to +feel the coolness of their slim, pale stalks between her fingers, Rose +Mallett dismounted, slipped the reins over her arm and allowed her +horse to feed while she stooped to the flowers. Then, in the full +sunshine, with the soft breeze trying to loosen her hair, with the +flowers in her bare hand, she straightened herself, consciously happy +in the beauty of the day, in the freedom and strength of her body, in +the smell of the earth and the sight of the country she had known and +loved all her life. It was long since she had ridden here without +encountering Francis Sales, who was bound up with her knowledge of the +country, and who, quite evidently, wished to annex some of the love she +lavished on it. This was a ridiculous desire which made her smile +again, yet, while she was glad to be alone, she missed the attention of +his presence. He had developed a capacity, which was like another +sense, for finding her when she rode on his domains or in their +neighbourhood, and she was surprised to feel a slight annoyance at his +absence, an annoyance which, illogically, was increased by the sight of +his black spaniel, the sure forerunner of his master, making his way +through the hedge. A moment later the tall figure of Sales himself +appeared above the budding twigs. + +He greeted her in the somewhat sulky manner to which she was +accustomed. He was a young man with a grievance, and he looked at her +as though to-day it were personified in her. + +She answered him cheerfully: “What a wonderful day!” + +“The day’s all right,” he said. + +Holding the primroses to her nose, she looked round. Catkins were +swaying lightly on the willows, somewhere out of sight a tiny runnel of +water gurgled, the horse ate noisily, the grass had a vividness of +green like the concentrated thought of spring. + +“I don’t see how anything can be wrong this morning,” she said. + +“Ah, you’re lucky to think so,” he answered, gazing at her clear, pale +profile. + +“Well,” she turned to ask patiently, “what is the matter with you?” + +“I’m worried.” + +“Has a cow died?” And ignoring his angry gesture, she went on: “I don’t +think you take enough care of your property. Whenever I ride here I +find you strolling about miserably, with a dog.” + +“That’s your fault.” + +“I don’t quite see why,” she said pleasantly; “but no doubt you are +right. But has a cow died?” + +“Of course not. Why should it?” + +“They do, I suppose?” + +“It’s the old man. He isn’t well, and he’s badgering me to go away, to +Canada, and learn more about farming.” + +“So you should.” + +“Of course you’d say so.” + +“Or do you think you can’t?” + +He missed, or ignored, her point. “He’s ill. I don’t want to leave +him”; and in a louder voice he added, almost shouted, “I don’t want to +leave you!” + +Her grey eyes were watching the swinging catkins, her hand, lifting the +primroses, hid a smile. Again he had the benefit of her profile, the +knot of her dark, thick hair and the shadowy line of her eyelashes, but +she made no comment on his remark and after a moment of sombre staring +he uttered the one word, “Well?” + +“Yes?” + +“Well, I’ve told you.” + +“Oh, I think you ought to go.” + +“Then you don’t love me?” + +From under her raised eyebrows she looked at him steadily. “No, I don’t +love you,” she said slowly. There was no need to consider her answer: +she was sure of it. She was fond of him, but she could not romantically +love some one who looked and behaved like a spoilt boy. She glanced +from his handsome, frowning face in which the mouth was opening for +protest to a scene perfectly set for a love affair. There was not so +much as a sheep in sight: there was only the horse who, careless of +these human beings, still ate eagerly, chopping the good grass with his +teeth, and the spaniel who panted self-consciously and with a great +affectation of exhaustion. The place was beautiful and the sunlight had +some quality of enchantment. Faint, delicious smells were offered on +the wind and withdrawn in caprice; the trees were all tipped with green +and interlaced with blue air and blue sky; she wished she could say she +loved him, and she repeated her denial half regretfully. + +“Rose,” he pleaded, “I’ve known you all my life!” + +“Perhaps that’s why. Perhaps I know you too well.” + +“You don’t. You don’t know how—how I love you. And I should be +different with you. I should be happy. I’ve never been happy yet.” + +“You can’t,” she said slowly, “get happiness through a person if you +can’t get it through yourself.” + +“Yes—if you are the person.” + +She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.” + +He reproached her. “You’ve never thought about it.” + +“Well, isn’t that the same thing? And,” she added, “you’re so far +away.” + +“I can get through the hedge,” he said practically. + +She smiled in the way that always puzzled, irritated and allured him. +His words set him still farther off; he did not even understand her +speech. + +“Is it better now?” he asked, close to her. + +“No, no better.” She looked at his face, so deeply tanned that his +brown hair and moustache looked pale by contrast and his eyes +extraordinarily blue. His appearance always pleased her. It was almost +a part of the landscape, but the landscape was full of change, of +mystery in spite of its familiarity, and she found him dull, +monotonous, with a sort of stupidity which was not without attraction, +but which would be wearying for a whole life. She had no desire to be +his wife and the mistress of Sales Hall, its fields and woods and +farms. The world was big, the possibilities in life were infinite, and +she felt she was fit, perhaps destined, to play a larger part than this +he offered her, and if she could, as she foresaw, only play a greater +one through the agency of some man, she must have that man colossal, +for she was only twenty-three years old. + +“No,” she said firmly, “we are not suited to each other.” + +“You are to me.” His angry helplessness seemed to darken the sunlight. +“You are to me. No one else. I’ve known you all my life. Rose, think +about it!” + +“I shall—but I shan’t change. I don’t believe you really love me, +Francis, but you want some one you can growl at legitimately. I don’t +think you would find me satisfactory. Another woman might enjoy the +privilege.” + +He made a wild movement, startling to the horse. “You don’t understand +me!” + +“Well, then, that ought to settle it. And now I’m going.” + +“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “And look here, you might have loosened your +girths.” + +“I might, but I didn’t expect to be here so long. I didn’t expect to be +so pleasantly entertained.” She put out her hand for his shoulder, and, +bending unwillingly, he received her foot. + +“You needn’t have said that,” he muttered, “about being entertained.” + +“You’re so ungracious, Francis.” + +“I can’t help it when I care so much.” + +From her high seat she looked at him with a sort of envy. “It must be +rather nice to feel anything deeply enough to make you rude.” + +“You torture me,” he said. + +She was hurt by the sight of his suffering, she wished she could give +him what he wanted, she felt as though she were injuring a child, yet +her youth resented his childishness: it claimed a passion capable of +overwhelming her. She hardened a little. “Good-bye,” she said, “and if +I were you, I should certainly go abroad.” + +“I shall!” he threatened her. + +“Good-bye, then,” she repeated amiably. + +“Don’t go,” he begged in a low voice. “Rose, I don’t believe you know +what you are doing, and you’ve always loved the country, you’ve always +loved our place. You like our house. You told me once you envied us our +rookery.” + +“Yes, I love the rookery,” she said. + +“And you’d have your own stables and as many horses as you wanted—” + +“And milk from our own cows! And home-laid eggs!” + +“Ah, you’re laughing at me. You always do.” + +“So you see,” she said, bending a little towards him, “I shouldn’t make +a very good companion.” + +“But I could put up with it from you!” he cried. “I could put up with +anything from you.” + +She made a gesture. That was where he chiefly failed. The colossal +gentleman of her imagination was a tyrant. + + +She rode home, up and along the track, on to the high road with its +grass borders and across the shadows of the elm branches which striped +the road with black. It was a long road accompanied on one side and for +about two miles by a tall, smooth wall, unscalable, guarding the +privacy of a local magnate’s park. It was a pitiless wall, without a +chink, without a roughness that could be seized by hands; it was higher +than Rose Mallett as she sat on her big horse and, but for the open +fields on the other side where lambs jumped and bleated, that road +would have oppressed the spirit, for the wall was a solid witness to +the pride and the power of material possession. Rose Mallett hated it, +not on account of the pride and the power, but because it was ugly, +monstrous, and so inhospitably smooth that not a moss would grow on it. +More vaguely, she disliked it because it set so definite a limit to her +path. She was always glad when she could turn the corner and, leaving +the wall to prolong the side of the right angle it made at this point, +she could take a side road, edging a wooded slope. That slope made one +side of the gorge through which the river ran, and, looking down +through the trees, she caught glimpses of water and a red scar of rock +on the other cliff. + +The sound of a steamer’s paddles threshing the water came to her +clearly, and the crying of the gulls was so familiar that she hardly +noticed it. And all the way she was thinking of Francis Sales, his +absurdity, his good looks and his distress; but in the permanence of +his distress, even in its sincerity, she did not much believe, for he +had failed to touch anything but her pity, and that failure seemed an +argument against the vehemence of his love. Yet she liked him, she had +always liked him since, as a little girl, she had been taken by her +stepsisters to a haymaking party at Sales Hall. + +They had gone in a hired carriage, but one so smart and well-equipped +that it might have been their own, and she remembered the smell of the +leather seats warmed by the sun, the sound of the horse’s hoofs and the +sight of Caroline and Sophia, extremely gay in their summer muslins and +shady hats, each holding a lace parasol to protect the complexion +already delicately touched up with powder and rouge. She had been very +proud of her stepsisters as she sat facing them and she had decided to +wear just such muslin dresses, just such hats, when she grew up. +Caroline was in pink with coral beads and a pink feather drooping on +her dark hair; and Sophia, very fair, with a freckle here and there +peeping, as though curious, through the powder, wore yellow with a +big-bowed sash. She was always very slim, and the only fair Mallett in +the family; but even in those days Caroline was inclined to stoutness. +She carried it well, however, with a great dignity, fortified by +reassurances from Sophia, and Rose’s recollections of the conversations +of these two was of their constant compliments to each other and the +tireless discussion of clothes. These conversations still went on. + +Fifteen years ago she had sat in that carriage in a white frock, with +socks and ankle-strapped black shoes, her long hair flowing down her +back, and she had heard then, as one highly privileged, the words she +would hear again when she arrived home for tea. Under their tilted +parasols they had made their little speeches. No one was more +distinguished than Caroline; no girl of twenty had a prettier figure +than Sophia’s; how well the pink feather looked against Caroline’s +hair. Rose, listening intently, but not staring too hard lest her gaze +should attract their attention to herself, had looked at the fields and +at the high, smooth wall, and wondered whether she would rather reach +Sales Hall and enjoy the party, or drive on for ever in this delightful +company, but the carriage turned up the avenue of elms and Rose saw for +the first time the house which Francis Sales now offered as an +attraction. It was a big, square house with honest, square windows, and +the drive, shadowed by the elms, ran through the fields where the +haymaking was in progress. Only immediately in front of the house were +there any flower-beds and there were no garden trees or shrubs. The +effect was of great freedom and spaciousness, of unaffected homeliness; +and even then the odd delightful mixture of hall and farm, the grandeur +of the elm avenue set in the simplicity of fields, gave pleasure to +Rose Mallett’s beauty-loving eyes. Anything might happen in a garden +that suddenly became a field, in a field that ended in a garden, and +the house had the same capacity for surprise. + +There was a matted hall sunk a foot below the threshold, and to Rose, +accustomed to the delicate order of Nelson Lodge with its slim, +shining, old furniture, its polished brass and gleaming silver, the +comfortable carelessness of this place, with a man’s cap on the hall +table, a group of sticks and a pair of slippers in a corner, and an +opened newspaper on a chair, seemed the very home of freedom. It was a +masculine house in which Mrs. Sales, a gentle lady with a fichu of lace +round her soft neck, looked strangely out of place, yet entirely happy +in her strangeness. + +On the day of the party Rose had only a glimpse of the interior. The +three Miss Malletts, Caroline sweeping majestically ahead, were led +into the hayfield where Mrs. Sales sat serenely in a wicker chair. It +was evident at once that Mr. Sales, bluff and hearty, with gaitered +legs, was fond of little girls. He realized that this one with the +black hair and the solemn grey eyes would prefer eating strawberries +from the beds to partaking of them with cream from a plate; he knew +without being told that she would not care for gambolling with other +children in the hay; he divined her desire to see the pigs and horses, +and it was near the pigsties that she met Francis Sales. He was tall +for twelve years old and Rose respected him for his age and size; but +she wondered why he was with the pigs instead of with his guests, to +whom his father drove him off with a laugh. + +“Says he can’t bear parties,” Mr. Sales remarked genially to Rose. +“What do you think of that?” + +“I like pigs, too,” Rose answered, to be surprised by his prolonged +chuckle. + +Mr. Sales, in the intervals of his familiar conversation with the pigs, +wanted to know why Rose had not brought her father with her. + +“Oh, he’s too old,” Rose said, rather shocked. Her father had always +seemed old to her, as indeed he was, for she was the child of his +second marriage, and her young mother had died when she was born. Her +stepsisters, devoted to the little girl, and perhaps not altogether +sorry to be rid of a stepmother younger than themselves, had tried to +make up for that loss, but they were much occupied with the social +activities of Radstowe and they belonged to an otherwise inactive +generation, so that if Rose had a grievance it was that they never +played games with her, never ran, or played ball or bowled hoops as she +saw the mothers of other children doing. For such sporting she had to +rely upon her nurse who was of rather a solemn nature and liked little +girls to behave demurely out of doors. + +General Mallett saw to it that his youngest daughter early learnt to +ride. Her memories of him were of a big man on a big horse, not +talkative, somewhat stern and sad, becoming companionable only when +they rode out together on the high Downs crowning the old city, and +then he was hardly recognizable as the father who heard her prayers +every night. These two duties of teaching her to ride and of hearing +her pray, and his insistence on her going, as Caroline and Sophia had +done, to a convent school in France, made up, as far as she could +remember, the sum of his interest in her, and when she returned home +from school for the last time, it was to attend his funeral. + +She was hardly sorry, she was certainly not glad; she envied the +spontaneous tears of her stepsisters, and she found the lugubriousness +of the occasion much alleviated by the presence of her stepbrother +Reginald. She had hardly seen him since her childhood. Sophia always +spoke of him as she might have spoken of the dead. Caroline sometimes +referred to him in good round terms, sometimes with an indulgent laugh; +and for Rose he had the charm of mystery, the fascination of the +scapegrace. He was handsome, but good looks were a prerogative of the +Malletts; he was married to a wife he had never introduced to his +family and he had a little girl. What his profession was, Rose did not +know. Perhaps his face was his fortune, as certainly his sisters had +been his victims. + +After the funeral he had several interviews with Caroline and Sophia, +when Rose could hear the mannish voice of Caroline growing gruff with +indignation and the high tones of Sophia rising to a squeak. He emerged +from these encounters with an angry face and a weak mouth stubbornly +set; but for Rose he had always a gay word or a pretty speech. She was +a real Mallett, he told her; she was more his sister than the others, +and she liked to hear him say so because he had a kind of grace and a +caressing voice, yet the cool judgment which was never easily upset +assured her that a man with his mouth must be in the wrong. He was, in +fact, pursuing his old practice of extracting money from his sisters, +and he only returned, presumably, to his wife and child, when James +Batty, the family solicitor, had been called to the ladies’ aid. + +But they both cried when he went away. + +“He is so lovable,” Sophia sobbed. + +“My dear, he’s a rake,” Caroline replied, carefully dabbing her cheeks. +“All the Malletts are rakes—yes, even the General. Oh, he took to +religion in the end, I know, but that’s what they do.” She chuckled. +“When there’s nothing left! I’m afraid I shall take to it myself some +day. I’ve sown my wild oats, too. Oh, no, I’m not going to tell Rose +anything about them, Sophia. You needn’t be afraid, but she’ll hear of +them sooner or later from anybody who remembers Caroline Mallett in her +youth.” + +Rose had received this confession gravely, but she had not needed the +reassurance of Sophia; “It isn’t so, dear Rose—a flirt, yes, but never +wicked, never! My dear, of course not!” + +“Of course not,” Rose repeated. She had already realized that her +stepsisters must be humoured. + + +Riding slowly, Rose recalled that haymaking party and her gradual +friendship, as the years went by, with the unsociable young Sales, a +friendship which had been tacitly recognized by them both when, meeting +her soon after his mother’s death, he had laid his arms and head on the +low stone wall by which they were standing, and wept without restraint. +It was a display she could not have given herself and it shocked her in +a young man, but it left her in his debt. She felt she owed something +to a person who had shown such confidence in her and though at the time +she had been dumb and, as it seemed to her, far from helpful, she did +not forget her liability. However, she could not remember it to the +extent of marrying him; she had always shown him more kindness than she +really felt and, in considering these things on her way home, she +decided that she was still doing as much as he could expect. + +She had by this time turned another corner and the high bridge, swung +from one side of the gorge to the other, was before her. At the +toll-house was the red-faced man who had not altered in the whiteness +of a single hair since she had been taken across the bridge by her +nurse and allowed to peep fearfully through the railings which had +towered like a forest above her head. And the view from the bridge was +still for her a fairy vision. + +Seawards, the river, now full and hiding its muddy banks which, +revealed, had their own opalescent beauty, went its way between the +cliffs, clothed on one hand with trees, save for a big red and yellow +gash where the stone was being quarried, and on the other with bare +rock, topped by the Downs spreading far out of sight. Landwards the +river was trapped into docks, spanned by low bridges and made into the +glistening part of a patchwork of water, brick and iron. Red-roofed old +houses, once the haunts of fashion, were clustered near the water but +divided from it now by tram-lines, companion anachronisms to the +steamers entering and leaving the docks, but by the farther shore, one +small strip of river was allowed to flow in its own way, and it skirted +meadows rising to the horizon and carrying with them more of those +noble elms in which the whole countryside was rich. + +Her horse’s hoofs sounding hollow on the bridge, Rose passed across, +and at the other toll-house door she saw the thin, pale man, with +spectacles on the end of his pointed nose, who had first touched his +hat to her when she rode on a tiny pony by the side of her father on +his big horse. That man was part of her life and she, presumably, was +part of his. He had watched many Upper Radstowe children from the +perambulator stage, and to him she remarked on the weather, as she had +done to the red-faced man at the other end. It was a beautiful day; +they were having a wonderful spring; it would soon be summer, she said, +but on repetition these words sounded false and intensely dreary. It +would soon be summer, but what did that mean to her? Festivities suited +to the season would be resumed in Radstowe. There would be lawn tennis +in the big gardens, and young men in flannels and girls in white would +stroll about the roads and gay voices would be heard in the dusk. There +would be garden-parties, and Mrs. Batty, the wife of the lawyer, would +be lavish with tennis for the young, gossip for the middle-aged and +unlimited strawberries and ices for all. Rose would be one of the +guests at this as at all the parties and, for the first time, as though +her refusal of Francis Sales had had some strange effect, as though +that rejected future had created a distaste for the one fronting her, +she was aghast at the prospect of perpetual chatter, tea and pretty +dresses. She was surely meant for something better, harder, demanding +greater powers. She had, by inheritance, good manners, a certain social +gift, but she had here nothing to conquer with these weapons. What was +she to do? The idea of qualifying for the business of earning her bread +did not occur to her. No female Mallett had ever done such a thing, and +not all the male ones. Marriage opened the only door, but not marriage +with Francis Sales, not marriage with anyone she knew in Radstowe, and +her stepsisters had no inclination to leave the home of their youth, +the scene of their past successes, for her sake. + +Rose sat very straight on her horse, not frowning, for she never +frowned, but wearing rather a set expression, so that an acquaintance, +passing unrecognized, made the usual reflection on the youngest Miss +Mallett’s pride, and the pity that one so young should sometimes look +so old. + +And Rose was wishing that the spring would last for ever, the spring +with its promise of excitement and adventure which would not be +fulfilled, though one was willingly deceived into believing that it +would. Yet she had youth’s happy faith in accident: something +breathless and terrific would sweep her, as on the winds of storm, out +of this peaceful, gracious life, this place where feudalism still +survived, where men touched their hats to her as her due. And it was +her due! She raised her head and gave her pale profile to the houses on +one side, the trees and the open spaces of green on the other. And not +because she was a Mallett though it was a name honoured in Radstowe, +but because she was herself. Hats would always be touched to her, and +it was the touchers who would feel themselves complimented in the act. +She knew that, but the knowledge was not much to her; she wished she +could offer homage for a change, and the colossal figure of her +imagination loomed up again; a rough man, perhaps; yes, he might be +rough if he were also great; rough and the scandal of her stepsisters! + +As she rode under the flowering trees to the stable where she kept her +horse, she wondered whether she should tell her stepsisters of Francis +Sales’s proposal, but she knew she would not do so. She seldom told +them anything they did not know already. They would think it a +reasonable match; they might urge her acceptance; they were anxious for +her to marry, but Caroline, at least, was proud of the inherent Mallett +distaste for the marriage state. “We’re all flirts,” she would say for +the thousandth time. “We can’t settle down, not one of us,” and holding +up a thumb and forefinger and pinching them together, she would add, +“We like to hold men’s hearts like that—and let them go!” It was great +nonsense, Rose thought, but it had the necessary spice of truth. The +Malletts were not easily pleased, and they were not good givers of +anything except gold, the easiest thing to give. Rose wished she could +give the difficult things—love, devotion, and self-sacrifice; but she +could not, or perhaps she had no opportunity. She was fond of her +stepsisters, but her most conscious affection was the one she felt for +her horse. + +She left him at the stable and, fastening up her riding-skirt, she +walked slowly home. She had not far to go. A steep street, where +narrow-fronted old houses informed the public that apartments were to +be let within, brought her to the broad space of grass and trees called +The Green, which she had just passed on her horse. Straight ahead of +her was the wide street flanked by houses of which her home was one—a +low white building hemmed in on each side by another and with a small +walled garden in front of it; not a large house, but one full of +character and of quiet self-assurance. Malletts had lived in it for +several generations, long before the opposite houses were built, long +before the road had, lower down, degenerated into a region of shops. +These houses, all rechristened in a day of enthusiasm, Nelson Lodge, +with Trafalgar House, taller, bigger, but not so white, on one side of +it, and Hardy Cottage, somewhat smaller, on the other, had faced open +meadows in General Mallett’s boyhood. Round the corner, facing The +Green, were a few contemporaries, and they all had a slight look of +disdain for the later comers, yet no single house was flagrantly new. +There was not a villa in sight and on The Green two old stone +monuments, to long-dead and long-forgotten warriors, kept company with +the old trees under which children were now playing, while nurses +wheeled perambulators on the bisecting paths. The Green itself sloped +upwards until it became a flat-topped hill, once a British or a Roman +camp, and thence the river could be seen between its rocky cliffs and +the woods Rose had lately skirted clothing the farther side in every +shade of green. + +She lingered for a moment to watch the children playing, the nursemaids +slowly pushing, the elms opening their crumpled leaves like babies’ +hands. She had a momentary desire to stay, to wander round the hill and +look with untired eyes at the familiar scene; but she passed on under +the tyranny of tea. The Malletts were always in time for meals and the +meals were exquisite, like the polish on the old brass door-knocker, +like the furniture in the white panelled hall, like the beautiful old +mahogany in the drawing-room, the old china, the glass bowls full of +flowers. + +Rose found Caroline and Sophia there on either side of a small wood +fire, while, facing the fire and spread in a chair not too low and not +too narrow for her bulk, sat Mrs. Batty, flushed, costumed for spring, +her hat a flower garden. + +“Just in time,” Caroline said. “Touch the bell, please, Sophia.” + +“Susan saw me,” Rose said, and the elderly parlourmaid entered at that +moment with the teapot. + +“Rose insists on having a latchkey,” Sophia explained. “What would the +General have said?” + +“What, indeed!” Caroline echoed. “Young rakes are always old prudes. +Yes, the General was a rake, Sophia; you needn’t look so modest. I +think I understand men.” + +“Yes, yes, Caroline, no one better, but we are told to honour our +father and mother.” + +“And I do honour him,” Caroline guffawed, “honour him all the more.” +She had a deep voice and a deep laugh; she ought, she always said, to +have been a man, but there was nothing masculine about her appearance. +Her dark hair, carefully tinted where greyness threatened, was piled in +many puffs above a curly fringe: on the bodice of her flounced silk +frock there hung a heavy golden chain and locket; ear-rings dangled +from her large ears; there were rings on her fingers, and powder and a +hint of rouge on her face. + +She laughed again. “Mrs. Batty knows I’m right.” + +Mrs. Batty’s tightly gloved hand made a movement. She was a little in +awe of the Miss Malletts. With them she was always conscious of her +inferior descent. No General had ever ornamented her family, and her +marriage with James Batty had been a giddy elevation for her, but she +was by no means humble. She had her place in local society: she had a +fine house in that exclusive part of Radstowe called The Slope, and her +husband was a member of the oldest firm of lawyers in the city. + +“You are very naughty, Miss Caroline,” she said, knowing that was the +remark looked for. She gave a little nod of her flower-covered head. +“And we’ve just got to put up with them, whatever they are.” + +“Yes, yes, poor dears,” Sophia murmured. “They’re different, they can’t +help it.” + +“Nonsense,” Caroline retorted, “they’re just the same, there’s nothing +to choose between me and Reginald—nothing except discretion!” + +“Oh, Caroline dear!” Sophia entreated. + +“Discretion!” Caroline repeated firmly, and Mrs. Batty, bending forward +stiffly because of her constricting clothes, and with a creak and +rustle, ventured to ask in low tones, “Have you any news of Mr. Mallett +lately?” The three elder ladies murmured together; Rose, indifferent, +concerned with her own thoughts, ate a creamy cake. This was one of the +conversations she had heard before and there was no need for her to +listen. + +She was roused by the departure of Mrs. Batty. + +“Poor thing,” Caroline remarked as the door closed. “It’s a pity she +has no daughter with an eye for colour. The roses in her hat were pale +in comparison with her face. Why doesn’t she use a little powder, +though I suppose that would turn her purple, and after all, she does +very well considering what she is; but why, why did James Batty marry +her? And he was one of our own friends! You remember the sensation at +the time, Sophia?” + +Sophia remembered very well. “She was a pretty girl, Caroline, and +good-natured. She has lost her looks, but she still has a kind heart.” + +“Personally I would rather keep my looks,” said Caroline, touching her +fringe before the mirror. “And I never had a kind heart to cherish.” + +Tenderly Sophia shook her head. “It isn’t true,” she whispered to Rose. +“The kindest in the world. It’s just her way.” + +Rose nodded understanding; then she stood up, tall and slim in her +severe clothes, her high boots. The gilt clock on the mantelpiece said +it was only five o’clock. There were five more hours before she could +reasonably go to bed. + +“Where did you ride to-day, dear?” Sophia asked. + +“Over the bridge.” And to dissipate some of her boredom, she added, “I +met Francis Sales. He thinks of going abroad.” + +There was an immediate confusion of little exclamations and a chatter. +“Going abroad? Why?” + +“To learn farming.” + +“Oh, dear,” Sophia sighed, “and we thought—we hoped—” + +“She must do as she likes,” Caroline said, and Rose smiled. “The +Malletts don’t care for marrying. Look at us, free as the air and with +plenty of amusing memories. In this world nobody gets more than that, +and we have been saved much trouble. Don’t marry, my dear Rose.” + +“You’re assuming a good deal,” Rose said. + +“But Rose is not like us,” Sophia protested. “We have each other, but +we shall die before she does and leave her lonely. She ought to marry, +Caroline; we ought to have more parties. We are not doing our duty.” + +“Parties! No!” Rose said. “We have enough of them. If you threaten me +with more I shall go into a convent.” + +Caroline laughed, and Sophia sighed again. “That would be beautiful,” +she said. + +“Sophia, how dare you?” + +Sophia persisted mildly: “So romantic—a young girl giving up all for +God;” and Caroline gave the ribald laugh on which she prided herself— a +shocking sound. “Rose Mallett,” Sophia went on, so lost in her vision +that the jarring laughter was not heard, “such a pretty name—a nun! She +would never be forgotten: people would tell their children. Sister +Rose!” She developed her idea. “Saint Rose! It’s as pretty as Saint +Cecilia—prettier!” + +“Sophia, you’re in your dotage,” Caroline cried. “A Mallett and a nun! +Well, she could pray for the rest of us, I suppose.” + +“But I would rather you were married, dear,” Sophia said serenely. “And +we have known the Sales all our lives. It would have been so suitable.” + +“So dull!” Rose murmured. + +“And we need praying for,” Caroline said. “You’d be dull either way, +Rose. Have your fling, as I did. I’ve never regretted it. I was the +talk of Radstowe, wasn’t I, Sophia? There was never a ball where I was +not looked for, and when I entered the ballroom”—she gave a display of +how she did it—“there was a rush of black coats and white shirts— a +mob—I used just to wave them all away—like that. Oh, yes, Sophia, you +were a belle, too—” + +“But never as you were, Caroline.” + +“You were admired for yourself, Sophia, but with me it was curiosity. +They only wanted to hear what I should say next. I had a tongue like a +lash! They were afraid of it.” + +“Yes, yes,” Sophia said hastily, and she glanced at Rose, afraid of +meeting scepticism in her clear young eyes; but though Rose was smiling +it was not in mockery. She was thinking of her childhood when, like a +happier Cinderella, she had seen her stepsisters, in satins and laces, +with pendant fans and glittering jewels, excited, rustling, with little +words of commendation for each other, setting out for the evening +parties of which they never tired. They had always kissed her before +they went, looking, she used to think, as beautiful as princesses. + +“And men like what they fear,” Caroline added. + +“Yes, dear,” Sophia said. A natural flush appeared round the delicate +dabs of rouge. She hoped she might be forgiven for her tender deceits. +Those young men in the white waistcoats had often laughed at Caroline +rather than at her wit; she was, as Sophia had shrinkingly divined, as +often as not their butt, and dear Caroline had never known it; she must +never know it, never know it. She drew half her happiness from the +past, as, so differently, Sophia did herself, and, drooping a little, +her thoughts went farther back to the last year of her teens when a +pale and penniless young man had been her secret suitor, had gone to +America to make his fortune there—and died. She had told no one; +Caroline would have scorned him because he was shy and timid, and he +had not had time to earn enough to keep her; he had not had time. She +had a faded photograph of him pushed away at the back of a drawer of +the walnut bureau in the bedroom she shared with Caroline, a pale young +man wearing a collar too large for his thin neck, a young man with +kind, honest eyes. It was a grief to her that she could not wear that +photograph in a locket near her heart, but Caroline would have found +out. They had slept in the same bed since they were children, and +nothing could be hidden from her except the love she still cherished in +her heart. Some day she meant to burn that photograph lest +unsympathetic hands should touch it when she died; but death still +seemed far off, and sometimes, even while she was talking to Caroline, +she would pretend to rummage in the drawer, and for a moment she would +close her hand upon the photograph to tell him she had not forgotten. +She loved her little romance, and the gaiety in which she had +persisted, even on the day when she heard of his death and which at +first had seemed a necessary but cruel disloyalty, had become in her +mind the tenderest of concealments, as though she had wrapped her +secret in beauty, laughter, music and shining garments. + +“Oh, yes, dear Rose,” she said, lifting her head, “you must be +married.” + + +§ 2 + +The outward life of the Mallett household was elegant and ordered. +Footsteps fell quietly on the carpeted stairs and passages; doors were +quietly opened and closed. The cook and the parlourmaid were old and +trusted servants; the house and kitchen maids were respectable young +women fitting themselves for promotion, and their service was given +with the thoroughness and deference to which the Malletts were +accustomed. In the whole house there was hardly an object without +beauty or tradition, the notable exception being the portrait of +General Mallett which hung above the Sheraton sideboard in the +dining-room, a gloomy daub, honoured for the General’s sake. + +From the white panelled hall, the staircase with its white banisters +and smooth mahogany rail led to a square landing which branched off +narrowly on two sides, and opening from the square were the bedroom +occupied by Rose, the one shared by her stepsisters and the one which +had been Reginald’s. This room was never used, but it was kept, like +everything else in that house, in a state of cleanliness and polish, +ready for his arrival. He might come: if he needed money badly enough +he would come, and in spite of the already considerable depletion of +their capital, Caroline and Sophia lived in hope of hearing his +impatient assault of the door-knocker, the brass head of a lion holding +a heavy ring in his mouth. Rose, too, wished he would come, but that +last interview with the lawyer Batty had been more successful than +anyone but the lawyer himself had wished, and there was no knock, no +letter, no news. + +The usual life of parties, calls and concerts continued without any +excitement but that felt by Caroline and Sophia in the getting of new +clothes, the refurbishing of old ones, the hearing of the latest +gossip, the reading of the latest novel. Sophia sometimes apologized +for the paper-backed books lying about the drawing-room by saying that +she and dear Caroline liked to keep up their French, but Caroline +loudly proclaimed her taste for salacious literature. She had a +reputation to keep up and she liked to shock her friends; but +everything was forgiven to Miss Mallett, the more readily, perhaps, +after Sophia’s reassuring whisper, “They are really charming books, +quite beautiful, nothing anybody could disapprove of. Why, there is +hardly an episode to make one shrink, though, of course, the French are +different,” and the Radstowe ladies would nod over their tea and say, +“Of course, quite different!” + +But Caroline, suspecting that murmured explanation, had been known to +call out in her harsh voice, “It’s no good asking Sophia about them. +She simply doesn’t understand the best bits! She is _jeune fille_ +still, she always will be!” Sophia, blushing a little, would feel +herself richly complimented, and the ladies laughed, Mrs. Batty +uncertainly, having no acquaintance with the French language. + +Rose read steadily through all the books in the house and gained a +various knowledge which left her curiously untouched. She studied +music, and liked it better than anything else because it roused +emotions otherwise unobtainable, yet she did not care much for the +emotional kind. Perhaps her intensest feeling was the desire to feel +intensely, but being half ashamed of this desire she rarely dwelt on +it; she pursued her way, calm and aloof and proud. She was beautiful +and found pleasure in the contemplation of herself, and though she did +not discuss her appearance as her stepsisters discussed theirs, she +spent a good deal of time on it and much money on her plain but perfect +clothes. All three had more money than they needed, but Rose was richer +than the others, having inherited her mother’s little fortune as well +as her share of what the General had left. She was, as Caroline often +told her with a hit at that gentleman’s unnecessary impartiality, a +very desirable match. “But they’re afraid of you, my dear; they were +afraid of me, but I amused them, while you simply look as if they were +not there. Of course, that’s attractive in its way, and one must follow +one’s own line, but it takes a brave man to come up to the scratch.” + +“Caroline, what an expression!” + +“Well, I want a brave man,” Rose said, “if I want one at all.” + +Caroline turned on Sophia. “What’s language for except to express +oneself? You’re out of date, Sophia; you always were, and I’ve always +been ahead of my time. Now, Rose,”—these personalities were dear to +Caroline—“Rose belongs to no time at all. That frightens them. They +don’t understand. You can’t imagine a Radstowe young man making love to +the Sphinx. They were more daring when I was young. Look at Reginald! +Look at the General!” + +“It was his profession,” Rose remarked. + +“Yes, I suppose that’s what he told himself when he married your +mother, a mere girl, no older than myself, but he was afraid of her and +adored her. I believe men always like their second wives best— they’re +flattered at succeeding in getting two. I know men. Our own mother was +pious and made him go to church, but with your mother he looked as if +he were in a temple all the time. Those big, stern men are always +managed by their women; it’s the thin men with weak legs who really go +their own way.” + +“Caroline,” Sophia sighed, “I don’t know how you think of such things. +Is that an epigram?” + +“I don’t know,” Caroline said, “but I shouldn’t be surprised.” + +Smiling in her mysterious way, Rose left the room, and Sophia, slightly +pink with anxiety, murmured, “Caroline, there’s no one in Radstowe +really fit for her. Don’t you think we ought to go about, perhaps to +London, or abroad?” + +“I’m not going to budge,” Caroline said. “I love my home and I don’t +believe in matchmaking, I don’t believe in marriage. It wouldn’t do her +any good, but if you feel like that, why don’t you exploit her +yourself?” + +“Oh—exploit! Certainly not! And you know I couldn’t leave you.” + +“Then don’t talk nonsense,” Caroline said, and the life at Nelson Lodge +went on as before. + +Every day Rose rode out, sometimes early in the morning on the Downs +when nobody was about and she had them to herself, but oftener across +the bridge into the other county where the atmosphere and the look of +things were immediately different, softer, more subtle yet more +exhilarating. She went there now with no fear of meeting Francis Sales. +He had gone to Canada without another word, and his absence made him +interesting for the first time. If she had not been bored in a delicate +way of her own which left no mark but an expression of impassivity she +would not have thought of him at all; but the days went by and summer +passed into autumn and autumn was threatened by winter, with so little +change beyond the coming and going of flowers and leaves and birds, +that her mind began to fix itself on a man who loved her to the point +of disgust and departure; and to her love of the country round about +Sales Hall was added a tender half-ironic sentiment. + +Once or twice she rode up to the Hall itself and paid a visit to Mr. +Sales who, crippled by rheumatism and half suffocated by asthma, was +hardly recognizable as the man who had shown her the pigs long ago. In +the little room called the study, where there was not a single book, or +in the big clear drawing-room of pale chintzes and faded, gilt-framed +water-colours, he entertained her with the ceremony due to a very +beautiful and dignified young woman, producing the latest letter from +his son and reading extracts from it. Sometimes there was a photograph +of Francis on a horse, Francis with a dog, or Francis at a steam plough +or other agricultural machine, but these she only pretended to examine. +She had not the least desire to see how he looked, for in these last +months she had made a picture of her own and she would not have it +overlaid by any other. It was a game of pretence; she knew she was +wasting her time; she had her youth and strength and money and +limitless opportunity for wide experience, but her very youth, and the +feeling that it would last for ever, made her careless of it. There was +plenty of time, she could afford to waste it, and gradually that +occupation became a habit, almost an absorption. She warned herself +that she must shake it off, but the effort would leave her very bare, +it would rob her of the fairy cloak which made her inner self +invisible, and she clung to it, secure in her ability to be rid of it +if she chose. + +Her intellect made no mistake about Francis Sales, but her imagination, +finding occupation where it could, began to endow him with romance, and +that scene among the primroses, the startlingly green grass, the +pervading blue of the air, the horse so indifferent to the human drama, +the dog trying to understand it, became the salient event of her life +because it had awakened her capacity for dreaming. + +She did not love him, she could never love him, but he had loved her, +angrily, and, in retrospect, the absurd manner of his proposal had a +charm. She would have given much to know whether his feeling for her +persisted. From the letters read wheezily by Mr. Sales and sometimes +handed to her to read for herself, she learnt so little that she was +the freer to create a great deal and, riding home, she would break into +astonished inward laughter. Rose Mallett playing a game of sentiment! +And, crossing the bridge and passing through the streets where she was +known to every second person, she had pleasure in the conviction that +no one could have guessed what absurdity went on behind the pale, +impassive face, what secret and unsuspected amusement she enjoyed; a +little comedy of her own! The unsuitability of Francis Sales for the +part of hero supplied most of the humour and saved her from loss of +dignity. The thing was obviously absurd; she had never cared for dolls, +but in her young womanhood she was finding amusement in the +manipulation of a puppet. + +The death of Mr. Sales in the cold March of the next year shocked her +from her game. She was sorry he had gone, for she had always liked him, +and he seemed to have taken with him the little girl who was fond of +pigs, and while Caroline and Sophia mourned the loss of an old friend, +Rose was faced with the certainty of his son’s return. She would have +to stop her ridiculous imaginings, she must pretend she had never had +them for, when she saw him as flesh and blood, her game would be ruined +and she would be shamed. The imminence of his arrival reminded her of +his dullness, his handsome, sullen face and, more tenderly, of those +tears which had put her so oddly in his debt. But she had no difficulty +in casting away the false image she had made. She was, she found, glad +to be rid of it; she liked to feel herself delivered of a weakness. + +But she need not have been in such a hurry, for it was some months +before the man who brought the milk from Sales Hall also brought the +news that the master was returning. This information was handed to +Caroline and Sophia with their early tea. + +Sitting up in bed and looking grotesquely terrible, they discussed the +event. Caroline, like Medusa, but with hair curlers instead of snakes +sprouting from her head, and Sophia with her heavy plait hanging over +her shoulder and defying with its luxuriance the yellowness of her +skin, they sat side by side, propped up with pillows, inured to the +sight of each other in undress. + +“He has come back!” Sophia said ecstatically. “Perhaps after all—” + +“Oh, nonsense!” Caroline said as usual, “she’s meant for better things. +My dear, she was born for a great affair. She ought to be the mistress +of a king. Yes, something of that kind, with her looks, her phlegm.” + +“But there are no kings in Radstowe,” Sophia said, “and I don’t think +you ought to say such things.” + +“It’s my way. You ought to know that. And I can’t control my tongue any +more than Reginald can control his body.” + +“Caroline!” + +“And I don’t want to. We’re all wrapped up in cotton-wool nowadays. I +ought to have lived in another century. I, too, would have adorned a +court, and kept it lively! There’s no wit left in the world, and +there’s no wickedness of the right kind. We might as well be +Nonconformists at once.” + +“Certainly not,” Sophia said firmly. “Certainly not that.” + +“But as you so cleverly remind me, there are no kings in Radstowe. +There’s not even,” she added with a mocking smile which made her face +gay in a ghastly way, “not even a foreign Count who would turn out an +impostor. Rose would do very well there, too. An imitation foreign +Count with a black moustache and no money! She would be magnificent and +tragic. Imagine them at Monte Carlo, keeping it up! She would hate him, +grandly; she would hate herself for being deceived; she would never +lose her dignity. You can’t picture Rose with a droop or a tear. They’d +trail about the Continent and she would never come back.” + +“But we don’t want her to go away at all,” Sophia cried. + +“And when she came to the point of being afraid of murdering him, she +would leave him without any fuss and live alone and mysterious +somewhere in the South of France, or Italy, or Spain. Yes, Spain. There +must be real Counts there and she would get her love affair at last.” + +“But she would still be married.” + +“Of course!” Caroline, looking roguish, was terrible. “That is +necessary for a love affair, _ma chère_.” + +“I would much rather she married Francis Sales and came to see us every +week. Or any other nice young man in Radstowe. She would never marry +beneath her.” + +“On the contrary,” Caroline remarked, “she’s bound to marry beneath +her—not in class, Sophia, not in class, though in Radstowe that’s +possible, too. Look at the Battys! But certainly in brains and +manners.” + +Sophia, clinging to her own idea, repeated plaintively, “I would rather +it were Francis Sales, and he must be lonely in that big house.” + +It appeared, however, that he was not to be lonely, for Susan, entering +with hot water, let fall in her discreet, impersonal way, another piece +of gossip. “John Gibbs says they think Mr. Francis must be bringing +home a wife, Miss Caroline. He’s having some of the rooms done up.” + +“Ah!” said Caroline, and her plump elbow pressed Sophia’s. “Which +rooms, I wonder?” + +“I did not inquire, Miss Caroline.” + +“Then kindly inquire this afternoon, and tell him the butter is +deteriorating, but inquire first or you’ll get nothing out of him.” She +turned with malicious triumph to Sophia. “So that dream’s over!” + +“We shall have to break it to her gently,” Sophia said; “but it may not +be true.” + +In the dining-room over which the General’s portrait tried, and failed, +to preside, as he himself had done in life, and where he was conquered +by an earlier and a later generation, by the shining eloquence of the +old furniture and silver and the living flesh and blood of his +children, Caroline gave Rose the news without, Sophia thought, a spark +of delicacy. + +“They say Francis Sales is bringing home a wife.” + +“Really?” Rose said, taking toast. + +“He has sent orders for part of the house to be done up.” + +Rose raised her eyes. “Ah, she’s hurt,” Sophia thought, but Rose merely +said, “If he touches the drawing-room or the study I shall never +forgive him”; and then, thoughtfully, she added, “but he won’t touch +the drawing-room.” + +“H’m, he’ll do what his wife tells him, I imagine. No girl will +appreciate Mrs. Sales’s washy paintings.” + +“Rose would,” Sophia sighed. + +“Yes, I do,” Rose said cheerfully. She was too cheerful for Sophia’s +romantic little theory, but an acuter audience would have found her too +cheerful for herself. She had overdone it by half a tone, but the +exaggeration was too fine for any ears but her own. She was, as a +matter of fact, in the grip of a violent anger. She was not the kind of +woman to resent the new affections of a rejected lover, but she had, +through her own folly, attached herself to Francis Sales, as, less +unreasonably, his tears had once attached him to her, and the +immaterial nature of the bond composed its strength. Consciously +foolish as her thoughts had been, they became at that breakfast table, +with the water bubbling in the spirit kettle and the faint crunch of +Caroline eating toast, intensely real, and she was angry both with +herself and with his unfaithfulness. She did not love him—how could +she?—but he belonged to her; and now, if this piece of gossip turned +out to be true, she must share him with another. Jealousy, in its usual +sense, she had none as yet, but she had forged a chain she was to find +herself unable to break. It was her pride to consider herself a hard +young person, without spirituality, without sentiment, yet all her +personal relationships were to be of the fantastic kind she now +experienced, all her obligations such as others would have ignored. + +“We shall know more when John Gibbs brings the afternoon milk,” +Caroline said. + +Rose went upstairs and left her stepsisters to their repetitions. Her +window looked out on the little walled front garden and the broad +street. Tradesmen’s carts went by without hurry, ladies walked out with +their dogs, errand-boys loitered in the sun, and presently Caroline and +Sophia went down the garden path, Caroline sailing majestically like a +full-rigged ship, Sophia with her girlish, tripping gait. They put up +their sunshades, and sailed out on what was, in effect, a foraging +expedition. They were going to collect the news. + +Outside the gate, they were hidden by the wall, but for a little while +Rose could hear Caroline’s loud voice. Without doubt she was talking of +Francis Sales, unless she were asking Sophia if her hat, a large one +with pink roses, really became her. Rose knew it all so well, and she +closed her eyes for a moment in weariness. Suddenly she felt tired and +old; the flame of her anger had died down, and for that moment she +allowed herself to droop. She found little comfort in the fact that she +alone knew of her folly, and calling it folly no longer justified it. +She, too, had been rejected, more cruelly than had Francis Sales, for +she had given him something of her spirit. And she had liked to imagine +him far away, thinking of her and of her beauty; she had fancied him +remembering the scene among the primroses and continuing to adore her +in his sulky, inarticulate way. Well, he would think of her no more, +but she was subtly bound to him, first by his need, and now, against +all reason, by her thoughts. She had already learnt that time, which +sometimes seems so swift and heartless, is also slow and kind. Her +feelings would lose their intensity; she only had to wait, and she +waited with that outward impassivity which did not spoil her beauty; it +suited the firm modelling of her features, the creamy whiteness of her +skin, the clear grey eyes under the straight dark eyebrows, and the +lips bent into the promise of a smile. + +Caroline and Sophia waited differently, first for the afternoon milk +and the information they wanted and, during the next weeks, for the +rumours which slowly developed into acknowledged facts. The housekeeper +at Sales Hall had heard from the young master: he was married and +returning immediately with his wife. Caroline sniffed and hoped the +woman was respectable; Sophia was charitably certain she would be a +charming girl; and Rose, knowing she questioned one of the life +occupations of her stepsisters, said coolly, “Why speculate? We shall +see her soon. We must go and call.” + +“Of course,” Caroline said, and Sophia, with her fixed idea, which was +right in the wrong way, said gently, “If you’re sure you want to go, +dear.” + +“Me?” asked Caroline. + +“No, no, I was thinking of Rose.” + +“Nonsense!” Caroline said, “we’re all going”; and Rose reassured Sophia +with perfect truth, “I have been longing to see her for weeks.” + + +§ 3 + +So it came about that the three sisters once more sat in a hired +carriage and drove to Sales Hall. On the box was the son of the man who +had driven them years ago, and though the carriage was a new one and +the old horse had long been metamorphosed into food for the wild +animals in the Radstowe Zoo, this expedition was in many ways a +repetition of the other. Caroline and Sophia faced the horses and Rose +sat opposite her stepsisters, but now she did not listen to their talk +with ears stretched, not to miss a word, and she did not think her +companions as beautiful as princesses. It was she who might have been a +princess for another child, but she did not think of that. She looked +with amusement and with misplaced pity at the other two. It was a +September afternoon and they were very gaily dressed, and again +Caroline had a feather drooping over her hair, while Sophia, more +girlish, wore a wide hat with a blue bow, and both their parasols were +tilted as before against the sun. It seemed to Rose that even the cut +of their garments had not changed with time. The two had always the +appearance of fashion plates of twenty years ago, but no doubt of their +correctness ever entered their minds; and so they managed to preserve +their elegance, as though their belief in themselves were strong enough +to impose it on those who saw them. Without this faith, the severity of +Rose’s black dress, filmy enough for the season but daringly plain, +must have rebuked them. The pearls in her ears and on her neck were her +only ornaments; her little hat, wreathed with a cream feather, shaded +her brow. She sat with the repose which was one of her gifts. + +“I’m sure we all look very nice,” Caroline said suddenly, the very +remark she had made when they went to the haymaking party, “though you +do look rather like a widow, Rose—a widow, getting over it very +comfortably, as they do—as they do!” + +“I’m glad I look so interesting,” Rose murmured. + +“Oh, interesting, always. Yes.” + +They were jogging along the road bordered by the high smooth wall, +despairingly efficient, guarding treasures bought with gold; and the +tall elm-trees looked over it as though they wanted to escape. The +murmuring in their branches seemed to be of discontent, and the birds +singing in them had a taunting note. The road mounted a little and the +wall went with it, backed by the imprisoned trees. But at last, at the +cross-roads, the wall turned and the road went on without it. There +were open fields now on either hand, the property of Francis Sales, and +another mile brought the carriage to the opening of the grassy track +where Rose liked to think she had left her youth, but the road went +round on the other side of the larch woods, and when these were passed +Sales Hall came into sight. + +“I always think,” Caroline said, “it’s a pity this beautiful avenue +hasn’t a better setting. Mere fields, and open to the road! It’s +undignified. It ought to have been a park.” + +“With a high wall all round it,” Rose suggested. + +“Exactly,” Caroline agreed. She was touching her fringe, giving little +pats and pulls to her dress, preparatory to descent, and Sophia +whispered, “Just see, Caroline, that wisp of hair near my ear—so +tiresome! I can never be sure of it.” + +“Not a sign of it,” Caroline assured her. “Now I wonder what we are +going to find.” + +They found the drawing-room empty and untouched. On the pale walls the +water-colours were still hanging, the floral carpet still covered the +floor, the faded chintzes had not been removed, and the light came +clearly through the long windows with their pale primrose curtains. In +the middle of the room was the circular settee to seat four persons, +back to back, with a little woolwork stool set for each pair of feet. +There were no flowers in the room, and they were not needed, for the +room itself was like some pale, scentless and old-fashioned bloom. + +The three Miss Malletts sat down: Caroline gay and aggressive as a +parrot, and a parrot in a big gilded cage would not have been out of +place; Sophia fitting naturally into the gentle scheme of things; Rose +startlingly modern in her elegance. + +“Well,” Caroline said, “she’s a long time. Changing her dress, I +expect,” and she sniffed. But Mrs. Francis Sales entered in a pink +cotton garment, her fair, curling hair a little untidy, for she had, +she said, been in the old walled garden behind the house. There was, in +fact, a rose hanging from her left hand. She was pretty, she seemed +artless and defenceless, but her big blue eyes had a wary look, and in +spite of that look spoiling an otherwise ingenuous countenance, Rose +imagined herself noticeably old and mature. She thought it was no +wonder that Francis was attracted, but at the same time she despised +him for a failure in taste, as though, faced with the choice between a +Heppelwhite chair and an affair of wicker and cretonne, he had chosen +the inferior article, though she had to admit that, for a permanent +seat, it might be more comfortable and certainly more yielding. + +But as she watched Mrs. Sales presiding over the teacups, her scared +eyes moving swiftly from the parlourmaid, entering with cakes, to +Caroline, and from Caroline to Sophia, and then with added shyness to +the woman nearest her own age, Rose found her opinion changing. Mrs. +Francis Sales was timid, but she was not weak; the fair fluffiness of +her exterior was deceptive; and while Rose made this discovery and now +and then dropped a quiet word into the chatter of the others, she was +listening for Francis. He had been with his wife in the garden, but he +was some time in following her, and Rose knew that Mrs. Sales was +listening, too. She wondered whose ear first caught the sound of his +feet on the matted passage; she felt an absurd inward tremor and, +looking at Mrs. Sales, she saw that her pretty pink colour had deepened +and her blue eyes were bright, like flowers. She was certainly charming +in her simple frock, but her unsuitable shoes with very high heels and +sparkling buckles hurt Rose’s eye as much as the voice, also high and +slightly grating, hurt her ear, and this voice sharpened nervously as +it said, “Oh, here is Francis coming.” + +No, he was not the person of Rose’s dreams, and she felt an immense +relief: she had expected to be disappointed, but she was glad to find +the old Francis, big, bronzed and handsome, smelling of the open air +and tobacco and tweed, and no dangerous, disturbing, heroic figure. + +For an instant he looked at Rose before he greeted the elder ladies, +and then, as Rose let her hand touch his and pleasantly said, “How are +you?” she experienced a faint, almost physical shock. He was different +after all, and now she did not know whether to be glad or sorry. +Unchanged, she need not have given him another thought; subtly altered, +she was bound to probe into the how and why. He sat beside her on the +old-fashioned couch with a curled head, and his thirteen stone +descending heavily on the springs sent up her light weight with a +perceptible jerk. + +“Clumsy boy!” Mrs. Sales exclaimed playfully. + +Rose laughed. “It’s like the old see-saw. I was always in the air and +you on the ground. Is it there still—near the pigsties?” + +“Yes, still there.” But this threatened to become too exclusive a +conversation, and Rose tried to do her share in more general topics. + +Caroline, talking of the advantage of Radstowe, regretting the greater +gaiety of the past, when Sophia and she were belles, was adding +gratuitous advice on the management of husbands and some information on +the ways of men. Mrs. Sales laughed and glanced now and then at +Francis, but whether he responded Rose could not see, unless she turned +her head. He ought certainly to have been smiling at so pretty a +person, wrinkling his eyes in the way he had and straightening the +mouth which was sullen in repose. Yet she was almost sure he was doing +the minimum demanded of politeness, almost sure he was thinking of +herself and was conscious of her nearness, just as she, for the first +time, was physically conscious of his. + +She rose, saying, “May I look out of the window? I always liked this +view of the garden.” And having gazed out and made the necessary +remarks, she sat down, separated from him by the width of the room and +with her back to the light, a strategical position she ought to have +taken up before. But here she was at the disadvantage of facing him and +a scrutiny of which she had not thought him capable. With his legs +stretched out, his hands in his pockets, his eyes apparently half shut +but unquestionably fixed on her, he was really behaving rather badly. +She had never been stared at like this before and she told herself that +under the shelter of his marriage he had grown daring, if not insolent; +but at the same time she knew she was not telling herself the truth: he +was simply in the position of a thirsty man who has at last found a +stream. It appeared, then, that his wife did not sufficiently quench +his thirst. + +Rose carefully did not look his way, but she experienced an altogether +new excitement, the very ancient one of desiring to taste forbidden +fruit simply because it was forbidden; this particular fruit, as such, +had no special charm; but she was born a Mallett and the half-sister of +Reginald. She had, however, as he had not, a substantial basis of +personal pride and a love of beauty which was at least as effectual as +a moral principle and she had not Francis’s excuse for his behaviour. +She believed he did not know what he was doing; but she was entirely +clear-sighted as to herself and she refused to encourage the silent +intercourse which had established itself between them. + +Caroline was in the midst of a piece of gossip, Sophia was interjecting +exclamations of moderation and reproach, and Mrs. Sales was manifestly +amused. Her chromatic giggle was as punctual as Sophia’s reproof, and +Rose drew closer to the group made by the three, and said, “I’m missing +Caroline’s story. Which one is it?” And now it was Francis who laughed. + +“It’s finished,” Caroline said. “Don’t tell your husband, at least till +we have gone—and we ought to go at once.” + +But the coachman was not on the box. He had been invited to take tea in +the kitchen. + +“We won’t disturb him,” Sophia said. “No, Caroline, let him have his +tea. We ought to encourage teetotal drinking in his class. Perhaps Mrs. +Sales will let us go round the garden. I am so fond of flowers.” + +“Come and look at the pigsties,” Francis said to Rose, but, assuring +him she had grown too old for pigs, she followed the rest. + +The walled garden had a beautiful disorder. A grey kitten and a white +puppy sat together on the grass, enjoying the sunshine and each other’s +company and pretending to be asleep; and though the kitten displayed no +interest in the visitors, holding its personality of more importance +than anything else, the puppy jumped up, barked, and rushed at each +person in turn. Caroline, picking up her skirts and showing the famous +Mallett ankle, said, “Go away, dog!” in a severe tone, and the puppy +rolled on the grass to show that he did not care and could not by any +possibility be snubbed. Under an apple-tree on which the fruit was +ripening were two cane chairs, a table, a newspaper and a work-basket. + +“This is my favourite place,” Mrs. Sales said to Rose. “I hate that +drawing-room, and Francis won’t have it touched. But I’ve got a boudoir +that’s lovely. He sent an order to the best shop and had it ready for a +surprise, so if I’m not out of doors I sit there. Would you like to see +it?” + +“I should, very much,” Rose said. + +“Then come quickly while the others are eating those plums off the +wall.” + +Rose looked back. “I can’t think what Sophia will do with the stone,” +she murmured, smiling her faint smile. + +Mrs. Sales was puzzled by this remark. “Oh, she’ll manage, won’t she? +You don’t want to help her, do you?” + +“No, I don’t want to help her.” + +“Come along, then.” + +Rose saw the boudoir, a little room half-way up the stairs. “It’s Louis +something,” said Mrs. Sales, “but all the same, I think it’s sweet, and +pink’s my favourite colour. Francis thought of that. I was wearing pink +when I first met him.” + +“I see,” Rose said. “Was that long ago?” + +“Only three months. I think we both fell in love at the same minute, +and that’s nice, isn’t it? I know I’m going to be happy, but I do hope +I shan’t be dull. We’re a big family at home. I’m English,” she added a +little anxiously, “but my father settled there.” + +“I don’t think you should be dull,” Rose said. “Everybody in Radstowe +will call on you, and there are lots of parties. And then there’s +hunting.” + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Sales. Her eyes left Rose’s face, to return a little +wider, a little warier. “Do you hunt too?” + +“As often as I can. I only have one horse.” + +“Francis says I am to have two.” + +“And they will be good ones. He likes hunting and horses better than +anything else, I suppose.” + +“But he mustn’t neglect the farm,” his wife said firmly, and she added +slowly, “I don’t know that I need two horses, really. I haven’t ridden +much, and there’s a lot to do in the house. I don’t believe in people +being out all day.” + +“Well, you can’t hunt all the year round, you know.” + +Mrs. Sales let out a sigh so faint that most people would have missed +it. “It will be beginning soon, won’t it?” + +“It feels a long way off in weather like this,” Rose said. “But they +are getting into the carriage. I must go.” + +Mrs. Sales lingered for an instant. “I do hope we’re going to be +friends.” This was more than a statement, it was a request, and Rose +shrank from it; but she said lightly, “We shall be meeting often. You +will see more of us than you will care for, I’m afraid. The Malletts +are rather ubiquitous in Radstowe. It’s fortunate for us, or Caroline +would die of boredom, but I don’t know how it appears to other people.” + +She was going down the shallow stairs and the voice of Mrs. Sales +followed her sadly: “He hasn’t told me anything about any of his +friends.” + +“In three months? He hasn’t had time, with you to think about!” A +laugh, pleased and self-conscious, reached her ears. “No, but it’s +rather lonely in this old house. We’re a big family at home—and so +lively. There was always something going on. I wished we lived nearer +Radstowe.” + +“And I envy you here. It’s peaceful.” + +“Yes, it’s that,” Mrs. Sales agreed. + +“I’m a good deal older than you, you see,” Rose elaborated. + +“That’s just it,” said Mrs. Sales. + +Rose laughed, and Francis, standing at the door, turned at the sound in +time to catch the end of Rose’s smile. + +“What are you laughing at?” + +“Mrs. Sales’s candour.” + +“Oh, was I rude?” + +“No. Good-bye. I liked it.” Yet, as she settled herself in her place, +she was not more than half pleased. She liked her superior age only +because it marked a difference between her and the wife of Francis +Sales. + +“H’m!” Caroline said when the carriage had turned into the road and the +figures in the doorway had disappeared. “Pretty, but unformed.” + +“They seem very happy,” Sophia said, “but I do think she ought to have +been wearing black. Her father-in-law has only been dead six months, +and even Francis was not wearing a black tie.” + +But if Caroline condemned men in general, she supported them in +particular. “Quite right, too. Men don’t think of these things—and a +black tie with those tweeds! Sophia, don’t be silly and sentimental; +but you always were, you always will be.” + +“She might have had a white frock with a black ribbon,” Sophia +persisted. “Why, Rose looked more like our old friend’s +daughter-in-law.” + +“But hardly like a bride,” Rose said. “And you see, pink is her +colour.” + +“So it is, dear. One could see that. Pink and blue, just as they were +mine.” She corrected herself. “_Are_ mine. Our complexions are very +much alike; in fact, she reminded me a little of myself.” + +“Nonsense, Sophia! If you had been like that I should have disowned +you. However, she will do well enough for Sales Hall.” + +Rose bent forward slightly. “I like her,” she said distinctly. “And +she’s lonely.” + +“Well, my dear, she’ll soon have half a dozen children to keep her +lively.” + +“Hush, Caroline! The man will hear you.” + +Caroline addressed Rose. “Sophia’s modesty is indecent. I’ve done what +I could for her.” + +“Please listen to me,” Rose said. “You are not to belittle Mrs. Sales +to people, Caroline. You can be a powerful friend, if you choose, and +if you sing her praises there will be a mighty chorus.” + +“That’s true,” Caroline said. + +“Yes, that’s true, dear Caroline,” Sophia echoed. “And I think you’re +taking this very sweetly, Rose.” + +“Sweetly? Why?” + +Caroline pricked up her ears. “What’s this? I’m out of this. Oh, that +old rubbish! She will have it you and Francis should have married. My +dear Sophia, Rose could have married anybody if she’d wanted to. You’ll +admit that? Yes? Then can’t you see”—she tapped Sophia’s knee—“then +can’t you see that Rose didn’t want him? That’s logic—and something you +lack.” + +“Yes, dear,” Sophia said with the meekness of the unconvinced. “And of +course it’s wrong to think of it now that he’s married to another.” + +Caroline guffawed her loudest, and the astonished horse quickened his +pace. The driver cast a look over his shoulder to see that all was +well, for he had a sister who made strange noises in her fits; and +Sophia, sitting in her drooping fashion, as though her head with its +great knob of fair hair, in which the silver was just beginning to +show, were too heavy for her body, had to listen to the old gibes which +had never made and never would make any impression on her, though she +would have felt forlorn without them. She was the only puritanical +Mallett in history, Caroline said. Oh, yes, the General had been great +at family prayers, but he was trying to make up for lost time. It was +difficult to believe that Sophia and Reginald were the same flesh and +blood. + +Sophia interrupted. She was fond of Reginald, but she had no desire to +be like him, and Caroline knew he was a disgrace. They argued for some +time, and Rose closed her eyes until the talk, never really +acrimonious, drifted into reminiscences of their childhood and +Reginald’s. + +It was strange that they should have chosen that day to speak so much +of him, for when they reached home they found a letter addressed in an +unfamiliar hand. + +“What’s this?” Caroline said. + +It was a thin, cheap envelope bearing a London postmark, and Caroline +drew out a flimsy sheet of paper. + +“I must get my glasses,” she said. Her voice was agitated. “No, no, I +can manage without them. The writing is immense, but faint. It’s from +that woman.” She looked up, showing a face drawn and blotched with ugly +colour. “It’s to say that Reginald is dead.” + +Mrs. Reginald Mallett had written the letter on the day of her +husband’s funeral, and Caroline’s tears for her brother were stemmed by +her indignation with his wife. She had purposely made it impossible for +his relatives to attend the ceremony. + +“No,” Sophia said, “the poor thing was distressed. We mustn’t blame +her.” + +“And such a letter!” Caroline flicked it with a disdainful finger. + +Rose picked up the sheet. “I don’t see what else she could have said. I +think it’s dignified—a plain statement. Why should you expect more? You +have never taken any notice of her.” + +“Certainly not! And Reginald never suggested it. Of course he was +ashamed, poor boy. However, I am now going to write to her, asking if +she is in need, and enclosing a cheque. I feel some responsibility for +the child. She is half a Mallett, and the Malletts have always been +loyal to the family.” + +“Yes, dear, we’ll send a cheque, and—shouldn’t we?—a few kind words. +She will value them.” + +“She’ll value the money more,” Caroline said grimly. + +Here she was wrong, for the cheque was immediately returned. Mrs. +Mallett and her daughter were able to support themselves without help. + +“Then we need think no more about them,” Caroline said, concealing her +annoyance, “and I shall be able to afford a new dinner dress. Black +sequins, I thought, Sophia—and we must give a dinner for the Sales.” + +“Caroline, no, you forget. We mustn’t entertain for a little while.” + +“Upon my word, I did forget. But it’s no use pretending. It really +isn’t quite like a death in the family, is it? Poor dear Reginald! I +was very fond of him, but half our friends believe he has been dead for +years. I shall wear black for three months, of course, but a little +dinner to the Sales would not be out of place. We have a duty to the +living as well as to the dead.” + +Leaving her stepsisters to argue this point, Rose went upstairs and +looked into Reginald’s old room. She had known very little of him, but +she was sorry he was dead, sorry there was no longer a chance of his +presence in the house, of meeting him on the stairs, very late for +breakfast and quite oblivious of the inconvenience he was causing, and +on his lips some remark which no one else would have made. + +His room had not been occupied for some time, but it seemed emptier +than before; the mirror gave back a reflection of polished furniture +and vacancy; the bed looked smooth and cold enough for a corpse. No +personal possessions were strewn about, and the room itself felt +chilly. + +She was glad to enter her own, where beauty and luxury lived together. +The carpet was soft to her feet, a small wood fire burned in the grate, +for the evening promised to be cold, and the severe lines of the +furniture were clean and exquisite against the white walls. A pale soft +dressing-gown hung across a chair, a little handkerchief, as fine as +lace, lay crumpled on a table, there was a discreet gleam of silver and +tortoiseshell. This, at least, was the room of a living person. Yet, as +she stood before the cheval-glass, studying herself after the habit of +the Malletts, she thought perhaps she was less truly living than +Reginald in his grave. He left a memory of animation, of sin, of charm; +he had injured other people all his life, but they regretted him and, +presumably, he had had his pleasure out of their pain. And what was +she, standing there? A negatively virtuous young woman, without enough +desire of any kind to impel her to trample over feelings, creeds and +codes. If she died that moment, it would be said of her that she was +beautiful, and that was all. Reginald, with his greed, his +heartlessness, his indifference to all that did not serve him, would +not be forgotten: people would sigh and smile at the mention of his +name, hate him and wish him back. She envied him; she wished she could +feel in swift, passionate gusts as he had done, with the force and the +forgetfulness of a passing wind. His life, flecked with disgrace, must +also have been rich with temporary but memorable beauty. The exterior +of her own was all beauty, of person and surroundings, but within there +seemed to be only a cold waste. + +She had been tempted the other afternoon, and she had resisted with +what seemed to her a despicable ease: she had not really cared, and she +felt that the necessity to struggle, even the collapse of her +resistance, would have argued better for her than her self-possession. +And for a moment she wished she had married Francis Sales. She would at +least have had some definite work in the world; she could have kept him +to his farming, as Mrs. Sales had set herself to do; she would have had +a home to see to and daily interviews with the cook! She laughed at +this decline in her ambition; she no longer expected the advent of the +colossal figure of her young dreams; and she knew this was the hour +when she ought to strike out a new way for herself, to leave this place +which offered her nothing but ease and a continuous, foredoomed effort +after enjoyment; but she also knew that she would not go. She had not +the energy nor the desire. She would drift on, never submerged by any +passion, keeping her head calmly above water, looking coldly at the +interminable sea. This was her conviction, but she was not without a +secret hope that she might at last be carried to some unknown island, +odorous, surprising and her own, where she would, for the first time, +experience some kind of excess. + + +§ 4 + +The little dinner was duly given to the Sales. The Sales returned the +compliment; and Mrs. Batty, not to be outdone, offered what could only +adequately be described as a banquet in honour of the bride; there was +a general revival of hospitality, and the Malletts were at every +function. This was Caroline’s reward for her instructed enthusiasm for +Christabel Sales, and before long the black sequin dress gave way to a +grey brocade and a purple satin, and the period of mourning was at an +end. For Rose, these entertainments were only interesting because the +Sales were there, and she hardly knew at what moment annoyance began to +mingle definitely with her pity for the little lady with the wary eyes, +or when the annoyance almost overcame the pity. + +It might have been at a dinner-party when Christabel, seated at the +right hand of a particularly facetious host, let out her high chromatic +laughter incessantly, and the hostess, leaning towards Francis, told +him with the tenderness of an elderly woman whose own romance lies far +behind her, that it was a pleasure to see Mrs. Sales so happy. He +murmured something in response and, as he looked up and met the gaze of +Rose, she smiled at him and saw his eyes darken with feeling, or with +thought. + +After dinner he sought her out. She had known that would happen: she +had been avoiding it for weeks, but it was useless to play at +hide-and-seek with the inevitable, and she calmly watched him approach. + +“Why did you laugh?” he asked at once, in his old, angry fashion. “You +were laughing at me.” + +“No, I smiled.” + +“Ah, you’re not so free with your smiles that they have no meaning.” + +“Perhaps not, but I don’t know what the meaning was.” + +“I believe you’ve been laughing at me ever since I came back.” + +“Indeed, I haven’t. Why should I?” + +“God knows,” he answered with a shrug; “I never do understand what +people laugh at.” + +“You’re too self-conscious, Francis.” + +“Only with you,” he said. + +“Somebody is going to sing,” she warned him as a gaunt girl went +towards the piano; and sinking on to a convenient and sheltered couch, +they resigned themselves to listen—or to endure. From that corner Rose +had a view of the long room, mediocre in its decoration, mediocre in +its occupants. She could see her host standing before the fire, +swinging his eyeglasses on a cord and gazing at the cornice as the song +proceeded. She could see Christabel’s neck and shoulders and the back +of her fair head. Beside her a plump matron had her face suitably +composed; three bored young men were leaning against a wall. + +The music jangled, the voice shrieked a false emotion, and Rose’s +eyebrows rose with the voice. It was dull, it was dreary, it was a +waste of time, yet what else, Rose questioned, could she do with time, +of which there was so much? She could not find an answer, and there +rose at that moment a chorus of thanks and a gentle clapping of hands. +The gaunt girl had finished her song and, poking her chin, returned to +her seat. The room buzzed with chatter; it seemed that only Francis and +Rose were silent. She turned to look at him. + +“This is awful,” he said. + +“No worse than usual.” + +“When do you think we shall have exhausted Radstowe hospitality? And +the worst of it is we have to give dinners ourselves, and the same +things happen every time.” + +“I find it soporific,” said Rose. + +“I’d rather be soporific in an arm-chair with a pipe.” + +“This is one of the penalties of marriage,” Rose said lightly. + +“Look here, I’m giving Christabel another jumping lesson to-morrow. +I’ve put some hurdles up. Will you come? She’s getting on very well. +I’ll take her hunting before long.” + +“Does she like it?” + +“Oh, rather! My word, it would have been a catastrophe if she hadn’t +taken to it.” He paused, considering the terrible situation from which +he had been saved. “Can’t imagine what I should have done. But she’s +never satisfied. She’s beginning to jeer at the old brown horse. I’ve +seen a grey mare that might do for her,” and he went on to enumerate +the animal’s points. + +Rose said, “Why don’t you let her have her first season with the old +horse? He knows his business. He’ll take care of her.” + +“She wouldn’t approve of that. I tell you, she’s ambitious. I’ll go and +fetch her and you’ll hear for yourself.” + +She watched him bending over his wife, and saw Christabel rise and slip +a hand under his arm. The action was a little like that of a young +woman taking a walk with her young man, but it betokened a confidence +which roused a slight feeling of envy and sadness in Rose’s heart. + +“We have been talking about hunting,” she began at once. + +“Oh, yes,” Christabel said. She looked warily from one to the other. + +“I’m recommending you to stick to the old brown horse, but Francis says +you laugh at him.” + +“Would you ride him yourself?” Christabel asked. + +“Not if I could get something better.” + +“Well, then—” Christabel’s tone was final. + +But Rose persisted, saying, “But, you see, this isn’t my first season. +Stick to the old horse for a little while.” + +“No,” Christabel said firmly. “If Francis thinks I can ride the mare, I +should like to have her.” + +Rose laughed, but she felt uneasy, and Francis said, “I told you so. +She has any amount of pluck. You come and watch.” + +“No, I can’t come to-morrow. I think I’ll see her first in all her +glory on the grey mare.” + +“All the same,” Christabel added, “if she’s very expensive, I don’t +want her. Francis is extravagant over horses, and we have to be +careful.” + +“We’ll economize somewhere else,” he said. “The mare is yours.” + +She suppressed a sigh. Rose was sure of it, and in after days she was +to ask herself many times if she had been to blame in not interpreting +that sigh to Francis. But she had to give Christabel, and Christabel +especially, the loyalty of one woman to another. She would not wrench +from her in a few words the pride Francis took in her, to which she +sacrificed her fears. Rose had the astuteness of a jealousy she would +not own, of a sense of possession she could not discard, and she had +known, from the first moment, that Christabel was afraid of horses and +dreaded the very name of hunting. And Rose divined, too, that if she +herself had not been a horsewoman of some repute, Christabel would have +been less ambitious; she would have been contented with the old brown +horse; but Christabel, too, had an astuteness. No, she could not have +interfered; yet when she first saw Christabel on the mare she was +alarmed to the point of saying: + +“Are you sure she’s all right? You’d better keep beside her, Francis.” + +The mare was fidgety and hot-headed. Christabel’s hands were unsteady, +her face was pale, her lips were tight; but she was gay, and Francis +was proud to have her and her mount admired. + +Rose looked round in despair. Could no one else see what was so plain +to her? She was tempted to go home. She felt she could not bear the +strain of watching that little figure perched on the grey beast that +looked like a wraith, like a warning. But she did not go, and she +learnt to be glad to have shared with Francis the horror of the moment +when the mare, out of control and mad with excitement, tried a fence +topping a bank, failed, and fell with Christabel beneath her. + +On the ground there was a flurry of white and black, and then +stillness, while over the fields the hounds and the foremost riders +went like things seen in a dream, with the same callousness, the same +speed. + +Rose saw men dismount and run towards the queer, ugly muddle on the +grass. She dismounted, too, and gave her horse to somebody to hold, but +she did nothing. Other, more capable people were before her, and it +struck her at that moment, while a bird in a bare hedge set up a short +chirrup of surprise, how little used she was to action. She seemed to +be standing alone in the big field: the rest was a picture with which +she had nothing to do. There was a busy group near the fence, some men +came running with a door, and then the sound of a shot broke through +her numbness. The mare had been put out of her pain; but what of +Christabel? + +She hurried forward; she heard some one say, “Ah, here’s Miss Mallett,” +and she answered vaguely, “Men are gentler.” But as they lifted +Christabel, Rose held one of her hands. It felt lifeless; she looked +small and broken; she made no sound. + +“She’s not conscious,” a man said, and at that she opened her eyes. + +“My God, she’s got some pluck!” Francis said. “My God—” + +She smiled at him, and he dropped behind with a gesture of despair. + +“You were right,” he said to Rose, “she wasn’t equal to that brute.” He +turned angrily. “Why didn’t you make me see?” + +She made no answer then, or afterwards, to him, but over and over +again, with the awful reiteration of the conscience-smitten, she set +out her reasons for her silence. She might have told him that of these +he was the chief. If he had looked at her less persistently on her +visits to Sales Hall, if he had married another kind of woman, she +would not have been afraid to speak, but she had tried not to +extinguish what little flame of love still flickered in his heart for +Christabel and she had succeeded in almost extinguishing her life, in +reducing her to permanent helplessness. + +This was Rose’s first experience of how evil comes out of good. What +would happen to that love, Rose did not know. For a time it burned more +brightly, fanned by Christabel’s heroism and Francis’s remorse, but +heroism can become monotonous to the spectator and poignant remorse +cannot be endured for ever. Christabel’s plight was pitiful, but Rose +was sorrier for Francis. He had, as it were, engaged her compassion +years ago, he had a prior claim, and as time went on, her pity for +Christabel changed at moments to annoyance. It was cruel, but Rose had +no fund of patience. She disliked illness as she did deformity, and +though Christabel never complained of her constant pain, she developed +the exactions of an invalid, and the suspicions. In those blue eyes, +bluer, and more than ever wary, Rose saw the questions which were never +asked. + +In the bedroom which, with the boudoir, had been furnished and +decorated by the best shop in Radstowe, for a surprise, Christabel lay +on a couch near the window, with a nurse in attendance, the puppy and +the kitten, both growing staid, for company. It tired her to use her +hands, she had never cared for reading and she lay there with little +for consolation but her pride in stoically bearing pain. + +Often, and with many interruptions, she made Rose repeat the details of +the accident. + +“I was riding well, wasn’t I?” she would ask. “Francis was pleased with +me. He said so. It wasn’t my fault, was it? And then, when they were +carrying me home did you hear what he said? Tell me what he said.” + +And Rose told her: “He said, ‘My God, she has got pluck!’ Oh, +Christabel, don’t talk about it.” + +“I like to,” she replied, but the day came when she insisted on this +subject for the last time. + +“Tell me what you thought when you saw me on the mare,” she said, and +Rose, careless for once, answered immediately, “I thought she wasn’t +fit for you to ride.” + +“Ah,” Christabel said slowly, “did you? Did you? But you didn’t say +anything. That was—queer.” + +Rose said nothing. She was frozen dumb and there was no possible reply +to such an implication; but she rose and drew on her gloves. She looked +tall and straight in her habit, and formidable. + +“Are you going? But you must have tea with Francis. He’s expecting +you.” + +“I won’t stay to-day,” Rose said. She was shaking with the anger she +suppressed. + +“But if you don’t,” Christabel cried, “he’ll want to know why. He’ll +ask me!” + +“I can’t help that,” Rose said. + +Tears came into Christabel’s eyes. “You might at least do that for me.” + +“Very well. Because you ask me.” + +“And you’ll come again soon?” + +The sternness of Rose’s face was broken by an ironic smile. “Of course! +If you are sure you want me!” + +She went downstairs and, as usual, Francis was waiting for her in the +matted hall. He did not greet her with a word or a smile. He watched +her descend the shallow flight, and together they went down the passage +to the clear drawing-room, where the faded water-colours looked unreal +and innocent and ignorant of tragedy. + +“What’s the matter?” he asked. + +“Nothing.” She looked into the oval mirror which had so often reflected +his mother’s placid face. “My hat’s a little crooked,” she said. + +He laughed without mirth. “Never in its life. Has Christabel been +worrying you?” + +“Worrying me? Poor child—” + +“Yes, it’s damnable, but she does worry one—and you look odd.” + +“I’m getting old,” she murmured, not seeking reassurance but stating a +fact plain to her. + +“You’re exactly the same!” he said. “Exactly the same!” He swept his +face with his hands, and at that sight a new sensation seized her +delicately, delightfully, as though a firm hand held her for an instant +above the earth, high in the air, free from care, from restrictions, +from the necessity for thought—but only for an instant. She was set +down again, inwardly swaying, apparently unmoved, but conscious of the +carpet under her feet, the chairs with twisted legs, the primrose +curtains, the spring afternoon outside. + +“Let us have tea,” she said. She handled the pretty flowered cups and +under her astonished eyes the painted flowers were like a little +garden, gay and sweet and gilded. She seemed to smell them and the hiss +of the kettle was like a song. Then, as she handed him his cup and +looked into his wretched face and remembered the bitter reality of +things, she still could not lose all sense of sweetness. + +“Don’t say any more!” she said quickly. “Don’t say another word.” + +“I won’t, if you’re sure you know everything. Do you?” + +“Every single thing.” + +“And you care?” + +“Yes.” She drew a breath. “I care—beyond speaking of it. Francis, not a +word!” + +It was extraordinary, it was inexplicable, but it was true and happily +beyond the region of regrets, for if she had married him years ago she +would never have loved him in this miraculous, sudden way, with this +passion of tenderness, this desire to make him happy, this terrible +conviction that she could not do it, this promise of suffering for +herself. And the wonder of it was that he had no likeness to that +absurd Francis of whom she had dreamed and whom she had not loved; no +likeness, either, to the colossal tyrant. The man she loved was in some +ways weak, he was petulant, he was a baby, but he needed her and, for a +romantic and sentimental moment, she saw herself as his refuge, his +strength. She could not, must not communicate those thoughts. She began +to talk happily and serenely about ordinary things until she remembered +that she had lingered past her usual hour and that upstairs Christabel +must be listening for the sound of her horse’s hoofs. She started up. + +“Will you fetch Peter for me?” + +“If you will tell me when you are coming again.” + +“One day next week.” + +He kissed her hand, and held it. + +“Francis, don’t. You mustn’t spoil things.” + +“I haven’t said a word.” + +“Silence is good,” she said. + + +§ 5 + +And she knew she could be silent for ever. Restraint and a love of +danger lived together in her nature and these two qualities were fed by +the position in which she found herself, nor would she have had the +position changed. It supplied her with the emotion she had wanted. She +had the privilege of feeling deeply and dangerously and yet of +preserving her pride. + +There was irony in the fact that Christabel, hinting at suspicions for +which, in Rose’s mind, there was at first no cause, had at last +actually brought about what she feared, and if Rose had looked for +justification, she might have found it there. But she did not look for +it any more than Reginald would have done; she was like him there, but +where she differed was in loyalty to an idea. She saw love as something +noble and inspiring, worthy of sacrifice and, more concretely, she was +determined not to increase the disaster which had befallen Christabel. +Sooner or later, in normal conditions, her marriage must have been +recognized as a failure, but in these abnormal ones it had to be +sustained as a success, and it seemed to Rose that civilized beings +could love, and live in the knowledge of their love, without injuring +some one already cruelly unfortunate. + +But, as the months went by, she found she had to reckon with two +difficult people, or rather with two people, ordinary in themselves, +cast by fate into a difficult situation. There was Christabel, with her +countless idle hours in which to formulate theories, to lay traps, to +realize that the devotion of Francis became less obvious; and there was +Francis, breaking the spirit of their contract with his looks, and +sometimes the letter, with his complaints and pleadings. + +He could not go on like this for ever, he said. He saw her once a week +for a few minutes, if he was lucky: how could she expect him to be +satisfied with that? It was little enough, she owned, but more than it +might have been. She could never make him admit, perhaps because he did +not feel, how greatly they were blessed; but she saw herself as the +guardian of a temple: she stood in the doorway forbidding him to enter +less the place should be defiled, yet forbidding him in such a way that +he should not love her less. Yet constantly saying “No,” constantly +shaking the head and smiling propitiatingly the while is not to +appease; and those short hours of companionship in which they had once +managed to be happy became times of strain, of disappointment, of +barely kept control. + +“I wish I could stop loving you,” he broke out one day, “but I can’t. +You’re the kind one doesn’t forget. I thought I’d done it once, for a +few months, but you came back—you, came back.” + +She smiled, seeming aloof and full of some wisdom unknown to him. She +knew he could not do without her, still more she knew he must not do +without her, and these certainties became the main fabric of her love. +She had to keep him, less for her own sake than for that of her idea, +but gradually the severe rules she had made became relaxed. + +They were not to meet except on that one day a week demanded by +Christabel, who also had to keep Francis happy and who would have +welcomed the powers of darkness to relieve the monotony of her own +life; but Rose could hardly take a ride without meeting Francis, also +riding; or he would appear, on foot, out of a wood, out of a side road, +and waylay her. He seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of her presence, +and they would have a few minutes of conversation, or of a silence +which was no longer beautiful, but terrible with effort, with +possibilities and with dread. + +She ought, she knew, to have kept to her own side of the bridge, to +have ridden on the high Downs inviting to a rider, but she loved the +farther country where the air was blue and soft, where little orchards +broke oddly into great fields, where brooks ran across the lanes and +pink-washed cottages were fronted by little gardens full of homely +flowers and clothes drying on the bushes. There was a smell of fruit +and wood fires and damp earth; there was a veil of magic over the whole +landscape and, far off, the shining line of the channel seemed to be +washing the feet of the blue hills. The country had the charm of home +with the allurement of the unknown and, within sound of the steamers +hooting in the river, almost within sight of the city lying, red-roofed +and smoky with factories, round the docks and mounting in terraces to +the heights of Upper Radstowe, there was an expectation of mystery, of +secrets kept for countless centuries by the earth which was rich and +fecund and alive. She could not deny herself the sight of this country. +It had become dearer to her since her awakened feelings had brought +with them the complexities of new thoughts. It soothed her though it +solved nothing. It did not wish to solve anything. It lay before her +with its fields, its woods, its patches of heathy land, its bones of +grey limestone showing where the flesh of the red earth had fallen +away, its dips and hollows, its steep lanes, like the wide eye of a +being too full of understanding to attempt elucidations; it would not +explain; it knew but it would not impart the knowledge which must be +gained through the experience of years, of storms, of sunshine, of +calamity and joy. + +And sometimes the presence of Francis with his personal claims and his +complaints was an intrusion, almost an anachronism. He was of his own +time, and the end of that was almost within sight, while the earth, +immensely old, had a youth of its own, something which Francis would +never have again. But perhaps, because he was essentially simple, he +would have fitted in well enough if he had been less ready to voice his +grievances and ruffle the calm which she so carefully preserved, which +he called coldness and for which he reproached her often. + +“I have no peace,” he grumbled. + +“You would get it if you would accept things as they are. You have to, +in the end, so why not now?” + +She longed to give peace to him, but her tenderness was sane and she +found a strange pleasure in the pain of knowing him to be irritable and +childish. It made of her love a better thing, without the hope of any +reward but the continuance of service. + +“It’s easier for you,” he said, and she answered, “Is it?” in the way +that angered him and yet held him, and she thought, without bitterness, +that he had never suffered anything without physical or mental tears. +“Yes, you have peace at home, but I go back to misery.” + +“It’s her misery.” + +“That doesn’t make it any better,” he retorted justly. + +“I know.” She touched his sleeve and, feeling his arm stiffen, removed +her hand. + +“And I feel a brute because I can’t care enough. If it were you now—” + +Almost imperceptibly Rose shook her head. She had no illusions, but she +said, “Then why not pretend it’s me. Tell her all you do. Ask her +advice—you needn’t take it.” + +“And it’s all a lie,” he growled. + +She said serenely, “It has to be, but there are good lies.” + +She wished, with an intensity she rarely allowed herself, that he would +be quiet and controlled. Though half her occupation would be gone, she +would feel for him a respect which would rebound on her and make her +admirable to herself, but she knew that life cannot be too lavish of +its gifts or death would always have the victory. This was not what she +had looked for, but it was good enough; she was necessary to him and +always would be; she was sure of that, yet she constantly repeated it; +moreover, she loved his bigness and his physical strength and the way +the lines round his eyes wrinkled when he smiled; she knew how to make +him smile and now and then they had happy interludes when they talked +about crops and horses, profit and loss, the buying and selling of +stock, and felt their friendship for each other like a mantle shared. + +At the worst, she consoled herself, after a time of strain, it was like +riding a restive horse. There was danger which she loved: there was +need of skill and a light hand, of sympathy and tact, and she never +regretted the superman who was to have ruled her with a fatiguing rod +of iron. Here there was give and take; she had to let him have his head +and pull him up at the right moment and reward docility with kindness; +she even found a kind of pleasure, streaked with disgust, in dealing +with Christabel’s suspicions, half expressed, but present like shadowy +people in her room. + +Of these she never spoke to Francis, but she had a malicious affection +for them; they had, as it were, done her a good turn, and though they +hid like secret enemies in the corners, she recognized them as allies. +And they looked so much worse than they were. She imagined them showing +very ugly faces to Christabel, who could only judge them by their +looks, and though it was cruel that she should be frightened by them, +it was impossible to drive them away. Rose could only sit calmly in +their presence and try to create an atmosphere of safety. She knew she +ought to feel hypocritical in this attendance on her lover’s wife, but +it was not of her choosing. She did not like Christabel, she would have +been glad never to see her again and, terrible as her situation was, it +appealed to Rose less then it would have done if she had not herself +come of people whose tradition was one of stoicism in trouble, of pride +which refused to reveal its distress. Physically, Christabel had those +qualities, but mentally she lacked them; it was chiefly to Rose that +she betrayed herself, and at each farewell she exacted the promise of +another visit soon. Was she fascinated by the sight of the woman +Francis loved? And when had that love been discovered? And was she sure +of it even now? She certainly had her sole excitement in her search for +evidence. + +In that bedroom, gaily decorated for a bride, she lay heroically +bearing pain, lacking the devotion she should have had, finding her +reward in the memory of her husband’s appreciation of her courage, and +her occupation, perhaps her pleasure, in a refinement of self-torture. + +As soon as Rose entered the room she was aware of the scrutiny of those +wary eyes, very wide open, as blue as flowers, and she knew that her +own face was like a mask. The little dog wagged his tail, the cat made +no sign, the nurse, after a cheerful greeting, went out of the room and +Rose took her accustomed place beside the window. It had a view of the +garden, the avenue of elms in which the rooks cawed continuously, the +hedge separating the fields from the high-road where two-wheeled carts, +laden with farm produce, jogged into Radstowe, driven by an old man or +a stout woman, and returned some hours later with the day’s +shopping—kitchen utensils inadequately wrapped up and glistening in the +sunshine, a flimsy parcel of drapery, a box of groceries. The old man +smoked his pipe, the stout woman shook the reins on the pony’s back; +the pony, regardless, went at his own pace. Heavy farm carts creaked +past, motor-cars whizzed by, the Sales Hall dairy cows were driven in +for milking, and then for a whole half hour there might be nothing on +the road. The country slept in the sunshine or patiently endured the +rain. + +For a member of a large and lively family this prospect, seen from a +permanent couch, was not exhilarating, but Christabel did not complain: +she took advantage of every incident and made the most of it, but she +never expressed a desire for more. She had, for so frail and shattered +a body, an amazing capacity for endurance, as though she were upheld by +some spiritual force. It might have been religion or love, or the +desire to perpetuate Francis’s admiration, but Rose believed, and hated +herself for believing, that it was partly antagonism and a feverish +curiosity. She had been cheated of her youth and strength, and here, +with a beautiful, impassive face, was the woman who might have saved +her, a woman with a body strongly slim in her dark habit, and firm +white hands skilled in managing a horse. She had read the grey mare’s +mind, and now Christabel, delicately blue and pink and white, in a +wrapper of silk and lace, her hands fidgeting each other as they had +fidgeted the mare’s mouth, thought she was reading the mind of Rose. +She stared at her, fascinated but not afraid. There were things she +must find out. + +She asked one day, and it was nearly two years since the accident, “Did +they kill the mare?” And Rose, aware that Christabel had known all the +time, answered, “Yes, at once. Her leg was broken.” + +“What a pity!” + +Waiting for what would come next, Rose smiled and looked out of the +window at the swaying elm tops. + +“Such a useful animal!” Christabel said. + +“Very dangerous,” Rose remarked, slipping deliberately into the trap. + +“That’s what I mean. But not quite dangerous enough. Poor Francis! He +didn’t know. He doesn’t know now, does he? But of course not.” + +Rose had a great horror of a debt and she owed something to Christabel, +but now she felt she had paid it off, with interest. She breathed +deeply, without a sound. Her tone was light. + +“He knows all that is good for him.” + +“You mean that is good for you.” + +Rose stood up, pulled on her washleather gloves, sat down again. The +hands on the silk coverlet were shaking. + +“You are making yourself ill,” Rose said. She was tempted to take those +poor fluttering hands into her own and steady them, but her flesh +shrank from the contact. She was tempted, too, to tell Christabel the +truth, but pride forbade her, and in a moment the impulse was gone, and +with its departure came the belief that the truth would be +annihilating. It would rob her of her glorious uncertainty, she would +be destroyed by the knowledge that Rose had seen her fear, seen and +tried to strengthen the slender hold she had on her husband’s love. It +was better to play the part of the wicked woman, the murderess, the +stealer of hearts: and perhaps she was wicked; she had not thought of +that before; the Malletts did not criticize their actions or analyse +their minds and she had no intention of breaking their habits. She +stood up again and said: + +“Shall I call the nurse?” + +“You’re not going yet? You’ve only been here a few minutes.” + +“Long enough,” Rose said cheerfully. + +Tears came into Christabel’s eyes. “And Francis is out. If he doesn’t +see you he’ll be angry, he’ll ask me why.” + +“You can tell him.” + +“But,” the tone changed, “perhaps you’ll see him on your way home.” + +“Yes, and then I can tell him instead.” + +The tears overflowed, she was helplessly angry, she sobbed. + +“Be quiet,” Rose said sternly. “I shall tell him nothing. You know +that. You are quite safe, whatever you choose to say to me. Perfectly +safe.” + +“I know. I can’t help it. I lie here and think. What would you do in my +place?” + +“The same thing, I suppose,” Rose said. + +“And you won’t go?” + +“Yes, I’m going. You can tell Francis I was obliged to get home early.” + +“But you’ll come again?” + +“Oh, yes, I’ll come again.” + +“You don’t want to.” + +“No, I don’t want to.” + +“But you’re always riding over here, aren’t you?” + +“Nearly every day.” + +“Oh, then—” The words lingered meaningly until Rose reached the door +and then Christabel said, “I wish you’d ask your sisters to come and +see me. They would tell me all the news.” + +Rose went downstairs laughing at Christabel’s capacity for mingling +tragedy with the commonplace and sordid accusations with social +desires, but though she laughed she was strangely tired and, stretching +before her, she saw more weariness, more struggling, more effort +without result. + +She stood in the masculine, matted hall, with the usual worn pair of +slippers in the corner, a stick lying across a chair, a collection of +coats and hats on the pegs, and she felt she would be glad if she were +never to see all this again, and for the first time she thought +seriously of desertion. She wished she could go to some unfamiliar +country where the people would all have new faces, where the language +would be strange, the sights different, the smells unlike those which +were wafted through the open door. She wanted a fresh body and a new +world, but she knew that she would not get them, for leaving Francis +would be like leaving a child. So she told herself, but at the back of +her mind was the certainty that if she went he would soon attach +himself to another’s strength—or weakness: yes, to another’s weakness, +and she found she could not contemplate that event, less because she +clung to him than because her pride could not tolerate a substitution +which would be an admission of her likeness to other women. Yet in that +very lack of toleration her pride was lowered, and if she was not +clinging to him for her own sake, she was holding on to her place, her +uniqueness, refusing the possibility that another woman could serve +him, as she had served him with pain, with suffering. She was like a +queen who does not love her throne supremely but will not abdicate, who +would rather fail in her appointed place than see another succeed in +it. + +For a minute Rose Mallett sat down on the edge of the chair already +occupied by the stick and she pressed both hands against her forehead, +driving back her thoughts. Thinking was dangerous and a folly: it was a +concession to circumstances, and she would concede nothing. She stood +up, looked round for a mirror, remembered there was not one in the +hall, and with little, meticulous touches to her hat, her hair and the +white stock round her neck, she left the house. + +She returned to a drawing-room occupied by Caroline and Sophia, yet +strangely silent. There was not a sound but what came from the birds in +the garden. Caroline’s spectacles were on her nose and, though she was +not reading the letter on her knee, she had forgotten to take them off, +an ominous sign. Sophia’s face was flushed with agitation, her head +drooped more than usual, but she lifted it with a sigh of relief at +Rose’s entrance. + +“We’re in such trouble, dear,” she said. + +“Trouble! Nonsense! No trouble at all! Look here, Rose, that woman has +died now.” She shook the letter threateningly. “Read this! Reginald’s +wife! I suppose she was his wife. I dare say he had dozens.” + +“Caroline!” Sophia remonstrated. + +Rose took the letter and read what Mrs. Reginald Mallett, believing +herself about to die, had written in her big, sprawling hand. The +letter was only to be posted after her death and she made no apology +for asking the Malletts to see that her daughter had the chance of +earning her living suitably. “She is a good girl,” she wrote, “but when +I am gone her only friend will be the landlady of this house and there +are young men about the place who are not the right kind. I am telling +my dear girl that I wish her to accept any offer of help she gets from +you, and she will do what I ask.” + +“So, you see,” Caroline said as Rose looked up, “we’re not done with +Reginald yet, and what I propose is that we send Susan for the girl +to-morrow.” + +“Yes, to-morrow,” Sophia echoed. + +“Shall I go?” Rose asked. Sophia murmured gratitude, Caroline snorted +doubt, and Rose added, “No, I think not. She wouldn’t like it. Susan +would be better—but not to-morrow. You must write to the child— what’s +her name? Henrietta—” + +“Yes, Henrietta, after our grandmother—the idea! I don’t know how +Reginald dared.” + +“Is she a sacred character?” Rose asked dryly. “Write to her, Caroline, +and say Susan will come on the day that suits her best. You can’t drag +her away without warning. Let’s treat her courteously, please.” + +“Oh, Rose, dear, I think we are always courteous,” Sophia protested. + +Caroline merely said, “Bah!” and added, “And what are we going to do +with her when we get her? She’ll giggle, she’ll have a dreadful accent, +Sophia will blush for her. I shan’t. I never blush for anybody, even +myself, but I shall be bored. That’s worse, and if you think I’m going +to edit my stories for her benefit, Sophia, you’re mistaken. I never +managed to do that, even for the General, and I’m too old to begin.” +She removed her spectacles hastily. “Too old for that, anyhow.” + +Rose smiled. She thought that probably the child of Reginald Mallett, +living from hand to mouth in boarding houses, the sharer of his sinking +fortunes, the witness of his passions and despairs and infidelities, +would find Caroline’s stories innocent enough. Her hope was that +Henrietta would not try to cap them, but the chances were that she +would be a terrible young person, that she would find herself adrift in +the respectability of Radstowe where she was unlikely to meet those +young men, not of the right kind, to whom she was accustomed. + +“She must have her father’s room,” Sophia said. She was trying to +conceal her excitement. “We must put some flowers there. I think I’ll +just go upstairs and see if there’s any little improvement we could +make.” + +They all went upstairs and stood in that room devoted to the memory of +the scapegrace, but they made no alterations, Sophia expressing the +belief that Henrietta would prefer it as it was; and Caroline, as she +wiped away two slow tears, saying that Reginald was a wretch and she +could not see why they should put themselves to any trouble for his +daughter. + + + + +Book II: _Henrietta_ + + +§ 1 + +After luncheon Henrietta went to her room to unpack the brown tin trunk +which contained all her possessions, and as she ascended the stairs +with her hand on the polished mahogany rail, she heard Sophia saying, +“She’s a true Mallett. She has the Mallett ankle. Did you notice it, +Caroline?” And Caroline answered harshly, “Yes, the Mallett ankle, but +not the foot. Her foot is square, like a block of wood. What could you +expect?” Then the drawing-room door was closed softly on this +indiscretion. + +Henrietta continued steadily up the stairs and across the landing to +her father’s room, and before the long mirror on the wall she halted to +survey her reflected feet. Aunt Caroline had but exaggerated the truth; +they were square, but they were small, and she controlled her trembling +lips. + +She pushed back from her forehead the black, curling hair. She was +tired; the luncheon had been a strain, and the carelessly loud words of +Caroline reminded her that she was undergoing an examination which, +veiled by courtesy, would be severe. Already they were blaming her +mother for her feet; and all three of them, the blunt Caroline, the +tender Sophia, the mysteriously silent Rose, were on the watch for the +maternal traits. + +Well, she was not ashamed of them. Her mother had been good, brave, +honest, loving, patient, and her father had been none of these things; +but no doubt these aunts of hers put manners before morals, as he had +done; and she remembered how, when she was quite a little girl, and the +witness of one of the unpleasant domestic scenes which happened often +in those days, before Reginald Mallett’s wife had learnt forbearance, +she had noticed her father’s face twitch as though in pain. Glad of a +diversion, she had asked him with eager sympathy, “Is it toothache?” +and he had answered acidly, “No, child, only the mutilation of our +language.” She remembered the words, and later she understood their +meaning and the flushing of her mother’s face, the compression of her +lips, and she was indignant for her sake. + +Yet she could feel for her father, in spite of the fact that whatever +her accent or grammatical mistakes, her mother’s conduct was always +right and her father, with his charming air, a little blurred by what +he called misfortune, his clear speech to which Henrietta loved to +listen, was fundamentally unsound. He could not be trusted. That was +understood between the mother and daughter: it was one of the facts on +which their existence rested, it entered into all their calculations, +it was the text of all her mother’s little homilies. Henrietta must +always pay her debts, she must tell the truth, she must do nothing of +which she was ashamed, and so far Henrietta had succeeded in obeying +these commands. + +When Reginald Mallett died in the shabby boarding-house kept by Mrs. +Banks, he left his family without a penny but with a feeling of +extraordinary peace. They were destitute, but they were no longer +overshadowed by the fear of disgrace, the misery of subterfuge, the +bewildering oscillations between pity for the man who could not have +what he wanted and shame for his ceaseless striving after pleasure, his +shifts to get it, his reproaches and complaints. + +In the gloomy back bedroom on the third story of the boarding-house he +lay on a bed hung with dingy curtains, but in the dignity which was one +of his inheritances. Under the dark, close-cut moustache, his lips +seemed to smile faintly, perhaps in amusement at the folly of his life, +perhaps in surprise at finding himself so still; the narrow beard of a +foreign cut was slightly tilted towards the dirty ceiling, his +beautiful hands were folded as though in a mockery of prayer. He was, +as Mrs. Banks remarked when she was allowed to see him, a lovely +corpse. But to Henrietta and her mother, standing on either side of the +bed, guarding him now, as they had always tried to do, he had subtly +become the husband and father he should have been. + +“We must remember him like this,” Mrs. Mallett said, raising her soft +blue eyes, and Henrietta saw that the small sharp lines which Reginald +Mallett had helped to carve in her face seemed to have disappeared. It +was extraordinary how placid her face became after his death, but as +the days passed it was also noticeable that much of her vitality had +gone too. She left herself in Henrietta’s young hands and she, casting +about for a way of earning her living, found good fortune in the +terrible basement kitchen where Mrs. Banks moved mournfully and had her +disconsolate being. The gas was always lighted in that cavernous +kitchen, but it remained dark, mercifully leaving the dirt half unseen. +A joint of mutton, cold and mangled, was discernible, however, when +Henrietta descended to put her impecunious case before the landlady +and, gazing at it, the girl saw also her opportunity. Mrs. Banks had no +culinary imagination, but Henrietta found it rising in herself to an +inspired degree and there and then she offered herself as cook in +return for board and lodging for her mother and herself. + +“I’m sure I’ll be glad to keep you,” Mrs. Banks said: “you give the +place a tone, you do really, you and your dear Ma sitting in the +drawing-room sewing of an evening; but it isn’t only the cooking, +though I do get to hate the sight of food. I get a regular grudge +against it. But it’s that butcher! Ready money or no meat’s his motto, +and how to make this mutton last—” She picked it up by the bone and +cast it down again. + +“Oh, I can manage butchers,” Henrietta said. “Besides, we’ll pay our +way. You’ll see. Leave the cooking to me.” + +“I will, gladly,” Mrs. Banks said, wiping away a tear. “Ever since +Banks took it into his head to jump into the river, it seems like as if +I hadn’t any spirit, and that Jenkins turns up his ugly nose every time +I put the mutton on the table—when he doesn’t begin talking to it like +an old friend. I can’t bear Jenkins, but he does pay regular, and +that’s something. Well, I’ll get on with the upstairs and leave you to +it.” + +And so Henrietta began the work which kept her amazingly happy, fed and +sheltered her mother, who sat all day slowly making beautiful baby +linen for one of the big shops, and cemented Henrietta’s friendship +with the lachrymose Mrs. Banks. To be faced with a mutton bone and a +few vegetables, to have to wrest from these poor materials an +appetizing meal, was like an exciting game, and she played it with zest +and with success. She had the dubious pleasure of hearing Mr. Jenkins +smack his lips and seeing him distend his nostrils with anticipation; +the unalloyed one of watching the pale face of little Miss Stubb, the +typist, grow delicately pink and less dangerously thin, under the +stimulus of good food; the amusement of congratulating Mrs. Banks, in +public, on her new cook, and seeing Mrs. Banks, at the head of the +supper table, nod her head with important secrecy. + +“I’ve made out,” she told Henrietta, “that I’ve a daily girl, without a +character, that’s how I can afford her, in the basement, but I must say +it’s made that Jenkins mighty keen on fetching his own boots of a +morning, but no lodgers below-stairs is my rule. You look out for +Jenkins, my dear. He’s no good. I know his sort.” + +“Oh, I can manage Mr. Jenkins, too,” Henrietta said, and indeed she +made a point of bringing him to the hardly manageable state for the +amusement of proving her capacity. She despised him, but not for +nothing was she Reginald Mallett’s daughter; and Mr. Jenkins and the +butcher and a gloomy old gentleman who emerged from his bedroom to eat, +and locked himself up between meals, were the only men she knew. No +doubt Mrs. Mallett, placidly sewing, was alive to the attentions and +frustrations of Mr. Jenkins and had planned her letter to her +sisters-in-law some time before she wrote it, but the idea of parting +from her mother never occurred to Henrietta until Miss Stubb alarmed +her. + +“Your mother,” she said poetically, “makes me think of snow melting +before the sun. In fact, I can’t look at her without thinking of snow +and snowdrops and—and graves. Last spring I said to Mrs. Banks, ‘She +won’t see the leaves fall,’ I said, and Mrs. Banks agreed. She has been +spared, but take care of her in these cold winds, Miss Henrietta, +dear.” + +“She has a cold, only a cold,” Henrietta said in a dead voice, and she +went upstairs. Her mother was in bed, and Henrietta looked down at the +thin, pretty face. “How ill are you?” she asked in a threatening +manner. “Tell me how ill you are.” + +“I’ve only got a cold, Henry dear. I shall be up to-morrow.” + +“Promise you won’t be really ill.” + +“Why should I be?” + +“It’s Miss Stubb—saying things.” + +“Women chatter,” Mrs. Mallett said. “If it’s not scandal, it’s an +illness. You ought to know that.” + +“They might leave you alone, anyway.” + +“Yes, I wish they would,” Mrs. Mallett said faintly, and dropped back +on her pillow. + +Now, sitting in her father’s room, with her mother only a few weeks +dead, she reproached herself for her readiness to be deceived, for her +preoccupation with her own affairs and the odious Mr. Jenkins, for the +exuberance of life which hid from her the dwindling of her mother’s, +and the fact, now so plain, that when Reginald Mallett died his wife’s +capacity for struggling was at an end. She had suffered bitterly from +the sight of his deterioration and from her failure to prevent it. In +his sulky, torturing presence she had desired his absence, but this +permanent absence was more than she could bear. And all Henrietta could +do was to obey her mother’s injunction to accept help from her aunts, +but she had refused the offer of an escort to Radstowe and Nelson +Lodge; she would have no highly respectable servant sniffing at the +boarding-house—and she would have been bound to sniff in that +permanently scented atmosphere—which was, after all, her home. She left +with genuine regret, with tears. + +“You mustn’t cry, dearie,” Mrs. Banks said, holding Henrietta to the +bosom of her greasy dress. “It’s a lucky thing for you.” + +“Perhaps,” Henrietta said, “but I’d rather be with you, and I can’t +bear to think of the cooking going to pieces. I’ll send you some +recipes for nice dishes.” + +“Too many eggs,” Mrs. Banks said prophetically. + +“I dare say, but you can manage if you think about it. And remember, if +Miss Stubb has too much cold mutton, she’ll lose her job, and then +you’ll lose her money. It will pay you to feed her. You haven’t had a +debt since I began to help you.” + +“I know, I know; but I’ll have them now, for certain. I’ve told you +before that Banks took all my ideas with him when he dropped into the +river,” Mrs. Banks said hopelessly, and on Henrietta’s journey to +Radstowe it was of Mrs. Banks that she chiefly thought. It seemed as +though she were deserting a friend. + +She was surprised by the smallness of Nelson Lodge as she walked up the +garden path; she had pictured something more imposing than this low +white building, walled off from the wide street; but within she +discovered an inconsistent spaciousness. The hall was panelled in white +wood, the drawing-room, sparsely but beautifully furnished, was white +too, and she immediately felt, as indeed she looked, thoroughly out of +harmony with her surroundings. She waited there, in her cheap black +clothes, like some little servant seeking a situation; but her welcome, +when it came, after a rustling of silken skirts on the stairs, assured +her that she was acknowledged as a member of the family. Sophia took +her tenderly to her heart and murmured, “Oh, my dear, how like your +father!” Caroline patted her cheek and said, “Yes, yes, Reginald’s +daughter, so she is!” And a moment later, Rose entered, faintly +smiling, extending a cool hand. + +Henrietta’s acutely feminine eye saw immediately that her Aunt Rose was +supremely well-dressed, and all her past ideas of grandeur, of plumed +hats and feather boas and ornamental walking shoes, left her for ever. +She knew, too, that clothes like these were very costly, beyond her +dreams, but she decided, in a moment, to rearrange and subdue the black +trimming of her hat. + +On the other hand, the appearance of the elder aunts almost shocked +her. At the first glance they seemed bedizened and indecent in their +mixture of rouge and more than middle age; but at the second and the +third they became attractive, oddly distinguished. She felt sure of +them, of their sympathy, of her ability to please them. It was Aunt +Rose who made her feel ill at ease, and it was Aunt Rose of whom she +thought as she sat by her bedroom window and looked down at the back +garden, bright with the flowers of spring. + +Yet it was Aunt Caroline who had been unkind about her feet. They were +like that, these grand people; they had beautiful manners but nothing +superficial escaped them; they made no allowances, they went in for no +deceptions, and though it was Caroline who had actually condemned the +small, strong feet which now rested, slipperless, on the soft carpet, +Henrietta was sure that Rose had seen them too. She had seen +everything, though apparently she saw nothing, and Henrietta had to +acknowledge her fear of Rose’s criticism. It was formidable, for it +would be unflinching in its standards. + +“Well,” Henrietta thought, “I can only be myself, and if I’m common— +but I’m not really common—it’s better than pretending; and of course I +am rather upset by the house and the servants and all the forks and +spoons. I hope there won’t be anything funny to eat for dinner. I +wish—” To her own amazement, she burst into a brief storm of tears. “I +wish I had stayed with Mrs. Banks.” + +She had her place in the boarding-house, she was a power there, and she +missed already her subtle, unrecognized belief in her superiority over +Mrs. Banks and Miss Stubb and Mr. Jenkins and the rest. She was also +honestly troubled about the welfare of the landlady, who was her only +friend. It was strange to sit in her father’s room and look at a +portrait of him as a youth hanging on the wall, and remember that Mrs. +Banks, who made him shudder, was her only friend. + +She left her seat by the window to look more closely at that portrait, +and after a brief examination she turned to the dressing-table to see +in the mirror a feminine replica of the face on the wall. She had never +noticed the likeness before. She had only to push back her hair and she +saw her father. Where his nose was straight, hers was slightly tilted, +but there was the same darkness of hair and eyes, the same modelling of +the forehead, the same incipient petulance of the lips. + +She was astonished, she was unreasonably pleased, and with the energy +of her inspiration she swept back the curls of which her mother had +been so proud, and pinned them into obscurity. The resemblance was +extraordinary: even the low white collar of her blouse, fastened with a +black bow, repeated the somewhat Byronic appearance of the young man; +and as there came a knock at the door, she turned, a little +shame-faced, but excited in the certainty of her success. + +But it was only Susan, who gave no sign of astonishment at the change. +She had come to see if she could help Miss Henrietta to unpack, but +Henrietta had already laid away her meagre outfit in the walnut tallboy +with the curved legs. Susan, however, would remove the trunk, and if +Miss Henrietta would tell her what dress she wished to wear this +evening, Susan would be able to lay out her things. The tin trunk +clanked noisily though Susan lifted it with tactful care, and Henrietta +blushed for it, but the aged portmanteau, bearing the initials _R. M._, +became in the discreet presence of Susan a priceless possession. + +“It’s full of books,” Henrietta said; “I won’t unpack them. I thought +my aunts would let me keep them somewhere. They are my father’s books.” + +“There’s an old bookcase belonging to Mr. Reginald in the box-room,” +Susan said; “I’ll speak to Miss Caroline about it.” + +“Did you know my father?” Henrietta asked at once. + +“Yes, Miss Henrietta,” Susan said. + +“Do you think I’m like him?” + +“It’s a striking likeness, Miss Henrietta,” and warming a little, Susan +added, “I was just saying so to Cook.” + +“Did Cook know him, too?” + +“Oh, yes, Miss Henrietta. Cook and I have been with the family for +years. If you’ll tell me which dress you wish to wear—” + +“There’s only one in the wardrobe,” Henrietta said serenely, for +suddenly her shabbiness and poverty mattered no longer. She was stamped +with the impress of Reginald Mallett, whom she had despised yet of whom +she was proud, and that impress was like a guarantee, a sort of +passport. She had a great lightness of heart; she was glad she had left +Mrs. Banks, glad she was in her father’s home, and learning from Susan +that the ladies rested in their own rooms after luncheon, she decided +to go out and look on the scenes of her father’s youth. + + +§ 2 + +This was not, she told herself, disloyalty to her mother, for had not +that mother, whom she loved and painfully missed, sent her to this +place? Her mother was generous and sweet; she would grudge no +late-found allegiance to Reginald Mallett. Had she not said they must +remember him at his best, and would she not be glad if Henrietta could +find bits of that best in this old house, in the streets where he had +walked, in the sights which had fed his eyes? + +Henrietta started out, gently closing the front door behind her. The +wide street was almost empty; a milkcart bearing the legend, “Sales +Hall Dairy,” was being drawn at an easy pace by a demure pony, his +harness adorned with jingling bells. The milkman whistled and, as the +cart stopped here and there, she missed the London milkman’s harsh cry, +and missed it pleasurably. This man was in no hurry, there was no +impatience in his knock; the whole place seemed to be half asleep, +except where children played on The Green under the old trees. This +comparatively small space, mounting in the distance to a little hill +backed by the sky, was more wonderful to Henrietta than Hyde Park when +the flowers were at their best. There were no flowers here; she saw +grass, two old stone monuments, tall trees, a miniature cliff of grey +rock, and sky. On three sides of The Green there were old houses and +there were seats on the grass, but houses and seats had the air of +being mere accidents to which the rest had grown accustomed, and it +seemed to Henrietta that here, in spite of bricks, she was in the +country. The trees, the grass, the rocks and sky were in possession. + +She followed one of the small paths round the hill and found herself in +a place so wonderful, so unexpected, that she caught back her breath +and let it out again in low exclamations of delight. She was now on the +other side of the hill and, though she did not know it, she was on the +site of an ancient camp. The hill was flat-topped; there were still +signs of the ramparts, but it was not on these she gazed. Far below her +was the river, flowing sluggishly in a deep ravine, formed on her right +hand and as far as she could see by high grey cliffs. These for the +most part were bare and sheer, but they gave way now and then to a +gentler slope with a rich burden of trees, while, on the other side of +the river, it was the rocks that seemed to encroach on the trees, for +the wall of the gorge, almost to the water’s edge, was thick with +woods. Here and there, on either cliff, a sudden red splash of rock +showed like an unhealed wound, amid the healthier grey. And all around +her there seemed to be limitless sky, huge fluffy clouds and gulls as +white. + +At the edge of the cliff where she stood, gorse bushes bloomed and, +looking to the left, she saw the slender line of a bridge swung high +across the abyss. Beyond it the cliffs lessened into banks, then into +meadows studded with big elms and, on the city side, there were houses +red and grey, as though the rocks had simply changed their shapes. The +houses were clustered close to the water, they rose in terraces and +trees mingled with their chimneys. Below there were intricate +waterways, little bridges, warehouses and ships and, high up, the fairy +bridge, delicate and poised, was like a barrier between that place of +business and activity and this, where Henrietta stood with the trees, +the cliffs, the swooping gulls. It was low tide and the river was +bordered by banks of mud, grey too, yet opalescent. It almost reflected +the startling white of the gulls’ wings and, as she looked at it, she +saw that its colour was made up of many; there was pink in it and blue +and, as a big cloud passed over the sun, it became subtly purple; it +was a palette of subdued and tender shades. + +Henrietta heaved a sigh. This was too much. She could look at it but +she could not see it all. Yet this marvellous place belonged to her, +and she knew now whence had come the glamour in the stories her father +had told her when she was a child. It had come from here, where an aged +city had tried to conquer the country and had failed, for the spirit of +woods and open spaces, of water and trees and wind, survived among the +very roofs. The conventions of the centuries, the convention of +puritanism, of worldliness, of impiety, of materialism and of charity +had all assailed and all fallen back before the strength of the +apparently peaceful country in which the city stood. The air was soft +with a peculiar, undermining softness; it carried with it a smell of +flowers and fruit and earth, and if all the many miles on the farther +side of the bridge should be ravished by men’s hands, covered with +buildings and strewn with the ugly luxuries they thought they needed, +the spirit would remain in the tainted air and the imprisoned earth. It +would whisper at night at the windows, it would smile invisibly under +the sun, it would steal into men’s minds and work its will upon them. +And already Henrietta felt its power. She was in a new world, dull but +magical, torpid yet alert. + +She turned away and, walking down another little path threaded through +the rocks, she stood at the entrance to the bridge and watched people +on foot, people on bicycles, people in carts coming and going over it. +She could not cross herself for she had not a penny in her pocket, but +she stood there gazing and sometimes looking down at the road two +hundred feet below. This made her slightly giddy and the people down +there had too much the appearance of pigmies with legs growing from +their necks, going about perfectly unimportant business with a great +deal of fuss. It was pleasanter to see these country people in their +carts, school-girls with plaits down their backs, rosy children in +perambulators and an exceedingly handsome man on a fine black horse, a +fair man, bronzed like a soldier, riding as though he had done it all +his life. + +She looked at him with admiration for his looks and envy for his +possessions, for that horse, that somewhat sulky ease. And it was quite +possible that he was an acquaintance of her aunts! She laughed away her +awed astonishment. Why, her own father had been such as he, though she +had never seen him on a horse. She had, after all, to adjust her views +a little, to remember that she was a Mallett, a member of an honoured +Radstowe family, the granddaughter of a General, the daughter of a +gentleman, though a scamp. She was ashamed of the something approaching +reverence with which she had looked at the man on the horse, but she +was also ashamed of her shame; in fact, to be ashamed at all was, she +felt, a degradation, and she cast the feeling from her. + +Here was not only a new world but a new life, a new starting point; she +must be equal to the place, the opportunity and the occasion; she was, +she told herself, equal to them all. + +In this self-confident mood she returned to Nelson Lodge and found +Caroline, in a different frock, seated behind the tea-table and in the +act of putting the tea into the pot. + +“Just in time,” she remarked, and added with intense interest, “You +have brushed back your hair. Excellent! Look, Sophia, what an +improvement! And more like Reginald than ever. Take off your hat, +child, and let us see. My dear, I was going to tell you, when I knew +you better, that those curls made you look like an organ-grinder. Don’t +hush me, Sophia; I always say what I think.” + +Henrietta was hurt; this, though Caroline did not know it, was a rebuff +to the mother who loved the curls; but the daughter would not betray +her sensibility, and as Rose was not present she dared to say, “An +organ-grinder with square feet.” + +“Oh, you heard that, did you? Sophia said you would. Well, you must be +careful about your shoes. Men always look at a woman’s feet.” She +displayed her own, elegantly arched, in lustrous stockings and very +high-heeled slippers. “Sophia and I—Sophia’s are nearly, but not quite +as good as mine—are they Sophia?—Sophia and I have always been +particular about our feet. I remember a ball, when I was a girl, where +one of my partners—he ended by marrying a ridiculously fat woman with +feet like cannon balls—insisted on calling me Cinderella because he +said nobody else could have worn my shoes. Delightful creature! Do you +remember, Sophia?” + +Sophia remembered very well. He had called her Cinderella, too, for the +same reason, but as Caroline had been the first to report the remark, +Sophia had never cared to spoil her pleasure in it. And now Caroline +did not wait for a reply, Rose entering at that moment, and her +attention having to be called to the change in Henrietta’s method of +doing her hair. Henrietta stiffened at once, but Rose threw, as it +were, a smile in her direction, and said, “Yes, charming,” and helped +herself to cake. + +“And now,” said Caroline, settling herself for the most interesting +subject in the world, “your clothes, Henrietta.” + +“I haven’t any,” Henrietta said at once; “but I think they’ll do until +I go away. I thought I should like to be a nurse, Aunt Caroline.” + +“Nurse! Nonsense! What kind? Babies? Rubbish! You’re going to stay here +if you like us well enough, and we’ve made a little plan”—she nodded +vigorously—“a little plan for you.” + +“We ought to say at once,” Sophia interrupted with painful honesty, +“that it was Rose’s idea.” + +“Rose? Was it? I don’t know. Anyhow, we’re all agreed. You are to have +a sum of money, child; yes, for your father’s sake, and perhaps for +your own too, a sum of money to bring you in a little income for your +clothes and pleasures, so that you shall be independent like the rest +of us. Yes, it’s settled. I’ve written to our lawyer, James Batty. Did +your father ever mention James Batty? But, of course, he wouldn’t. He +married a fat woman, too, but a good soul, with a high colour, poor +thing. Don’t say a word, child. You must be independent. Nursing! Bah! +And if we don’t take care we shall have you marrying for a home.” + +“This is your home,” Sophia said gently. + +“No sentiment, Sophia, please. You’re making the child cry. The +Malletts don’t marry, Henrietta. Look at us, as happy as the day is +long, with all the fun and none of the trouble. We’ve been terrible +flirts, Sophia and I. Rose is different, but at least she hasn’t +married. The three Miss Malletts of Nelson Lodge! Now there are four of +us, and you must keep up our reputation.” + +Overwhelmed by this generosity, by this kindness, Henrietta did not +know what to say. She murmured something about her mother’s wish that +she should earn her living, but Caroline scouted the idea, and Sophia, +putting her white hand on one of Henrietta’s, assured her that her dear +mother would be glad for her child to have the comforts of a home. + +“I’m not used to them,” Henrietta said. “I’ve always taken care of +people. I shan’t know what to do.” + +They would find plenty for her to do; there were many gaieties in +Radstowe and she would be welcomed everywhere. “And now about your +clothes,” Caroline repeated. “You are wearing black, of course. Well, +black can be very pretty, very French. Look at Rose. She rarely wears +anything else, but when Sophia and I were about your age, she used to +wear blue and I wore pink, or the other way round.” + +“You do so still,” Rose remarked. + +“A pink muslin,” Caroline went on in a sort of ecstasy, “a Leghorn hat +wreathed with pink roses—when was I wearing that, Sophia?” + +“Last summer,” Rose said dryly. + +“So I was,” Caroline agreed in a matter-of-fact voice. “Now, Henrietta. +Get a piece of paper and a pencil, Sophia, and we’ll make a list.” + +The discussion went on endlessly, long after Henrietta herself had +tired of it. It was lengthened by the insertion of anecdotes of +Caroline’s and Sophia’s youth, and hardly a colour or a material was +mentioned which did not recall an incident which Henrietta found more +interesting than her own sartorial affairs. + +Rose had disappeared, and the dressing-bell was rung before the subject +languished. It would never be exhausted, for Caroline, and even Sophia, +less vivid than her sister in all but her affections, grew pink and +bright-eyed in considering Henrietta’s points. And all the time +Henrietta had her own opinions, her own plans. She intended as far as +possible to preserve her likeness to her father, which was, as it were, +her stock-in-trade. She pictured herself, youthfully slim, gravely +petulant, her round neck rising from a Byronic collar fastened with a +broad, loose bow, and she fancied the society of Radstowe exclaiming +with one voice, “That must be Reginald Mallett’s daughter!” + +She was to learn, however, that in Radstowe the memories of Reginald +Mallett were somewhat dim, and where they were clear they were +neglected. It was generally assumed that his daughter would not care to +have him mentioned, while praises of her aunts were constant and +enthusiastic and people were kind to Henrietta, she discovered, for +their sakes. + +The stout and highly-coloured Mrs. Batty was an early caller. She +arrived, rather wheezy, compressed by her tailor into an expensive +gown, a basket of spring flowers on her head. She and Henrietta took to +each other, as Mrs. Batty said, at once. Here was a motherly person, +and Henrietta knew that if she could have Mrs. Batty to herself she +would be able to talk more freely than she had done since her arrival +in Radstowe. There would be no criticism from her, but unlimited good +nature, a readiness to listen and to confide and a love for the details +of operations and illnesses in which she had a kinship with Mrs. Banks. +Indeed, though Mrs. Batty was fat where Mrs. Banks was thin, cheerful +where she was gloomy, and in possession of a flourishing husband where +Mrs. Banks irritably mourned the loss of a suicide, they had +characteristics in common and the chief of these was the way in which +they took to Henrietta. + +“You must come to tea on Sunday,” Mrs. Batty said. “We are always at +home on Sunday afternoons after four o’clock. I have two big boys,” she +sighed, “and all their friends are welcome then.” She lowered her +voice. “We don’t allow tennis—the neighbours, you know, and James has +clients looking out of every window—but there’s no harm, as the boys +say, in knocking the billiard balls about. I must say the click carries +a good way, so I tell the parlourmaid to shut the windows. And music—my +boy Charles,” she sighed again, “is mad on music. I like a tune myself, +but he never plays any. You’ll hear for yourself if you come on Sunday. +Now you will come, won’t you, Miss Henrietta?” + +“Yes, she’ll come,” Caroline said. “Do her good to meet young people. +We’re getting old in this house, Mrs. Batty,” and she guffawed in +anticipation of the usual denial, but for once Mrs. Batty failed. Her +thoughts were at home, at Prospect House, that commodious family +mansion situate in its own grounds, and in one of the most favourable +positions in Upper Radstowe. So the advertisement had read before Mr. +Batty bought the property, and it was all true. + +“John,” Mrs. Batty went on, “is more for sport, though he’s in the +sugar business, with an uncle. Not my brother—Mr. Batty’s.” She was +anxious to give her husband all the credit. “They are both good boys,” +she added, “but Charles—well, you’ll see on Sunday. You promise to +come.” + +Henrietta promised, and with Mrs. Batty’s departure Caroline spoke her +mind. She was convinced that the lawyer and his wife were determined to +secure Henrietta as a daughter-in-law. + +“He knows all our affairs, my dear, and James Batty never misses a +chance of improving his position. Good as it is, it would be all the +better for an alliance with our family, but I shall disown you at once +if you marry one of those hobbledehoys. The Batty’s, indeed! Why, Mrs. +Batty herself—” + +“Caroline, don’t!” Sophia pleaded. “And I’m sure the young men are very +nice young men, and if Henrietta should fall in love—” + +“She won’t get any of my money!” Caroline said. + +“But Henrietta won’t be in a hurry,” Sophia announced; and so, over her +head, the two discussed her possible marriage as they had discussed her +clothes, but with less interest and at less length and, as before, +Henrietta had her own ideas. A rich man, a handsome one, a gay life; no +more basement kitchens, no more mutton bones! Already the influence of +Nelson Lodge was making itself felt. + + +§ 3 + +It was at dinner that the charm of the house was most apparent To +Henrietta. Even on these spring evenings the curtains were Drawn and +the candles lighted, for Caroline said she could not Dine comfortably +in daylight. The pale flames were repeated in The mahogany of the +table; the tall candlesticks, the silver appointments, were reflected +also in a blur, like a grey mist; the furniture against the walls +became merged into the shadows and Susan, hovering there, was no more +than an attentive spirit. + +There was little talking at this meal, for Caroline and Sophia loved +good food and it was very good. Occasionally Caroline murmured, “Too +much pepper,” or “One more pinch of salt and this would have been +perfect,” and bending over her plate, the diamonds in her ears sparkled +to her movements, the rings on her fingers glittered; and opposite to +her Sophia drooped, her pale hair looking almost white, the big +sapphire cross on her breast gleaming richly, her resigned attitude +oddly at variance with the busy handling of her knife and fork. + +The gold frame round General Mallett’s portrait dimly shone, the +flowers on the table seemed to give out their beauty and their scent +with conscious desire to please, to add their offerings, and for +Henrietta the grotesqueness of the elder aunts, their gay attire, their +rouge and wrinkles, gave a touch of fantasy to what would otherwise +have been too orderly and too respectable a scene. + +In this room of beautiful inherited things, where tradition had built +strong walls about the Malletts, the sight of Caroline was like a gate +leading into the wide, uncertain world and the sight of Rose, all cream +and black, was like a secret portal leading to a winding stair. At this +hour, romance was in the house, beckoning Henrietta to follow through +that gate or down that stair, but chiefly hovering about the figure of +Rose who sat so straight and kept so silent, her white hands moving +slowly, the pearls glistening on her neck, her face a pale oval against +the darkness. She was never more mysterious or more remote; with her +even the common acts of eating and drinking seemed, to Henrietta, to be +made poetical; she was different from everybody else, but the girl felt +vaguely that the wildness of which Caroline made a boast and which +never developed into more than that, the wildness which had ruined her +father’s life, lay numbed and checked somewhere behind the amazing +stillness and control of Rose. And she was like a woman who had +suffered a great sorrow or who kept a profound secret. + +It was at this hour, when Henrietta was half awed, half soothed, yet +very much alive, feeling that tremendous excitements lay in wait for +her just outside, when she was wrapped in beauty, fed by delicate food, +sensitive to the slim old silver under her hands, that she sometimes +felt herself actually carried back to the boarding-house, and she saw +the grimy tablecloth, the flaring gas jets, the tired worn faces, the +dusty hair of Mrs. Banks and the rubber collar of Mr. Jenkins, and she +heard little Miss Stubb uttering platitudes in her attempt to raise the +mental atmosphere. There was a great clatter of knives and forks, a +confusion of voices and, in a pause, the sound of the exclusive old +gentleman masticating his food. + +Then Henrietta would close her eyes and, after an instant, she would +open them on this candle-lighted room, the lovely figure of Aunt Rose, +the silks and laces and ornaments of Aunt Caroline and Aunt Sophia; and +between the courses one of these two would repeat the gossip of a +caller or criticize the cut of her dress. + +No, the conversation was not much better than that of the boarding- +house, but the accents were different. Caroline would throw out a +French phrase, and Henrietta, loving the present, wondering how she had +borne the past, could yet feel fiercely that life was not fair. She +herself was not fair: she was giving her allegiance to the outside of +things and finding in them more pleasure than in heroism, endurance and +compassion, and she said to herself, “Yes, I’m just like my father. I +see too much with my eyes.” A little fear, which had its own delight, +took hold of her. How far would that likeness carry her? What dangerous +qualities had he passed on to her with his looks? + +She sat there, vividly conscious of herself, and sometimes she saw the +whole room as a picture and she was part of it; sometimes she saw only +those three whose lives, she felt, were practically over, for even Aunt +Rose was comparatively old. She pitied them because their romance was +past, while hers waited for her outside; she wondered at their +happiness, their interest in their appearance, their pleasure in +parties; but she felt most sorry for Aunt Rose, midway between what +should have been the resignation of her stepsisters and the glowing +anticipation of her niece. Yet Aunt Rose hardly invited sympathy of any +kind and the smile always lurking near her lips gave Henrietta a +feeling of discomfort, a suspicion that Aunt Rose was not only +ironically aware of what Henrietta wished to conceal, but endowed with +a fund of wisdom and a supply of worldly knowledge. + +She continued to feel uncertain about Aunt Rose. She was always +charming to Henrietta, but it was impossible to be quite at ease with a +being who seemed to make an art of being delicately reserved; and +because Henrietta liked to establish relationships in which she was +sure of herself and her power to please, she was conscious of a faint +feeling of antagonism towards this person who made her doubt herself. + +Aunt Caroline and Aunt Sophia were evidently delighted with their +niece’s presence in the house. They liked the sound of her laughter and +her gay voice and though Sophia once gently reproached her for her +habit of whistling, which was not that of a young lady, Caroline +scoffed at her old-fashioned sister. + +“Let the girl whistle, if she wants to,” she said. “It’s better than +having a canary in a cage.” + +“But don’t do it too much, Henrietta, dear,” Sophia compromised. “You +mustn’t get wrinkles round your mouth.” + +“No.” This was a consideration which appealed to Caroline. “No, child, +you mustn’t do that.” + +They admitted her to a familiarity which they would not have allowed +her, and which she never attempted, to exceed, but she was Reginald’s +daughter, she was a member of the family, and her offence in being also +the daughter of her mother was forgotten. Caroline and Sophia were +deeply interested in Henrietta. Henrietta was grateful and +affectionate. The three were naturally congenial, and the happiness and +sympathy of the trio accentuated the pleasant aloofness of Rose. Aunt +Rose did not care for her, Henrietta told herself; there was something +odd about Aunt Rose, yet she remembered that it was Aunt Rose who had +thought of giving her the money. + +Three thousand pounds! It was a fortune, and on that Sunday when +Henrietta was to pay her first visit to Mrs. Batty, Aunt Caroline, +turning the girl about to see that nothing was amiss, said warningly, +“You are walking into the lion’s den, Henrietta. Don’t let one of those +young cubs gobble you up. I know James Batty, an attractive man, but he +loves money, and he knows our affairs. He married his own wife because +she was a butcher’s daughter.” + +“A wholesale butcher,” Sophia murmured in extenuation, “and I am sure +he loved her.” + +“And butchers,” Caroline went on, “always amass money. It positively +inclines one to vegetarianism, though I’m sure nuts are bad for the +complexion.” + +“I don’t intend to be eaten yet,” Henrietta said gaily. She was very +much excited and she hardly heeded Sophia’s whisper at the door: + +“It’s not true, dear—the kindest people in the world, but Caroline has +such a sense of humour.” + +Henrietta found that the Batty lions were luxuriously housed. The +bright yellow gravel crunched under her feet as she walked up the +drive; the porch was bright with flowering plants arranged in tiers; a +parlourmaid opened the door as though she conferred a privilege and, as +Henrietta passed through the hall, she had glimpses of a statue holding +a large fern and another bearing a lamp aloft. + +She was impressed by this magnificence; she wished she could pause to +examine this decently draped and useful statuary but she was ushered +into a large drawing-room, somewhat over-heated, scented with hot-house +flowers, softly carpeted, much-becushioned, and she immediately found +herself in the embrace of Mrs. Batty, who smelt of eau-de-cologne. Mrs. +Batty felt soft, too, and if she were a lioness there were no signs of +claws or fangs; and her husband, a tall, spare man with grey hair and a +clean-shaven face, bowed over Henrietta’s hand in a courtly manner, +hardly to be expected of the best-trained of wild beasts. + +But for these two the room seemed to be empty, until Mrs. Batty said +“Charles!” in a tone of timid authority and Henrietta discovered that a +fair young man, already showing a tendency to baldness, was sitting at +the piano, apparently studying a sheet of music. This, then, was one of +the cubs, and Henrietta, feeling herself marvellously at ease in this +house, awaited his approach with some amusement and a little irritation +at his obvious lack of interest. Aunt Caroline need have no fear. He +was a plain young man with pale, vague eyes, and he did not know +whether to offer one of his nervous hands at the end of over-long arms, +or to make shift with an awkward bow. She settled the matter for him, +feeling very much a woman of the world. + +“Now, where’s John?” Mrs. Batty asked, and Charles answered, “Ratting, +in the stable.” + +Mrs. Batty clucked with vexation. “It’s the first Sunday for weeks that +I haven’t had the room full of people. Now you won’t want to come +again. Very dull for a young girl, I’m sure.” + +“Well, well, you can have a chat with Miss Henrietta,” Mr. Batty said, +“and afterwards perhaps she would like to see my flowers.” He +disappeared with extraordinary skill, with the strange effect of not +having left the room, yet Mrs. Batty sighed. Charles had wandered back +to the piano, and his mother, after compressing her lips and +whispering, “It’s a mania,” drew Henrietta into the depths of a settee. + +“Will he play to us?” she asked. + +“No, no,” Mrs. Batty answered hastily. “He’s so particular. Why, if I +asked you to have another cup of tea, he’d shut the piano, and that +makes things very uncomfortable indeed. You can imagine. And John has +this new dog—really I don’t think it’s right on a Sunday. It’s all dogs +and cricket with him. Well, cricket’s better than football, for really, +on a Saturday in the winter I never know whether I shall see him dead +or alive. I do wish I’d had a girl.” She took Henrietta’s hand. “And +you, poor dear child, without a mother—what was it she died of, my +dear? Ah you’ll miss her, you’ll miss her! My own dear mother died the +day after I was married, and I said to Mr. Batty, ‘This can bode no +good.’ We had to come straight back from Bournemouth, where we’d gone +For our honeymoon, and by the time I was out of black my trousseau was +out of fashion. I must say Mr. Batty was very good about it. It was her +heart, what with excitement and all that. She was a stout woman. All my +side runs to stoutness, but Mr. Batty’s family are like hop-poles. +Well, I believe it’s healthier, and I must say the boys take after him. +Now I fancy you’re rather like Miss Rose.” + +“They say I am just like my father.” + +Mrs. Batty said “Ah!” with meaning, and Henrietta tried to sit +straighter on the seductive settee. She could not allow Mrs. Batty to +utter insinuating ejaculations and, raising her voice, she said: + +“Mr. Batty, do play something.” + +Charles Batty gazed at her over the shining surface of the grand piano +and looked remarkably like an owl, an owl that had lost its feathers. + +“Something? What?” + +“Charles!” exclaimed Mrs. Batty. + +“Oh, I don’t know,” Henrietta murmured. She could think of nothing but +a pictorial piece of music her mother had sometimes played on the +lodging-house piano, with the growling of thunder-storms, the +twittering of birds after rain and a suggestion of church bells, but +she was determined not to betray herself. + +“Whatever you like.” + +He broke into a popular waltz, playing it derisively, yet with passion, +so that Mrs. Batty’s ponderous head began to sway and Henrietta’s feet +to tap. He played as though his heart were in the dance, and to +Henrietta there came delightful visions, thrilling sensations, +unaccountable yearnings. It was like the music she had heard at the +theatre, but more beautiful. Her eyes widened, but she kept them +lowered, her mouth softened and she caught her lip. + +“Now I call that lovely,” Mrs. Batty said, with the last chord. His +look questioned Henrietta and she, cautious, simply smiled at him, with +a tilt of the lips, a little raising of the eyebrows, meant to assure +him that she felt as he did. + +“If you’d play a pretty tune like that now and then, people would be +glad to listen,” Mrs. Batty went on. “I’m sure I quite enjoyed it.” + +Henrietta’s suspicions were confirmed by these eulogies: she knew +already that what Mrs. Batty appreciated, her son would despise, and +she kept her little smile, saying tactfully, “It certainly made one +want to dance.” + +“Can you sing?” he asked. + +“Oh, a little.” She became timid. “I’m going to learn.” With those +vague eyes staring at her, she felt the need of justification. “Aunt +Caroline says every girl ought to sing. She and Aunt Sophia used to +sing duets.” + +“Good heavens!” The exclamation came from the depths of Charles Batty’s +being. “They don’t do it now, do they?” + +Henrietta’s pretty laughter rang out. “No, not now.” But though she +laughed there came to her a rather charming picture of her aunts in +full skirts and bustles, their white shoulders bare, with sashes round +their waists and a sheet of music shared, their mouths open, their eyes +cast upwards. + +“Every girl ought to sing,” Charles quoted, and suddenly darted at +Henrietta the word, “Why?” + +“Oh, well—” It was ridiculous to be discomposed by this young man, to +whom, she was sure, she was naturally superior; but sitting behind that +piano as though it were a pulpit, he had an air of authority and she +was anxious to propitiate him. “Well—” Henrietta repeated, hanging on +the word. + +“For your own glorification, that’s all,” Charles told her. “That’s +all.” He caught his head in his hands. “It drives me mad.” + +“Charles!” Mrs. Batty said again. That word seemed to be the whole +extent of her intercourse with him. + +“Mad! Music—divine! And people get up and squeak. How they dare! A +violation of the temple!” + +“Oh, dear me!” Mrs. Batty groaned. + +“You play the piano yourself,” Henrietta said. + +“Because I can. I’d show you if you cared about it.” + +“I think I would rather go and see Mr. Batty’s flowers.” + +“Yes, dear, do. Charles, take her to your father.” Mrs. Batty was very +hot; it would be a relief to her to heave and sigh alone. + +Charles rose and advanced, stooping a little, carrying his arms as +though they did not belong to him and, in the hall, beside one of the +gleaming statues, he paused. + +“I’ve offended you,” he said miserably. “I make mistakes—somehow. +Nobody explains. I shall do it again.” + +“You were rather rude,” Henrietta said. “Why should you assume that I +squeak?” + +“Sure to,” Charles said hopelessly, “or gurgle. Look here, I’ll teach +you myself, if you like.” + +“I won’t be bullied.” + +“Then you’ll never learn anything. Women are funny,” he said; “but then +everybody is. Do you know, I haven’t a single friend in the world?” + +“Why not?” + +He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t get on.” + +“If it comes to that, I haven’t a friend of my own age, either. And you +have a brother.” + +“Ratting!” Charles said eloquently. “You’ll hear the noise.” He handed +her over to his father’s care. + +She was more than satisfied with her afternoon. She did not see John +Batty but she heard the noise; she was aware that Mr. Batty considered +her a delightful young person; she had sufficiently admired his flowers +and he presented her with a bunch of orchids. For Mrs. Batty she felt +an amused affection; she was interested in the unfortunate Charles. She +felt her life widening pleasantly and, as she crunched again down the +gravel drive, the orchids in her hand, she felt a disinclination to go +home. She wanted to walk under the great trees which, spread with +brilliant green, made a long avenue on the other side of the road; to +wander beyond them, where a belt of grass led to a wild shrubbery +overlooking the gorge at its lowest point. + +Here there were unexpected little paths running out to promontories of +the cliff and, at a sudden turn, she would find herself in what looked +almost like danger. Below her the rock was at an angle to harbour +hawthorn trees all in bud, blazing gorse bushes, bracken stiffly +uncurling itself and many kinds of grasses, but there were nearly two +hundred feet between her and the river, now at flood, and she felt that +this was something of an adventure. She followed each little path in +turn, half fearfully, for she was used to a policeman at every corner; +but she met no tramp, saw no suspicious-looking character and, finding +a seat under a hawthorn tree at a little distance from the cliff’s +edge, she sat down and put the orchids beside her. + +It was part of the strange change in her fortune that she should +actually be handling such rare flowers. She had seen them in florists’ +windows insolently putting out their tongues at people like herself who +rudely stared, and now she was touching them and they looked quite +polite, and she thought, with the bitterness which, bred of her +experiences, constantly rose up in the midst of pleasures, “It’s +because they know I have three thousand pounds and six pairs of silk +stockings.” + +Then she noticed that one of the flowers was missing, a little one of a +fairy pink and shape, and almost immediately she heard footsteps on the +grass and saw a man approaching with the orchid in his hand. She +recognized the man she had seen riding the black horse on the day she +arrived in Radstowe and her heart fluttered. This was romance, this, +she had time to think excitedly, must be preordained. But when he +handed her the flower with a polite, “I think you dropped this,” she +wished he had chosen to keep the trophy. If she had had the happiness +of seeing him conceal it! + +She said nervously, “Oh, yes, thank you very much. I’d just missed it,” +and as he turned away she had at least the minor joy of seeing a look +of arrested interest in his eyes. + +She sat there holding the frail and almost sacred branch. She supposed +she was in love; there was no other explanation of her feelings; and +what a marvellous sequence of events! If Mr. Batty had not given her +the orchids this romantic episode could not have happened. And she was +glad that the eyes of the stranger had not rested on her that first day +when she was wearing her shabby, her atrociously cut clothes. Fate had +been kind in allowing him to see her thus, in a black dress with a +broad white collar, a carefully careless bow, silk stockings covering +her matchless ankles and—she glanced down—shoes that did their best to +conceal the squareness of her feet. + +She recognized her own absurdity, but she liked it: she Had leisure in +which to be absurd, she had nothing else to do, And romance, which had +seemed to be waiting for her outside Nelson Lodge, had now met her in +the open! She was not going to pass it by. This was, she knew, no more +than a precious secret, a little game she could play all by herself, +but it had suddenly coloured vividly a life which was already opening +wider; and she would have been astonished and perhaps disgusted, to +learn that Aunt Rose had once occupied herself with similar dreamings. +But She was spared that knowledge and she was tempted to wait in her +place on the chance that the stranger would return, but, deciding that +it was hardly what a Mallett would do, she rose reluctantly, carrying +the pink orchid in one hand, the less favoured ones in the other. + +The evening was exquisite: she saw a pale-blue sky fretted with green +leaves, striped with tree trunks astonishingly black; she heard +steamers threshing through the water and giving out warning whistles, +sounds to stir the heart with the thoughts of voyage, of danger, and of +unknown lands; and as she walked up the long avenue of elms she found +that all the people strolling out after tea for an evening walk had +happy, pleasant faces. + +She met fathers and mothers in loitering advance of children, shy +lovers with no words for each other, an old lady in a bath chair +propelled by a man as old, young men in check caps, with flowers in +their coats, earnest people carrying prayer-books and umbrellas, girls +with linked arms and shrill laughter; and she envied none of them: not +the children, finding interest in everything they saw; not the parents, +proud in possession; not the old lady whose work was done, not the +young men and women eyeing each other and letting out their enticing +laughter; she envied no one in the world. She had found an occupation, +and that night, sitting at the dinner-table, she was conscious of the +difference in herself and of a new kinship with these women, the two +who could look back on adventures, rosy and poetic, the one who seemed +shrouded in some delicate mystery. It was as though she, too, had been +initiated; she was surer of herself, even in the presence of Aunt Rose, +with her beauty like that of a white flower, the faint irony of her +smile. + + +§ 4 + +A few days later Rose said, “I want to take you to see a friend of +mine, a Mrs. Sales.” + +“Do the milkcarts belong to them?” Henrietta asked at once. + +“Yes.” Rose was amused. “Mrs. Sales is an invalid and she would like to +see you. Shall we go on Saturday?” She added as she left the room, +“Mrs. Sales was hurt in a hunting accident, but you need not avoid the +subject. She likes to talk about it.” + +“What a good thing,” Henrietta said, practically. + +Aunt Rose was dressed for walking and Henrietta was afraid of being +asked to go with her, but Aunt Rose made no such suggestion. Since +Sunday Henrietta had been exploring Radstowe and its suburbs with an +enthusiasm surprising to the elder aunts, who did not care for +exercise; but Henrietta was as much inspired by the hope of seeing that +man again as by interest in the old streets, the unexpected alleys, the +flights of worn steps leading from Upper to Lower Radstowe, the slums, +cheek by jowl with the garden of some old house, the big houses +deteriorated into tenements. All these had their own charm and the +added one of having been familiar to her father, but she never forgot +to watch for the hero on the horse, the restorer of her orchid. If she +met him, should she bow to him, or pretend not to see him? She had +practised various expressions before the glass, and had almost decided +to look up as he passed and flash a glance of puzzled recognition from +her eyes. She thought she could do it satisfactorily and to-day she +meant to cross the bridge for the first time. He had been riding over +the bridge that afternoon and what had happened once might happen +again. Moreover, she had a feeling that across the water there was +something waiting for her. Certainly behind the trees clothing the +gorge there was the real country, with cows and sheep and horses in the +meadows, with the possibility of rabbits in the lanes, and she had +never yet seen a rabbit running wild. There were innumerable +possibilities on that farther side. + +She crossed the bridge, stood to look up and down the river, to watch +the gulls, white against the green, to consider the ant-like hurrying +of the people on the road below and the clustered houses on the city +side, a medley of shapes and colours, rising in terraces, the whole +like some immense castle guarding the entrance to the town. And as +before, carriages and carts went and came over, schoolgirls on +bicycles, babies in perambulators, but this time there was no man on a +horse. She knew that this mattered very little; her stimulated +excitement was hardly more than salt and pepper to a dish already +appetizing enough, and now and then as she went along the road on a +level with the tree-tops in the gorge and had glimpses of water and of +rock, she had to remind herself of her preoccupation. + +She passed big houses with their flowery gardens and then, suddenly +timorous, she decided not to go too far afield. She might get lost, she +might meet nasty people or horned beasts. A little path on her right +hand had an inviting look; it might lead her down through the trees to +the water’s edge. It was all strewn and richly brown with last autumn’s +leaves and on a tree a few yards ahead she saw a brilliant object—tiny, +long-tailed, extraordinarily swift. It was out of sight before she had +time to tell herself that this was a squirrel; and again she had a +consciousness of development. She had seen a squirrel in its native +haunts! This was wonderful, and she approached the tree. The squirrel +had vanished, but these woods, within sound of a city, yet harbouring +squirrels, seemed to have become one of her possessions. She was +enriched, she was a different person, and she, whose familiar fauna had +been stray cats and the black beetles in Mrs. Banks’ kitchen, was +actually in touch with nature. She now felt equal to meeting unattended +cows, but the woods offered enough excitement for to-day. + +She found that her path did not immediately descend. It led her levelly +to an almost circular green space; then it became enclosed again and +soft to the feet with grass; and just ahead of her, blocking her way, +she saw two figures, those of a woman and a man. Their backs were +towards her, but there was no mistaking Aunt Rose’s back. It was +straight without being stiff, her dress fell with a unique perfection +and the little hat and grey floating veil were hers alone. + +For an instant Henrietta stood still, and the man, turning to look at +his companion, showed the profile of her stranger. At the same moment +he touched Aunt Rose’s hand and before Henrietta swerved and sped back +whence she had come, she saw that hand removed gently, as though +reluctantly, and the head, mistily veiled, shaken slowly. + +Her first desire was for flight and, safely on the road again, she +found her heart beating to suffocation; she was filled with an +indignation that almost brought her to tears; it was as though Aunt +Rose had deliberately robbed her of treasure—Aunt Rose, who was almost +middle-aged! For a moment she despised that fair, handsome man whose +image had filled her mind for what seemed a long, long time; then she +felt pity for him who had no eyes for youth, yet she remembered his +look of arrested interest. + +But steadying her thoughts and enjoying her dramatic bitterness, she +laughed. He had merely surprised her likeness to Aunt Rose and that was +all. Her dream was over. She had known it was a dream, but the +awakening was cruel; it was also intensely exciting. She did not regret +it; she had at least discovered something about Aunt Rose. She had a +lover. That look of his, that pleading movement of his hand, were +unmistakable; he was a lover, and perhaps she, Henrietta Mallett, alone +knew the truth. She had suspected a secret, now she knew it; and she +had a sense of power, she had a weapon. She imagined herself standing +over Aunt Rose, armed with knowledge, no longer afraid; she was +involved in a romantic, perhaps a shameful, situation. Aunt Rose was +meeting a lover clandestinely in the woods while Aunt Caroline and Aunt +Sophia sat innocently at home, marvelling at Rose’s indifference to +men, yet rejoicing in her spinsterhood; and Henrietta felt that Rose +had wronged her stepsisters almost as much as she had wronged her +niece. She was deceitful; that, in plain terms, accounted for what had +seemed a mysterious and conquered sorrow. It was Henrietta who was to +suffer, through the shattering of a dream. + +She went home, walking quickly, but feeling that she groped in a fog, +broken here and there by lurid lights, the lights of knowledge and +determination. She was younger than Aunt Rose, she was as pretty, and +she was the daughter of Reginald Mallett who, though she did not know +it, had always wanted the things desired by other people. She could +continue to love her stranger and at the back of her mind was the +unacknowledged conviction that Aunt Rose’s choice must be well worth +loving. And again how strangely events seemed to serve her: first the +dropping of an orchid and now the leaping of a squirrel! She felt +herself in the hands of higher powers. + +She had a feverish longing to see Rose again, to see her plainly for +the first time and dressing for dinner was like preparing for a great +event. Yet when dinner-time came everything was surprisingly the same. +The deceived Caroline and Sophia ate with the usual appetite, Susan +hovered with the same quiet attention, and Rose showed no sign of a +recent interview with a lover. Across the candlelight she looked at +Henrietta kindly and Henrietta remembered the three thousand pounds. +She did not want to remember them. They constituted an obligation +towards this woman who did not sufficiently appreciate her, who met +that man secretly, in a wood, who was beautiful with a far-off kind of +beauty, like that of the stars. And while these angry thoughts passed +through Henrietta’s mind, Rose’s tender expression had developed into a +smile, and she asked, “Did you have a nice walk?” + +Henrietta gulped. She looked steadily at Rose, and on her lips certain +words began to form themselves, but she did not utter them, and instead +of saying as she intended, “Yes, I went across the bridge and into +those woods on the other side,” she merely said, “Yes, yes, thank you,” +and smiled back. It had been impossible not to smile and she was angry +with Aunt Rose for making her a hypocrite. Perhaps she had smiled like +that in the wood and she did not look so very old. Even the flames of +the candles, throwing her face into strong relief as she leaned +forward, did not reveal any lines. + +“Don’t walk too much, child,” Caroline said. “It enlarges the feet. +Girls nowadays can wear their brothers’ shoes and men don’t like that. +Have I ever told you”—Caroline was given to repetition of her +stories—“how one of my partners, ridiculous creature, insisted on +calling me Cinderella for a whole evening? Do you remember, Sophia?” + +“Yes, dear,” Sophia said, and she determined that some day, when she +was alone with Henrietta, she would tell her that she, too, had been +called Cinderella that night. It was hard, but, since she loved her +sister, not so very hard, to ignore her own little triumphs, yet she +would like Henrietta to know of them. “Dear child,” she murmured +vaguely. + +“We have our shoes made for us,” Caroline went on. “It’s necessary.” +She snorted scorn for a large-footed generation. + +Rose laughed. She said, “Walk as much as you like, Henrietta. Health is +better than tiny feet.” + +Henrietta had no response for this remark. For the first time she felt +out of sympathy with her surroundings, and her resentment against Rose +spread to her other aunts. They were foolish in their talk of men and +little feet; they knew, for all their worldliness, nothing about life. +They had never known what it was to be insufficiently fed or clothed; +they had never battled with black beetles and mutton bones, their white +hands had never been soiled by greasy water and potato skins and she +felt a bitterness against them all. “Nonsense, Rose, what do you know +about it?” Caroline asked. “You’re a nun, that’s what you are.” + +“Ah, lovely!” Sophia sighed, but Henrietta, thinking of that man in the +wood, raised her dark eyebrows sceptically. + +“Lovely! Rubbish! A nun, and the first in the family. All our women,” +Caroline turned to Henrietta, “have broken hearts. They can’t help it. +It’s in the blood. You’ll do it yourself. All except Rose. And our +men—” she guffawed; “yes, even the General—but if I tell you about our +men Sophia will be shocked.” + +“The men!” Henrietta straightened herself and looked round the table. +Her dark eyes shone, and the anger she was powerless to display against +Aunt Rose, the remembrance of her own and her mother’s struggles, found +an outlet. “You can’t tell me anything I don’t know. I don’t think it +is funny. Haven’t I suffered through one of them? My father, he wasn’t +anything to boast about.” + +“Henrietta,” Sophia said gently, and Caroline uttered a stern, “What +are you saying?” + +“I don’t care,” Henrietta said. “Perhaps you’re proud of all the harm +he did, but my mother and I had to bear it. He was weak and selfish; we +nearly starved, but he didn’t. Oh, no, he didn’t!” With her hands +clasped tightly on her knee she bent over the table and her head was +lowered with the effect of some small animal prepared for a spring. “Do +you know,” she said, “he wore silk shirts? Silk shirts! and I had only +one set of underclothing in the world! I had to wash them overnight. +That was my father—a Mallett! Were they all like that?” + +There was silence until Caroline, peeling an apple with trembling +fingers, said severely, “I don’t think we need continue this +conversation.” Her indignation was beyond mere words; she was outraged; +her brother had been insulted by this child who owed his sisters +gratitude; the family had been held up to scorn, and Henrietta, aware +of what she had done and of her obligations, was overwhelmed with +regret, with confusion, with the sense that, after all, it was she who +really loved and understood her father. + +“We will excuse you, Henrietta, if you have finished your dessert,” +Caroline said. She had a great dignity. + +This was a dismissal and Henrietta stood up. She could not take back +her words, for they were true: she did not know how to apologize for +their manner; she felt she would have to leave the house to-morrow and +she had a sudden pride in Aunt Caroline and in her own name. But there +was nothing she could do. + +Most unexpectedly, Rose intervened. “You must forgive Henrietta’s +bitterness,” she said quietly. “It is natural.” + +“But her own father!” Sophia remonstrated tearfully, and added +tenderly, “Ah, poor child!” + +Henrietta dropped into her chair. She wept without concealment. “It +isn’t that I didn’t love him,” she sobbed. + +“Ah, yes, you loved him,” Sophia said. “So did we.” She dabbed her face +with her lace handkerchief. “It is Rose who knows nothing about him,” +she said, with something approaching anger. “Nothing!” + +“Perhaps that is why I understand,” Rose said. + +“No, no, you don’t!” Henrietta cried. She could not admit that. She +would not allow Aunt Rose to make such a claim. She looked from +Caroline to Sophia. “It’s we who know,” she said. Yes, it was they +three who were banded together in love for Reginald Mallett, in their +sympathy for each other, in the greater nearness of their relationship +to the person in dispute. She looked up, and she saw through her tears +a slight quiver pass over the face of Rose and she knew she had hurt +her and she was glad of it. “You must forgive me,” she said to +Caroline. + +“Well, well; he was a wretch—a great wretch—a great dear. Let us say no +more about it.” + +It was Rose, now, who was in disgrace, and it was Henrietta, Caroline +and Sophia who passed an evening of excessive amiability in the +drawing-room. + +Henrietta felt heroically that she had thrown down her glove and it was +annoying, the next morning, to find Rose would not pick it up. She +remained charming; she was inimitably calm: she seemed to have +forgotten her offence of the night before and Henrietta delighted in +the thought that, though Rose did not know it, she and Henrietta were +rivals in love, and she told herself that her own time would come. + +She had only to wait. She was a great believer in her own luck, and had +not Aunt Caroline assured her that all the Mallett women were born to +break hearts—all but Aunt Rose? Some day she was bound to meet that man +again and, looking in the glass after the Mallett manner, she was +pleased with what she saw there. She was her father’s daughter. Her +father had never denied himself anything he wanted, and since her +outbreak against him she felt closer to him; she was prepared to +condone his sins, even to emulate them and find in him her excuse. She +looked at the portrait on the wall, she kissed her hand to it. Somehow +he seemed to be helping her. + +But with all her carefully nurtured enmity, she could not deny her +admiration for Aunt Rose. She was proud to sit beside her in the +carriage which took them to Sales Hall, and on that occasion Rose +talked more than usual, telling Henrietta little stories of the people +living in the houses they passed and little anecdotes of her own +childhood connected with the fields and lanes. + +Henrietta sighed suddenly. “It must be nice,” she said, “to be part of +a place. You can’t be part of London, in lodging-houses, with no +friends. I should love to have had a tree for a friend, all my life. It +sounds silly, but it would make me feel different.” She was angry with +herself for saying this to Aunt Rose, but again she could not help it. +She saw too much with her eyes and Aunt Rose pleased them and she +assured herself that though these softened her heart and loosened her +tongue, she could resume her reserve at her leisure. “There was a tree, +a cherry, in one of the gardens once, but we didn’t stay there long. We +had to go.” She added quickly, “It was too expensive for us. I suppose +they charged for the tree, but I did long to see it blossom; and this +spring,” she waved a hand, “I’ve seen hundreds—I’ve seen a squirrel—” +She stopped. + +“Dear little things,” Rose said. They were jogging alongside the high, +bare wall she hated, and the big trees, casting their high, wide +branches far above and beyond it, seemed to be stretching out to the +sea and the hills. + +“Have you seen one lately?” Henrietta asked. + +“What? A squirrel? No, not lately. They’re shy. One doesn’t see them +often.” + +“Oh, then I was lucky,” Henrietta said. “I saw one in those woods we’ve +just passed, the other day.” She looked at her Aunt Rose’s creamy +cheek. There was no flush on it, her profile was serene, the dark +lashes did not stir. + +“Soon,” Rose said, “you will see hills and the channel.” + +“And when shall we come to Mrs. Sales’ house? Is she an old lady?” + +“I don’t think you would call her very old. She is younger than I am.” + +“Oh, that’s not old,” Henrietta said kindly. “Has she any children?” + +“No, there’s a cat and a dog—especially a cat.” + +“And a husband, I suppose?” + +“Yes, a husband. Do you like cats, Henrietta?” + +“They catch mice,” Henrietta said informatively. + +“I don’t think this one has ever caught a mouse, but it lies in wait— +for something. Cats are horrible; they listen.” And she added, as +though to herself, “They frighten me.” + +“I’m more afraid of dogs,” Henrietta said. + +“Oh, but you mustn’t be.” + +“Well,” Henrietta dared, “you’re afraid of cats.” + +“I know, but dogs, they seem to be part of one’s inheritance—dogs and +horses.” + +“All the horses I’ve known,” Henrietta said with her odd bitterness, +“have been in cabs, and even then I never knew them well.” + +“Francis Sales must show you his,” Rose said. “There are the hills. Now +we turn to the left, but down that track and across the fields is the +short cut to Sales Hall. One can ride that way.” + +“I should like to see the dairy,” Henrietta remarked, “or do they +pretend they haven’t one?” + +Rose smiled. “No, they’re very proud of it. It’s a model dairy. I’ve no +doubt Francis will be glad to show you that, too. And here we are.” + +The masculine hall, with its smell of tobacco, leather and tweed, the +low winding staircase covered with matting, its walls adorned with +sporting prints, was a strange introduction to the room in which +Henrietta found herself. She had an impression of richness and colour; +the carpet was very soft, the hangings were of silk, a fire burned in +the grate though the day was warm and before the fire lay the cat. The +dog was on the window-sill looking out at the glorious world, full of +smells and rabbits which he loved and which he denied himself for the +greater part of each day because he loved his mistress more, but he +jumped down to greet Rose with a great wagging of his tail. + +She stooped to him, saying, “Here is Henrietta, Christabel. Henrietta, +this is Mrs. Sales.” + +The woman on the couch looked to Henrietta like a doll animated by some +diabolically clever mechanism, she was so pink and blue and fair. She +was, in fact, a child’s idea of feminine beauty and Henrietta felt a +rush of sorrow that she should have to lie there, day after day, +watching the seasons come and go. It was marvellous that she had +courage enough to smile, and she said at once, “Rose Mallett is always +trying to give me pleasure,” and her tone, her glance at Rose, startled +Henrietta as much as if the little thin hand outside the coverlet had +suddenly produced a glittering toy which had its uses as a dagger. She, +too, looked at Rose, but Rose was talking to the dog and it was then +that Henrietta became really aware of the cat. It was certainly +listening; it had stretched out its fore-paws and revealed shining, +nail-like claws, and those polished instruments seemed to match the +words which still floated on the warm air of the room. + +“And now she has brought you,” Christabel went on. “It was kind of you +to come. Do sit here beside me. Tell me what you think of Rose. Tell me +what you think,” she laughed, “of your aunt. She’s beautiful, isn’t +she?” + +“Yes, very,” Henrietta said, and she spoke coldly, because she, too, +was a Mallett, and she suspected this praise uttered in Rose’s hearing +and still with that sharpness as of knives. She had never been in a +room in which she felt less at ease: perhaps she had been prejudiced by +Aunt Rose’s words about the cat, but that seemed absurd and she was +confused by her vague feelings of anger and pity and suspicion. + +However, she did her best to be a pleasant guest. She had somehow to +break the tenseness in the room and she called on her reserve of +anecdote. She told the story of Mr. Jenkins trying to fetch his boots +and catch a glimpse of Mrs. Banks’s daily help who could cook but had +no character; she described the stickiness of his collar; and because +she was always readily responsive to her surroundings, she found it +natural to be humorous in a somewhat spiteful way; and at a casual +mention of the Battys, she became amusing at the expense of Charles and +felt a slight regret when she had roused Christabel’s laughter. It +seemed unkind; he had confided in her; she had betrayed him; and Rose +completed her discomfiture by saying, “Ah, don’t laugh at poor Charles. +He feels too much.” + +Christabel nodded her head. “Your aunt is very sympathetic. She +understands men.” She added quickly, “Have you met my husband?” + +“No,” Henrietta said, “I’ve only seen your carts.” + +The two women laughed and it was strange to hear them united in that +mirth. Henrietta looked puzzled. “Well,” she explained, “it was one of +the first things I noticed. It stuck in my head.” Naturally the +impressions of that day had been unusually vivid and she saw with +painful clearness the figure of the man on the horse, as enduring as +though it had been executed in bronze yet animated by ardent life. + +“Well,” Christabel said, “you are to have tea with the owner of the +carts. Rose has tea with him every time she comes. It’s part of the +ceremony.” She sighed wearily; the cat moved an ear; the nurse entered +as a signal that the visitors must depart. “You’ll come again, won’t +you?” Christabel asked, holding Henrietta’s hand and, as Rose said a +few words to the nurse, she whispered, “Come alone”; and surprisingly, +from the hearthrug, there was a loud purring from the cat. + +It was like release to be in the matted corridor again and it was in +silence that Rose led the way downstairs. Henrietta followed slowly, +looking at the pictures of hounds in full cry, top-hatted ladies taking +fences airily, red-coated gentlemen immersed in brooks, but at the turn +of the stairs she stood stock-still. She had the physical sensation of +her heart leaving its place and lodging in her throat. Her stranger was +standing in the hall; he was looking at Aunt Rose, and she knew now +what expression he was wearing in the wood; he was looking at her +half-angrily and as though he were suffering from hunger. She could not +see her aunt’s face, but when Henrietta stood beside her, Rose turned, +saying, “Henrietta, let me introduce Mr. Sales.” + +He said, “How do you do?” and then she saw again that look of interest +with which she seemed to have been familiar for so long. “I think I +have seen you before,” he said. + +“It was you who picked up my orchid.” + +“Of course.” He looked from her to Rose. “I couldn’t think who you +reminded me of, but now I know.” + +“I don’t think we are very much alike,” Henrietta said. + +Rose laughed. “Oh, don’t say that. I have been glad to think we are.” + +“You might be sisters,” said Francis Sales. + +This little scene, being played so easily and lightly by this man and +woman, had a nightmare quality for Henrietta. It had the confusion, the +exaggerated horror of an evil dream, without the far-away consciousness +of its unreality. Here she was, in the presence of the man she loved +and it was wicked to love him. She had longed to meet him and now she +wished she might have kept his memory only, the figure on the horse, +the man with the pink orchid in his hand. She had suspected her Aunt +Rose of a secret love affair, she had now discovered her guilty of sin. +The evidence was slight, but Henrietta’s conviction was tremendous. She +was horrified, but she was also elated. This was drama, this was life. +She was herself a romantic figure; she was robbed of her happiness, her +youth was blighted; the woman upstairs was wronged and Henrietta +understood why there were knives on her tongue: she understood the +watchfulness of the cat. + +Yet, as they sat in the cool drawing-room with its pale flowery chintz, +its primrose curtains, the faded water-colours on the walls and Aunt +Rose pouring tea into the flowered cups, she might, if she had wished, +have been persuaded that she was wrong. Perhaps she had mistaken that +angry, starving look in the man’s eyes; it had gone; nothing could have +been more ordinary than his expression and his conversation. But she +knew she was not wrong and she sat there, on the alert, losing not a +glance, not a tone. Her limbs were trembling, she could not eat and she +was astonished that Aunt Rose could nibble biscuits with such +nonchalance, that Francis Sales could eat plum cake. + +He was, without doubt, the most attractive man she had ever seen; his +long brown fingers fascinated her. And again she wondered at the odd +sequence of events. She had seen his name on the carts, she had seen +him on the horse, he had picked up her pink orchid, she had been led by +Fate and a squirrel into the wood and now she found him here. It was +like a play and it would be still more like a play if she snatched him +from Aunt Rose. In that idea there was the prompting of her father, but +her mother’s part in her was a reminder that she must not snatch him +for herself. No, only out of danger; men were helpless, they were like +babies in the hands of women, and hands could differ; they could hurt +or soothe, and she imagined her own performing the latter task. She saw +it as her mission, and on the way home she told herself that her +silence was not that of anger but of dedication. + + +§ 5 + +She thought Aunt Rose looked at her rather curiously, though there was +no expression so definite in that glance. Her aunts did not ask +questions, they never interfered, and if Henrietta chose to be silent +it was her own affair. She was, as a matter of fact, swimming in a warm +bath of emotion and she experienced the usual chill when she descended +from the carriage and felt the pavement under her feet. She had +dedicated herself to a high purpose, but for the moment it was +impossible to get on with the noble work. The mere business of life had +to be proceeded with, and though the situation was absorbing it receded +now and then until, looking at her Aunt Rose, she was reminded of it +with a shock. + +She looked often at her aunt, finding her more than ever fascinating. +She tried to see her with the eyes of Francis Sales, she tried to +imagine how Rose’s clear grey eyes, so dark sometimes that they seemed +black, answered the appeal of his, yet, as the days passed, Henrietta +found it difficult to remember her resignation and her wrongs in this +new life of luxury and pleasure. + +She woke each morning to the thought of gaiety and to the realization +of comfort and the blessed absence of anxiety. Her occupation was the +getting of enjoyment and she took it all eagerly yet without greed, and +as she was enriched she became generous with her own offerings of +laughter, sympathy and affection. She liked and looked for the +brightening of Caroline and Sophia at her approach, she became +pleasantly aware of her own ability to charm and she rejoiced in an +exterior world no longer limited to streets. Each morning she went to +her window and looked over and beyond the roofs, so beautiful and +varied in themselves, to the trees screening the open country across +the river and if the sight reminded her to sigh for her own sorrows and +to think bitterly of Aunt Rose, she had not time to linger on her +emotions. Summer was gay in Upper Radstowe. There were tea-parties and +picnics, she paid calls with her aunts and learnt to play lawn tennis +with her contemporaries. Her friendship with the Battys ripened. + +She was always sure of her welcome at Prospect House, and though she +often assured herself that she could love no one but Francis Sales, +that was no reason why others should not love her. From that point of +view John Batty was a failure. He took her to a cricket match, but +finding that she did not know the alphabet of the game, and was more +interested in the spectators than in the players, he gave her up. He +admired her appearance, but it did not make amends for ignorance of +such a grossness; and, equally displeased with him, she returned home +alone while he watched out the match. + +The next day when she paid her usual Sunday visit, she ignored him +pointedly and mentally crossed him off her list. Charles, ugly and odd, +was infinitely more responsive, though he greeted her on this occasion +with reproach. + +“You went to a cricket match yesterday with John.” + +“It was very boring and I got a headache. I shall never go again.” + +“He said he wouldn’t take you.” + +Henrietta smiled subtly, implying a good deal. + +“I shouldn’t have thought,” Charles went on mournfully, “of suggesting +such a thing.” + +“My aunts were rather shocked. I went on the top of a tramcar with +him.” + +“But if you can go out with him, why shouldn’t you go out with me?” + +“But where?” Henrietta questioned practically. + +“Well, to a concert.” + +“When?” + +“When there is one. I don’t know. They won’t have one in this +God-forsaken place until the autumn.” + +“That’s a long time ahead.” + +He spread his hands. “You see, I never have any luck. I just want you +to promise.” + +“Oh, I’ll promise,” Henrietta said. + +“It will be the first time I’ve been anywhere with a girl,” he said. “I +don’t get on.” + +“Have you wanted to?” + +He sighed. “Yes, but not much.” Her laughter, which was so pretty, +startled him; it also delighted him with its music, and his sad eyes +grew wider and more vague. He had an inspiration. “I’ll take you home +now.” + +“I’m not going home. I’ve promised to go to Sales Hall.” + +“Sales Hall—oh, yes, he’s the man who talks at concerts—when he goes. I +know him. Have you ever wanted to murder anyone? I’ve wanted to murder +him. I might some day. You’d better warn him.” + +Was this another strand in the web of her drama, she wondered. Was Aunt +Rose involved in this too? She breathed quickly. “Why, what has he done +to you?” + +He ground his teeth, looking terrible but ineffectual. “Stolen beauty. +That’s what his sort does. He kills lovely things that fly and run, for +sport, and he steals beauty, spoils it.” + +“Who?” she whispered. + +“That man Sales.” + +“No, no. Who has he stolen and spoilt?” + +“Heavenly music—and my happiness. I lost a bar—a whole bar, I tell you. +I’ll never forgive him. I can’t get it back.” + +“If that’s all—” Henrietta gestured. + +“And there are others,” Charles went on. “I never forget them. I meet +them in the streets and they look horrible—like beetles.” “I believe +you’re mad,” Henrietta said earnestly. “It’s not sense.” + +“What is sense?” Henrietta could not tell him. She looked at him, a +little afraid, but excited by this proximity to danger. And I thought +you would understand.” + +“Of course I do.” She could not bear to let go of anything which might +do her credit. “I do. But you exaggerate. And Mr. Sales—” She +hesitated, and in doing so she remembered to be angry with Charles +Batty for maligning him. “How can you judge Mr. Sales?” she asked with +scorn. “He is a man.” “And what am I?” Charles demanded. + +“You’re—queer,” she said. + +“Yes”—his face twisted curiously—“I suppose if I shot things and chased +them, you’d like me better. But I can’t—not even for that, but perhaps, +some day—” He seemed to lose himself in the vagueness of his thoughts. + +She finished his sentence gaily, for after all, it was absurd to +quarrel with him. “Some day we’ll go to a concert.” + +He recovered himself. “More than that,” he said. He nodded his head +with unexpected vigour. “You’ll see.” + +She gazed at him. It was wonderful to think of all the things that +might happen to a person who was only twenty-one, but she hastily +corrected her thoughts. What could happen to her? In a few short days +events had rushed together and exhausted themselves at their source! +There was nothing left. She said good-bye to Charles and thought him +foolish not to offer to accompany her. She said, “It’s a very long way +to Sales Hall,” and he answered, “Oh, you’ll meet that man somewhere, +potting at rabbits.” + +“Do you think so? I hope he won’t shoot me.” And she saw herself +stretched on the ground, wounded, dying, with just enough force to +utter words he could never forget—words that would change his whole +life. She was willing to sacrifice herself and she said good-bye to +Charles again, and sorrowfully, as though she were already dead. She +tried to plan her dying words, but as she could not hit on satisfactory +ones, she contented herself with deciding that whether she were wounded +or not, she would try to introduce the subject of Aunt Rose; and as she +went she looked out hopefully for a tall figure with a gun under its +arm. + +She met it, but without a gun, on the track where, on one side, the +trees stood in fresh green, like banners, and on the other the meadows +sloped roughly to the distant water. He had been watching for her, he +said, and suddenly over her assurance there swept a wave of +embarrassment, of shyness. She was alone with him and he was not like +Charles Batty. He looked down at her with amusement in his blue, +thick-lashed eyes, and it was difficult to believe that here was the +hero, or the villain, of the piece. She felt the sensation she had +known when he handed her the orchid, and she blushed absurdly when he +actually said, as though he read her thoughts, “No orchids to-day?” + +“No.” She laughed up at him. “That was a special treat. I didn’t see +Mr. Batty this afternoon, and he couldn’t afford to give them away +every Sunday.” + +“Do you go there every Sunday?” “Yes; they’re very kind.” + +“They would be.” + +This reminded her a little of Mr. Jenkins, though she cast the idea +from her quickly. Mr. Jenkins was not worthy of sharing a moment’s +thought with Francis Sales; his collar was made of rubber, his accent +was grotesque; but the influence of the boarding-house was still on her +when she asked very innocently, “Why?” + +“Oh, I needn’t tell you that.” + +It was Mr. Jenkins again, but in a voice that was soft, almost +caressing. Did Mr. Sales talk like this to Aunt Rose? She could not +believe it and she was both flattered and distressed. She must assert +her dignity and she had no way of doing it but by an expression of +firmness, a slight tightening of lips that wanted to twitch into a +smile. + +“Mr. Charles Batty,” the voice went on, “seems to have missed his +opportunities, but I have always suspected him of idiocy.” + +“I don’t know what you mean,” she said untruthfully, and then, loyally, +she protested. “But he’s not an idiot. He’s very clever, too clever, +not like other people.” + +“Well, there are different names for that sort of thing,” he said +easily, and she was aware of an immense distance between her and him— +he seemed to have put her from him with a light push—and at the same +time she was oppressively conscious of his nearness. She felt angry, +and she burst out, “I won’t have you speaking like that about Charles.” + +“Certainly not, if he’s a friend of yours.” + +“And I won’t have you laughing at me.” + +He stopped in his long stride. “Don’t you laugh yourself at the things +that please you very much?” + +“Oh, don’t!” she begged. He was too much for her; she was helpless, as +though she had been drugged to a point when she could move and think, +but only through a mist, and she felt that his ease, approaching +impudence, was as indecent as Aunt Rose’s calm. It was both irritating +and pleasing to know that she could have shattered both with the word +she was incapable of saying, but her nearest approach to that was an +inquiry after the health of Mrs. Sales. He replied that she was looking +forward to Henrietta’s visit. She had very few pleasures and was always +glad to see people. + +“Aunt Rose”—here was an opportunity—“comes, doesn’t she, every week?” + +He said he believed so. + +“Did you know her when she was a little girl?” + +He gave a discouraging affirmative. + +“What was she like?” + +“I don’t know.” He had, indeed, forgotten. + +“Well, you must remember her when she was young.” + +“Young?” + +Henrietta nodded bravely though he seemed to smoulder. “As young as I +am.” + +“She was exactly the same as she is now. No, not quite.” + +“Nicer?” + +“Nicer? What a word! Nice!” He looked all round him and made a flourish +with his stick. He could not express himself, yet he seemed unable to +be silent. “Do you call the sky nice?” + +“Yes, very, when it’s blue.” + +He gave, to her great satisfaction, the kind of laugh she had expected. +“Let us talk about something a little smaller than the sky,” he said. +He looked down at her, and she was relieved to see the anger fading +from his face; but she was glad to have learnt something of what he +felt for Aunt Rose. To him she was like the sky whence came the rain +and the sunshine, where the stars shone and the moon, and she wondered +to what he would have compared herself. “You said we might be sisters.” + +He looked again. She wore a broad white hat in honour of the season, +her black dress was dotted with white; from one capable white hand she +swung her gloves; she tilted her chin, a trick she had inherited from +her father, in a sort of challenge. + +“You like the idea?” he asked. + +“I don’t believe it. I’m really the image of my father. Did you know +him?” + +“No. Heard of him, of course.” + +“It’s him I’m like,” Henrietta repeated firmly. + +“Then the story of his good looks must be true.” + +Mixed with her pleasure, she had a return of disappointment. Here was +Mr. Jenkins once more, and while it was sad to discover his +re-incarnation in her ideal, it was thrilling to resume the kind of +fencing she thought she had resigned. She forgot her virtuous resolves, +and the remainder of the walk was enlivened by the hope of a thrust +which she would have to parry, but none came. Francis Sales seemed to +have exhausted his efforts, and at the door he said with a sort of +sulkiness, “I think you had better go up alone. You must let me see you +home.” + +This was not her first solitary visit to Christabel Sales, and she half +dreaded, half enjoyed meeting the glances of those wide blue eyes, +which were searching behind their innocence and hearing remarks which, +though dropped carelessly, always gave her the impression of being +tipped with steel. She was bewildered, troubled by her sense that she +and Christabel were allies and yet antagonists, and her jealousy of her +Aunt Rose fought with her unwilling loyalty to one of her own blood. +There were moments when she acquiesced in the suggestions offered in +the form of admiration, and others when she stiffened with distaste, +with a realization that she herself was liable to attack, with horror +for the beautiful luxurious room, the crippled woman, the listening +cat. Henrietta sometimes saw herself as a mouse, in mortal danger of a +feline spring, and then pity for Christabel would overcome this +weariness; she would talk to her with what skill she had for +entertainment, and she emerged exhausted, as though from a fight. + +This evening she was amazed to be received without any greeting, but a +question: “Has Rose Mallett told you why I am here?” Christabel was +lying very low on her couch. Her lips hardly moved; these might have +been the last words she would ever utter. + +“Yes, a hunting accident. And you told me about it yourself.” + +There was a silence, and then the voice, its sharpness dulled, said +slowly, “Yes, I told you what I remembered and what I heard afterwards. +A hunting accident! It sounds so simple. That’s what they call it. +Names are useful. We couldn’t get on without them. I get such queer +ideas, lying here, with nothing to do. Before I was married I never +thought at all. I was too happy.” She seemed to be lost in memory of +that time. Henrietta sat very still; she breathed carefully as though a +brusqueness would be fatal, and the voice began again. “They call you +Henrietta. It’s only a name, but it doesn’t describe you; nobody knows +what it means except you, but it’s convenient. It’s the same with my +hunting accident. Do you see?” + +Henrietta said nothing. She had that familiar feeling of being in the +dark, and now the evening shadows augmented it. She was conscious of +the cat behind her, on the hearthrug. + +“Do you see?” Christabel persisted. + +“Things have to be called something,” Henrietta said. + +“That’s just what I have been telling you. And so Rose Mallett calls it +a hunting accident.” A high-pitched and thin laugh came from the +pillows. “She was terribly distressed about it. And she actually told +me she had suspected that mare from the first. She told me! It’s +funny—don’t you think so?” + +“No,” Henrietta said stoutly, “not funny at all.” She spoke in a very +firm and reasonable voice, as though only her common sense could combat +what seemed like insanity in the other. “I think it’s very sad.” + +“For me? Oh, yes, but I wasn’t thinking of that. I was thinking of your +charming aunt, the most beautiful woman in Radstowe. That’s what I have +heard her called. Yet why hasn’t she married? Can’t she find +anybody”—the voice was gentle—“to love her? She suspected that mare but +she warned nobody. Funny—” + +Henrietta had a physical inward trembling. She felt a dreadful rage +against the woman on the couch, a sickening disgust, such as she would +have felt at looking down a dark, deep well and seeing slime and blind +ugliness at the bottom. She felt as though her ears were dirty; she +tried to move, but she sat perfectly still and, dreading what would +come next, she listened, fascinated. + +“Perhaps she is in love with somebody. Does she get many letters, +Henrietta? She is very reserved, she doesn’t tell me much; but, of +course, I’m interested in her.” She laughed again. “I am very anxious +for her happiness. It would comfort me to know anything you can tell +me.” + +Henrietta managed to stand up. “I know nothing,” she said in a slightly +broken voice. “I don’t want to know anything.” + +Christabel interrupted smoothly. “Perhaps you are wise or you couldn’t +stay happily in that house. They’re all like witches, those women. They +frighten me. You must be very brave, Henrietta.” + +“I’m very grateful,” Henrietta said; “and I shan’t come here again, no, +never. I don’t know what you have been trying to tell me, but I don’t +believe it. It’s no good crying. I shall never come back. They’re not +witches.” She had a vision of them at the dinner table, Rose like a +white flower, Caroline and Sophia jewelled, gaily dressed, a little +absurd, oddly distinguished. “Witches! They are my father’s sisters, +and I love them.” + +“Ah, but you don’t know Rose,” Christabel sobbed. “And don’t say you +will never come again. And don’t tell Francis. He would be angry.” + +“How could I tell him?” Henrietta asked indignantly. “No, no, I don’t +want to see either of you again. I shall go away—go away—” She left the +room to the sound of a horrible, faint weeping. + +She meant what she had said. She thought she would go away from +Radstowe and forget Christabel Sales, forget Francis Sales, whom she +would no longer pretend to love; forget those insinuations that Aunt +Rose was guilty of a crime. This place and these people were abhorrent +to her, she felt she had been poisoned and she rushed down the long +avenue where, overhead, the rooks were calling, as though she could +only be saved by the clean night air beyond the house. She was shocked; +she believed that Christabel was mad; the thought of that warm room +where the cat listened, made her gasp, and her horror extended to +Francis Sales himself. The place felt wicked, but the clear road +stretching before her, the pale evening sky and the sound of her own +feet tapping the road restored her. + +She was glad to be alone and, avoiding the short cut, she enjoyed the +sanity of the highway used by ordinary men and women in the decent +pursuit of their lives. But now the road was empty and though at +another time she would have been afraid of the lonely country, to-night +she had a sense of escape from greater perils than any lurking here. +And before long it all seemed like a dream, but it was a dream that +might recur if she ran the risk. + +No, she would never go there again, she would never envy Aunt Rose a +lover from that house, she would never believe that the worst of +Christabel’s implications were true. They were the fabrications of a +suspicious woman, and though her jealousy might be justified, it seemed +to Henrietta that she deserved her fate. She was hateful, she was +poisonous, and Henrietta felt a sudden tenderness for Aunt Rose and +Francis Sales. They could not help themselves, for they were +unfortunate, she longed to show them sympathy and she saw herself +taking them by the hand and saying gently, “Confide in me. I +understand.” She imagined Aunt Rose melting at that touch and those +words into tears, perhaps of repentance, certainly of gratitude, but at +this point Henrietta’s fancies were interrupted by the sound of +footsteps behind her. She quickened her pace, then began to run, and +the steps followed, gaining on her. She could not outrun them and she +stopped, turning to see who came. + +“Miss Mallett!” It was the voice of Francis Sales. She sank down on a +heap of stones, panting and laughing. He sat beside her. “What’s the +matter?” + +“I don’t know. I hate to hear anybody coming behind me. It might have +been a tramp. I’m very much afraid of tramps.” + +“I said I would see you home.” + +“Yes, I forgot. Let us go on.” + +“You didn’t stay long.” + +“I don’t think Mrs. Sales is very well.” + +“She isn’t. She gets hysterical and that affects her heart. I thought +you would do her good.” He seemed to blame Henrietta. “And I thought a +walk with you would do me good, too. I have a pretty dull life.” + +“Aren’t you interested in your cows and things?” + +“A man can’t live on cows.” + +“But you have other things and you live in the country. People can’t +have everything. I don’t suppose you’d change with anybody really, if +you could. People are like that. They grumble, but they like being +themselves. Suppose you were a young man in a shop, measuring cloth or +selling bacon. You’d find that much duller, I should think.” + +He laughed a little. “Where did you learn this wisdom?” + +“I’ve had experience,” she said staidly. “Yes, you’d find it duller.” + +“Perhaps you’re right. But then, you might come to buy the bacon. I +should look forward to that.” + +In the darkness, these playful words frightened her a little; they hurt +her sense of what was fitting from him to her and at the same time they +pleased her with their hint of danger. + +“Would you?” she asked slowly. + +He paused, saying, “May I light a pipe?” and by the flame of the match +he examined her face quite openly for a moment. “You know I would,” he +said. + +She met his look, her eyes wavered and neither spoke for a long time. +She was oppressed by his nearness, the smell of his tobacco, her own +inexplicable delight. From the trees by the roadside birds gave out +happy chirrups, country people in their Sunday clothes and creaking +boots passed or overtook the silent pair; a man on a horse rode out +from a gate and cantered with very little noise on the rough grass +edging the road. Henrietta watched him until he disappeared and then it +seemed as if he had never been there at all. A sheep in a field uttered +a sad cry and every sight and sound seemed a little unreal, like things +happening on a stage. + +And gradually Henrietta’s excitement left her. The world seemed a sad +and lonely place; she remembered that she herself was lonely; there was +no one now to whom she was the first, and she had a longing for her +mother. She wished that instead of returning to Nelson Lodge with its +cleanliness and richness and comfort, she might turn the key of the +boarding-house door and find herself in the narrow passage with the +smell of cooking and the gas turned low; she wished she could run up +the stairs and rush into the drawing-room and find her mother sitting +there, sewing by the fire, and see her look up and hear her say, “Well, +Henry dear, what have you been doing?” After all, that old life was +better than this new one. The troubles of her mother, her own young +struggles for food and warmth, the woes of Mrs. Banks, had in them +something nobler than she could find in the distresses of Christabel +and Aunt Rose and Francis Sales, something redeeming them from the +sordidness in which they were set. She checked a sob. + +“It’s a long way,” she sighed. + +“Are you tired?” His voice was gentle. + +“Yes, dreadfully.” + +“Then let us sit down again.” + +“No, I must go on. I must get back.” + +“If you would talk to me, you wouldn’t notice the distance.” + +“I don’t want to talk. I’m thinking. When we get to the bridge you can +go back, can’t you? There will be lights and I shall be quite safe.” + +“Very well, but I wish you’d tell me what’s the matter.” + +“I’m very unhappy,” Henrietta said with a sob. + +“What on earth for? Look here,”—he touched her arm—“did Christabel say +anything?” + +“I don’t know why it is.” + +“Are you going to cry?” + +“It’s no good crying.” + +He held the arm now quite firmly and they faced each other. “You’d +better tell me the whole story.” + +Her lips quivered. She wished he would loosen his grip and hoped he +would go on holding her for ever. It was a moment of mingled ecstasy +and sadness. “Oh,” she almost wailed, “can’t I be unhappy if I want +to?” + +He gave a short laugh, saying, “Poor little girl,” and stooping, kissed +her on the mouth. She endured that kiss willingly for a moment and +then, very lightly, struck him in the face. + + +§ 6 + +Afterwards there was some satisfaction in thinking that she had done +the dramatic thing—what the pure-minded heroine always did to the +villain; but at the time the action was spontaneous and unconsidered. +Henrietta was not really avenging an insult: she was simply expressing +her annoyance at her pleasure in it. Being, when she chose, a clear- +sighted young woman, she realized this, but she also knew that Francis +Sales would find the obvious meaning in the blow. For herself, she +sanely determined to blot that episode from her mind: it was maddening +to think of it as an insult and dangerous to remember its delight, and +she was able calmly to tell her aunts that Mr. Sales had seen her home. + +“Then why didn’t he come in?” Caroline asked with a grunt. “Leaving you +on the doorstep like a housemaid!” + +“He only came as far as the bridge.” + +“My dear child! What was he thinking of? Men are not what they were, or +is it the women who are different? They haven’t the charm! They haven’t +the old charm! My difficulty was always to get rid of the creatures. +I’m disappointed in you, Henrietta.” + +“But he’s married,” Henrietta said gravely. “I only needed him on the +dark roads and I should think he wanted to go back to Mrs. Sales.” + +“It would be the first time, then,” Caroline said. + +“Why, isn’t he fond of her?” + +“Don’t ask dangerous questions, child—and would you be fond of her +yourself?” + +“She’s very pretty.” + +“Now, Caroline, don’t,” Sophia begged. + +Caroline chuckled. “Don’t what?” + +“Say what you were going to say.” + +Caroline chuckled again. “I can’t help it. My tongue won’t be tied. I’m +like all the Malletts—” + +“But not before the child.” + +“You’re a prude, Sophia, and if Henrietta imagines that a man like +Francis Sales, any man worth his salt—besides, Henrietta has knocked +about the world. She is no more innocent than she looks.” + +“She doesn’t mean half she says,” Sophia whispered. + +“And neither is Francis Sales,” Caroline persisted. “Ridiculous! Dark +roads, indeed! I don’t think I care for your wandering about at night, +Henrietta.” + +“I won’t do it again,” Henrietta said meekly. + +“Sophia and I—” Caroline began one of her reminiscences, to which +neither Sophia nor Henrietta listened. To the one, they were familiar +in their exaggeration, and the other had her own thoughts, which were +bewilderingly confused. + +She had meant to stand between Francis Sales and Aunt Rose; later she +had wished to help them, now she did not know whether she wanted to +help or hinder. The thing was too much for her, but she wondered if +Aunt Rose had ever experienced such a kiss. Meeting her a few minutes +later on the stairs, with her slim hand on the polished rail, a +beautiful satin-shod foot gleaming below the lace of her dress, she +seemed a being too ethereal for a salute so earthly, and because she +looked so lovely, because Christabel had been unjust, Henrietta forgot +to feel unfriendly. + +Rose said unexpectedly, “Oh, Henrietta, I am glad you have come back. +You seem to have been away for a long time.” + +“I went to the Battys’ to tea and then to Sales Hall. I promised Mrs. +Sales. Do you mind?” + +“Of course not; but I missed you.” + +“Oh! Oh! I never thought of that.” + +“I always miss you,” Rose said gravely. “You have made a great +difference to us all.” + +Henrietta’s mouth opened with astonishment. “I had no idea. And I do +nothing but enjoy myself.” + +Rose laughed. “That’s what we want you to do. You must be as happy as +you can.” + +This, from Aunt Rose, was the most wonderful thing that had happened +yet. Henrietta was overcome by astonishment and gratitude. “I had no +idea. I never dreamt of your liking me. I thought you just put up with +me.” + +“You haven’t given me much chance,” Rose said in a low voice, “of doing +anything else.” + +It was true: Henrietta could not flourish when she thought herself +unappreciated, but now she expanded like a flower blossoming in a +night. + +“Oh, if we could be friends! There’s nobody to talk to except Charles +Batty, and I hated, I simply hated being at Sales Hall to-night.” She +tightened her lips and opened them to say, “I shan’t go there again. I +said so. She is a terrible woman.” + +“She has a great deal to bear.” + +“Yes, and she counts on your remembering that,” Henrietta said acutely. + +“What was the matter to-night?” + +“Hints,” Henrietta whispered. “Hints,” and she added nervously, “about +you.” + +Rose made a slight movement. “Don’t tell me.” + +“And the cat. I ran away. She was crying, but I didn’t care. I ran all +down the avenue on to the road. Mr. Sales had said he would take me +home, but I didn’t wait. It was much better under the sky. Then I heard +footsteps, and it was Mr. Sales running after me.” She paused. Two +stairs above her, Aunt Rose stood, listening with attention. She was, +as usual, all black and white; her neck, rising from the black lace, +looked like a bowl of cream laid out of doors to cool in the night. + +“He kissed me,” Henrietta said abruptly. + +Rose did not move, and before she spoke Henrietta had time to wonder +what had prompted her to that confession. She had not thought about it, +the words had simply issued of themselves. + +“Kissed you?” + +“Yes,” Henrietta said, and suddenly she wanted to make it easier for +Aunt Rose. “I think he was sorry for me. I told him I was unhappy, but +I couldn’t tell him why, I couldn’t say it was his wife. I think he +meant it kindly.” + +“I am sure he did,” Rose said with admirable self-possession. “You look +very young in that big hat, you are very young, and perhaps he guessed +what you had been through. Don’t think about it any more.” + +“No.” Henrietta seemed to have no control over her tongue. “But then, +you see, I hit him.” + +Rose managed a laugh. “Oh, Henrietta, how primitive!” + +“Yes,” Henrietta agreed, but she knew she had betrayed Francis Sales. +She knew and Rose knew that she would not have struck him if the kiss +had been paternal. “I suppose it was vulgar,” she murmured sadly, yet +not without some skill. + +Rose descended the two stairs without a word and went to the bottom of +the flight, but there she paused, saying, “Take off your things and let +us have some music.” + +Henrietta was learning to sing, and in defiance of Charles Batty’s +prophecy, she neither squeaked nor gurgled. She piped with a pretty +simplicity and with an enjoyment which made her forget herself. Yet she +looked charming, standing in the candle-light beside the shining grand +piano on which Aunt Rose accompanied her, and to-night she felt they +were united in more than the music: they were friends, they were +fellow-sufferers, and long after Henrietta had tired of singing, Rose +went on playing, mournfully, as it seemed to Henrietta, consoling +herself with sweet sounds. Sophia sat before her embroidery frame, +slowly pushing her needle in and out; Caroline read a novel with +avidity and an occasional pause for chuckles, and when Rose at length +dropped her hands on her knees and remained motionless, staring at the +keys, Henrietta startled her aunts by saying firmly, “I am just going +to enjoy life.” + +Rose raised her head and her enigmatic smile widened a little. Caroline +exclaimed, “Good gracious! Why not?” Sophia said gently, “That is what +we wish.” + +Henrietta stiffened herself for questions which did not come. Nobody +expressed a desire to know what had caused this solemn declaration: +Caroline went on reading, Sophia embroidering; Rose retired to bed. + +Henrietta was not daunted by this indifference. She persisted in her +determination; she cast off all thoughts of ministering like an angel, +or revenging like a demon; she enjoyed the gaieties with which the +youth of Radstowe amused itself during the summer months; she +accompanied her aunts to garden parties, ate ices, had her fortune told +in tents, flirted mildly and endured Charles Batty’s peculiar +half-apprehensive tyranny. + +Nothing went amiss with Charles but what he seemed to blame her for it, +and while she resented this strange form of attention, she had a +compensating conviction that he was really paying tribute and she knew +that the absence of his complaints would have left a blank. Fixing her +with his pale eyes, he described the bitterness of life in his father’s +office, his mismanagement of clients, his father’s sneers, his mother’s +sighs; his sufferings in not being allowed to go to Germany and study +music. + +“If I were a man,” Henrietta said, voicing a pathetic faith in +masculine ability to break bonds, “I would do what I liked. I’d go to +Germany and starve and be happy. A man can do and get anything he +really wants.” + +“Ah, I shall remember that,” he said. “But I can’t go to Germany now,” +he added darkly, and when she asked him for a reason, he groaned. “Even +you—even you don’t understand me.” + +In this respect she understood him perfectly well, but she did not wish +to clear the mysterious gloom, not devoid of excitement, in which they +moved together; and they parted for the summer holidays, miserably on +his part, cheerfully on hers. She was going to Scotland with Aunt Rose +and the prospect was so delightful that she did not trouble to inquire +about his movements. + +She was surprised and almost disappointed that he did not reproach her +for this thoughtlessness when, on her return, she went to call on Mrs. +Batty and hear about her annual holiday at Bournemouth. Mrs. Batty had +suffered very much from the heat, Mr. Batty had suffered from +dyspepsia, and they were glad to be at home again, though it was to +find that John, without a hint to his parents, had engaged himself to a +girl with tastes like his own. + +“But it’s bull-dogs with her, instead of terriers,” Mrs. Batty sighed. +“She brings them here and they slobber on the carpets—dirty things. And +golf. But she’s a nice girl, and they go out before breakfast with the +dogs and have a game—but I did hope he would look elsewhere, dear.” She +gazed sentimentally at Henrietta. “I don’t feel she will ever be a +daughter to me. Of course, I kissed her and all that when I heard the +news, but now she just comes in and says, ‘Hullo, Mrs. Batty! Where’s +John?’ And that’s all. I do like affection. She’ll kiss the bull-dogs, +though,” Mrs. Batty added grimly; “but whether she ever kisses John, I +can’t say. And as for Charles, he never looks at a girl, so I’m as +badly off as ever. Worse, for Charles, really Charles hasn’t a word to +throw at me. He comes down to breakfast and you’d think the bacon had +upset him, and it’s the best I can get. And his father sits reading the +paper and lifting his eyebrows over the edge at Charles. He’s very +cool, Mr. Batty is. Half the time, John comes in late for breakfast, +after his game, you know, and then he’s in too much of a hurry to talk. +They might all be dumb. With Charles it’s all that piano business. I +tell him I wish he’d go to Germany and be done with it, though I never +think musicians are respectable, with all that hair. Anyhow, Charles is +getting bald, and he says he’s too old to start afresh. And then he +glares at his father. It’s all very unpleasant. Still, he’s a good boy +really. They’re both good boys. I’ve a lot to be thankful for; and, my +dear,”—her voice sank, and she laid a plump hand on Henrietta’s—“Mr. +Batty says we may give a ball after Christmas. Everybody in Radstowe. +We shall take the Assembly Rooms. The date isn’t fixed, and now and +then, if he isn’t feeling well, Mr. Batty says he can’t afford it. But +that’s nonsense, we shall have it; but don’t say a word. I’ve told +nobody else, but somehow, Henrietta, I always want to tell you +everything, as if you were my daughter.” Mrs. Batty sighed heavily. “If +only Charles were different!” + +However, Charles surprised his mother that evening by walking to the +gate with Henrietta. Arrived there, he announced firmly that he would +take her home. + +“I’m going for a walk,” Henrietta said. + +“Oh, a walk. Well, all right. Where shall we go? I know, I will take +you where you’ve never been before.” + +It was October and already the lamps were lighted in the streets; they +studded the bridge like fairy lanterns for a fairy path to that world +of woods and stealthy lanes and open country where the wind rustled the +gorse bushes on the other side. Below, at the water’s edge, more lamps +stood like sentinels, here and there, straight and lonely, fulfilling +their task, and as Charles and Henrietta watched, the terraces of +Radstowe became illuminated by an unseen hand. Over everything there +was a suggestion of enchantment: lovers, strolling by, were romantic in +their silence; a faint hoot from some steamer was like a laugh. + +“It will be dark over there, won’t it?” Henrietta asked. + +“Frightfully. We’ll cut across the fields.” + +“Not to Sales Hall?” + +“Sales Hall? What for? To see that miserable fellow? We’re not going +near Sales Hall.” + +She breathed a word. + +“What did you say?” he asked. + +“Cows,” she breathed again. + +“Perhaps.” + +“But in the winter,” she said hopefully, “I should think they shut them +up at night, poor things.” + +“Not cold enough yet for that.” + +“I’m afraid of them, you know.” + +“Domestic animals,” he said calmly. + +“Horns,” she whispered. + +They said no more. Their path edged those woods which in their turn +edged the gorge; but here and there the trees spread themselves more +freely and, through the darkness, Henrietta had glimpses of furtive +little paths, of dips and hollows. A small pool, thick with early +fallen leaves, had hardly a foot of gleaming surface with which to gaze +like an unwinking eye at the emerging stars. But this skirting of the +wood came to an end and there stretched before their feet, which made +the only sound in the quiet night, a broad white road where the arched +gateway of a distant house looked like the fragment of a temple. + +“I like this,” Henrietta said; “I feel safe.” + +“Not for long,” Charles replied sternly. He opened a gate and through a +little coppice they reached a fence. “You’ll have to climb it.” The +broad fields on the other side were as dark as water and as still. It +was surprising, when she jumped down, to find she did not sink, to find +that she and Charles could walk steadily on this blackness, cut here +and there by the deeper blackness of a hedge. There were no cows, but +sheep stumbled up and bleated at their approach, and for some time the +tinkling of the bell-wether’s bell accompanied them like music. + +“There’s a stile here,” Charles said, and from this they plunged into +another wood where birds fluttered and twittered and, in the +undergrowth, there were small stealthy sounds. + +“I wouldn’t come here alone,” Henrietta said, “for all the world.” + +Charles said nothing. Mrs. Batty was right: it was like walking with a +dumb man. They left the wood and walked downhill beside a ploughed +field, and in the shelter of a high wall. An open lane brought them to +a gate, the gate opened on a rough road through yet another wood of +larch and spruce and fir. The road was deeply rutted and they walked in +single file until Charles turned, saying, “This is what I’ve brought +you to see. This is ‘The Monks’ Pool.’” + +A large pond, almost round and strewn with dead leaves about its edge, +lay sombrely on their right hand, without a movement, without a gleam. +It was like a pall covering something secret, something which must +never be revealed, and opposite, where the ground rose steeply, tall +firs stood up, guardians of the unknown. Faint quackings came from some +unseen ducks among the willows and water gurgled at the invisible +outlet of the pond; there were little stirrings and sighings among the +trees. The protruding roots of an oak offered a seat to Henrietta, and +behind her Charles leaned against the trunk. + +It was comfortable to have him there, to be able to look at this dark +beauty without fear, and as she sat there she heard an ever-increasing +number of little sounds; they were caused by she knew not what: small +creatures moving among the pine needles, night birds on the watch for +prey, water rats, the flop of fish, the fall of some leaf over-ripe on +the tree, her own slow breathing, the muffled ticking of her heart; and +into this orchestra of tiny instruments there came slowly, and as if it +grew out of all these, another sound. + +It was the voice of Charles, and it was so much a part of this rare +experience, it seemed so right a complement, that at first she did not +listen to the sense of what he said. The words had no clearer meaning +than had the other voices of the night; the whole thing was wonderful +—the tall, immobile trees, the small, secret sounds, the black lake +like an immense, mysterious pall, the steady booming of the voice, had +the effect of magic. + +This was essential beauty revealed to her ears and eyes, but gradually +the words formed themselves into sentences and were carried to her +brain. She understood that Charles was talking of himself, of her, with +an eloquence born of long-considered thoughts. He was telling her how +she appeared to him as a being of light and sweetness and necessity; he +was telling her how he loved her; he was asking for nothing, but he was +saying amazing things in language worthy of his thoughts of her. + +That muffled ticking of her heart went on like distant drum beats, the +symphony of tiny instruments did not pause, the dominant sound of +Charles’s voice continued, and now, as she listened, she heard nothing +but his voice. He was not pathetic, he did not plead, he did not claim: +he spoke of very old and lasting things, and it was like hearing some +one read a tale. She did not stir. She forgot that this was Charles; it +was a simple heart become articulate. And then suddenly the voice +stopped and the orchestra, as though in relief, in triumph, seemed to +play more loudly. A water rat dived again, a duck quacked sleepily and +a branch of a tree creaked mournfully under a lost puff of wind. + +Henrietta turned her head and saw Charles Batty standing motionless +against the tree. His hat was tilted a little to one side and his eyes +were staring straight before him. Even the darkness was not entirely +kind to him, but that did not matter. She wondered if he knew what he +had been saying; she could not remember it all, but it would come back. +As they went home over the dark fields, she would remember it. It +seemed to have everything and yet nothing to do with her; it was like +poetry that, without embarrassment, profoundly moves the hearer, and +his very voice had developed the dignity of his theme. + +He did not speak again. In complete silence they retraced their steps +and at the gate of Nelson Lodge he left her. In the little high-walled +garden she stood still. This had been a wonderful experience. She felt +uplifted, better than herself, yet she could not resist speculating on +her probable feelings if another than Charles Batty, if, for instance, +Francis Sales, had poured that rhapsody into the night. + + + + +Book III: Rose and Henrietta + + +§ 1 + +Early one October afternoon, Rose Mallett rode to Sales Hall. She went +through a world of brown and gold and blue, but she was hardly +conscious of beauty, and the air, which was soft, yet keen, and +exciting to her horse, had no inspiriting effect on her. She felt old, +incased in a sort of mental weariness which was like armour against +emotion. She knew that the spirit of the country, at once gentle and +wild, furtive and bold, was trying to reach her in every scent and +sound: in the smell of earth, of fruit, of burning wood; in the noise +of her horse’s feet as he cantered on the grassy side of the road, in +the fall of a leaf, the call of a bird or a human voice become +significant in distance; but she remained unmoved. + +This was, she thought, like being dead yet conscious of all that +happened, but the dead have the excuse of death and she had none; she +was merely tired of her mode of life. It seemed to her that in her +thirty-one years the sum of her achievement was looking beautiful and +being loved by Francis Sales: she put it in that way, but immediately +corrected herself unwillingly. Her attitude towards him had not been +passive; she had loved him. She had owed him love and she had paid her +debt; she had paid enough, yet if to-day he asked for more, she would +give it. Her pride hoped for that demand; her weariness shrank from it. + +And he had kissed Henrietta. The sharpness of that thought, on which +from the first moment on the stairs she had refused to dwell, steeling +her mind against it with a determination which perhaps accounted for +her fatigue, was like a physical pain running through her whole body, +so that the horse, feeling an unaccustomed jerk on his mouth, became +alarmed and restive. She steadied him and herself. A kiss was nothing +—yet she had always denied it to Francis Sales. She could not blame +him, for she saw how her own fastidiousness had endangered his. He +needed material evidence of love. She ought, she supposed, to have +sacrificed her scruples for his sake; mentally she had already done it, +and the physical refusal was perhaps no more than pride which salved +her conscience and might ruin his, but it existed firmly like a +fortress. She could not surrender it. Her love was not great enough for +that; or was it, she asked herself, too great? She could not comfort +herself with that illusion, and there came creeping the thought that +for some one else, some one too strong to need such a capitulation, she +would have given it gladly, but against Francis, who was intrinsically +weak, she had held out. + +Life seemed to mock at her; it offered the wrong opportunities, it +strewed her path with chances of which no human being could judge the +value until the choice had been made; it was like walking over ground +pitted with hidden holes, it needed luck as well as skill to avoid a +fall. But, like other people, she had to pursue her road: the thing was +to hide her bruises, even from herself, and shake off the dust. + +She had by this time reached the track which was connected with so much +of her life, and she drew rein in astonishment. They were felling the +trees. Already a space had been cleared and men and horses were busy +removing the fallen trunks; piles of branches, still bravely green, lay +here and there, and the pine needles of the past were now overlaid by +chippings from the parent trees. What had been a still place of +shadows, of muffled sounds, of solemn aisles, the scene of a secret +life not revealed to men, was now half devastated, trampled, and loud +with human noises. It had its own beauty of colour and activity, there +was even a new splendour in the unencumbered ground, but Rose had a +sense of loss and sacrilege. Something had gone. It struck her that +here she was reminded of herself. Something had gone. The larch trees +which had flamed in green for her each spring were dead and she had +this strange dead feeling in her heart. + +She saw the figure of Francis Sales detach itself from a little group +and advance towards her. She knew what he would say. He would tell her, +in that sulky way of his, how many weeks had passed since he had seen +her and, to avoid hearing that remark, she at once waved a hand towards +the clearing and said, “Why have you done this?” + +He shrugged his shoulders. “To get money.” + +“But they were my trees.” + +“You never wrote,” he muttered. + +She made a gesture, quickly controlled. Long ago when, in the first +exultation of their love and their sense of richness, they had marked +out the limits of their intercourse, so that they might keep some sort +of faith with Christabel and preserve what was precious to themselves, +it had been decided that they were not to meet by appointment, they +were not to speak of love, no letters were to be exchanged, and though +time had bent the first and second rules, the last had been kept with +rigour. It was understood, but periodically she had to submit to +Francis Sales’s complaint, “You never wrote.” + +“So you cut down the trees,” she said half playfully. + +“Why didn’t you write?” + +“Oh, Francis, you know quite well.” + +He was looking at the ground; he had not once looked at her since her +greeting. “You go off on a holiday, enjoying yourself, while I—who did +you go with?” + +“With Henrietta,” Rose said softly. + +“Oh, that girl.” + +“Yes, that girl. But here I am. I have come back.” She seemed to invite +him to be glad. “And,” she went on calmly, feeling that it did not +matter what she said, “what a queer world to come back to. I miss the +trees. They stood for my childhood and my youth; yes, they stood for +it, so straight—I must go on. Christabel is expecting me.” + +“She didn’t tell me.” + +“No?” Rose questioned without surprise. “I suppose I shall see you at +tea?” she said. + +He nodded and she touched her horse. Something had happened to him as +well as to her and a mass of pain lodged itself in her breast. He was +different, and as though he had suspected the weary quality of her love +he had met her with the same kind, or perhaps with none at all. A +little while ago she was half longing for release from this endless +necessity of controlling herself and him; from the shifts, the refusals +and the reproaches which had gradually become the chief part of their +intercourse; and now he had dared to seem indifferent, though he had +not forgotten to reproach! She could almost feel the healthy pallor of +her face change to a sickly white; her anger chilled and then stiffened +her into a rigidity of body and mind and when she dismounted she slid +down heavily, like a figure made of wood. + +The man who took her horse looked at her curiously. Miss Mallett always +had a pleasant word for him and, conscious of his stare, she forced a +smile. She had not ridden for weeks, she told him; she was tired. He +was amused at that. She had been born in the saddle; he remembered her +as a little girl on a Shetland pony and he did not believe she could +ever tire. “Must be something wrong somewhere,” he said, examining +girth and pommels. + +“It’s old age coming on,” Rose said gravely. + +He thought that a great joke. He was twice her age already and +considered himself in his prime. He led the horse away and Rose went +into the house. + +How extraordinarily limited her life had been! It had passed almost +entirely in this house and Nelson Lodge and on the road between the +two. Of all her experiences the only ones that mattered had been +suffered here, and they had all been of one kind. Even Henrietta’s +fewer years had been more varied. She had known poverty and been +compelled to the practical application of her wits, she had baffled Mr. +Jenkins, she had been kissed by Francis Sales. + +Rose stood for a moment in the hall and looked for the mirror which was +not there. She did not wish to give Christabel Sales the satisfaction +of seeing her look distraught, but a peep in the glass of one of the +sporting prints reassured her. Her appearance almost made her doubt the +reality of the feelings which consisted of a great heat in the head and +a deadly cold weight near her heart and which forced these triumphant +words from her lips—“At least Henrietta has never felt like this.” + +She entered Christabel’s room calmly, smiling and prepared for news, +but at the first sight of the invalid, lying very low in her bed and +barely turning her head at the sound of the opening door, she thought +that perhaps Christabel’s weakness had at last overcome her enmity. + +“I’m very ill,” she said faintly. + +“I’m sorry.” + +“Oh, don’t say that. You may as well tell the truth—to me.” + +“Then I must say again that I am sorry.” + +“I wonder why.” + +To that Rose made no answer, and before Christabel spoke again she had +time to notice that the cat had gone. She breathed more easily. The cat +had gone, the trees were going and Francis was going too. Suddenly she +felt she did not care. The idea of an empty world was pleasant, but if +Francis were really going, the cat might as well have stayed. + +“Tell me what you did in Scotland,” Christabel said. + +“I showed Henrietta all the sights.” + +“Oh, Henrietta—she’s a horrid girl. She has stopped coming to see me.” + +“You made yourself so unpleasant.” + +“Did she tell you that? Do you think she told Francis?” + +“I know she didn’t.” + +“But I can’t make out why she should tell you.” + +“Henrietta and I are great friends.” + +“How did you manage that?” + +“I don’t know,” Rose said slowly. “What has happened to the cat?” + +“It’s gone. It went out and never came back.” + +“How queer.” + +“Some one must have killed it.” + +“I don’t think so,” Rose said thoughtfully. “I think it decided to go. +I’m sure it did.” + +“What do you mean? What do you mean?” Christabel cried. “Had you +something to do with that, too?” + +“Not that I know of.” Rose laughed. She was tired of considering every +word before she uttered it. + +“With that too!” Christabel repeated a little wildly, and then in a +firm voice she said, “You’ve got to tell me.” + +“But I don’t know. You must make all inquiries of the cat. It was a +wise animal. It knew the time had come.” + +“I think you’re mad,” Christabel said. + +“Animals are very strange,” Rose went on easily, “and rats leave +sinking ships.” + +A cry of terror came from Christabel. “You mean I’m going to die!” + +“No, no!” Rose became sane and reassuring. “I never thought of that. It +might have known it was going to die itself and an animal likes to die +decently alone. It had been getting unhealthily fat.” + +Christabel kept an exhausted silence, and Rose regretting her cruelty, +aware of its futility, said gently, “Shall I get you a kitten?” + +“No, no kitten. They jump about. The old cat was so quiet. And I miss +him.” A tear rolled down either cheek. “It has been so lonely. +Everybody was away.” + +“Well, we’ve all come back now,” Rose said. + +“Yes, but that Henrietta—she’s deserted me.” + +“It was your own fault, Christabel. You horrified her.” + +“It should have been you who did that.” + +“Things don’t always have the effect we hope for. You said too much.” + +“Ah, but not half what I could have said.” + +“Too much for Henrietta, anyhow. I don’t think she will come again.” + +Christabel smiled oddly and Rose knew that now she was to hear some +news. “You can tell her,” Christabel said, “that I shan’t say anything +to upset her. I shall say nothing about you—as she loves you so much. +Does she love you? I dare say. You make people love you—for a little +while.” Her voice lingered on those words. “Yes, for a little while, +but you don’t keep love, Rose Mallett. No, you don’t. I’m sorry for you +now. Tell Henrietta she needn’t be afraid, because I’m sorry for you. +Yes, you and I are in the same boat, in the same deserted boat. + +If there were any rats they would run away. You said so yourself.” + +“I said the cat had gone.” + +“Then you knew?” + +Rose shook her head. It was her turn to smile. She was prepared for +anything Christabel might say, she was even anxious to hear it, but +when Christabel spoke in a mysteriously gleeful manner, she had +difficulty in repressing a shudder. It was not, she told herself, that +she suffered from the knowledge now imparted by Christabel with detail +and with proofs, but her malice, her salacious curiosity were more than +Rose could bear. She felt that the whole affair, which at first, so +long ago, had possessed a noble sadness, a secret beauty, the quality +of a precious substance enclosed in a common vial, was indecent and +unclean. + +“So you see,” Christabel said, “you haven’t kept him; you won’t keep +Henrietta.” + +Rose said nothing. She was thinking of what she might have done and she +was glad she had not done it. + +“You don’t seem to mind,” Christabel said. “Why don’t you ask me why +I’m so sure?” She laughed. “I ought to know how to find things out by +this time, and I know Francis, yes, better than you do. When I had my +accident—it wasn’t worth it, was it?—I said to myself, “Now he won’t be +faithful to me.” When I knew I should have to lie here, I told myself +that. And now you—” Her voice almost failed her. “I suppose you haven’t +been kind enough to him.” + +“I think it’s time I went,” Rose said. + +“And you’ll never come back?” + +“Yes, if you want me.” + +“I can say what I like to you.” + +“You can, indeed,” Rose murmured. + +“And tell Henrietta to come too.” + +“No, I can’t ask Henrietta.” + +“I promise to be like a maiden aunt. Ah, but she has three already— she +knows what they are. That won’t attract her. I’ll be like an invalid in +a Sunday School story-book.” + +“I’ll tell her of your promise,” Rose said. + +There remained the task of having tea with Francis Sales and breaking +the bonds of which he had tired. She made it easy for him. That was +necessary for her dignity, but beyond the desire for as much seemliness +as could be saved from the general ugliness of their mistake, she had +no feeling; yet she thought it would be good to be in the open air, on +horseback, free. If there had been anything still owing, she had paid +her debt with generosity. She gave him the chance he wanted but did not +know how to take, and she had to allow him to appear aggrieved. She was +cruel: she was tired of him; she was, he sneered, too good for him. The +words went on for some time, and if some of them were new, their manner +was wearisomely familiar. She was amazed at her own endurance, now and +in the past, and at last she said, “No, no, Francis. Say no more. This +is too much fuss. Perhaps we have both changed.” + +“It was you who began it.” + +“Was it? How can one tell?” + +“You began it,” he persisted. “There was a time when you went white, +like paper, when we met, and your eyes went black. Now I might be a +sheep in a field.” + +She was standing up, ready to go. “One gets used to things,” she said. + +“I have never been used to you,” he muttered, and she knew that, +telling this truth, he also explained a good deal. “I never should be. +You’re like nobody else—nobody.” + +“But it is too much strain,” she murmured slowly. + +“Yes—well, it is you who have said it. I had made up my mind—I’m not +ungrateful—I never intended to say a word.” + +She smiled. This was the first remark which had really touched her. She +found it so offensive that a smile was the only weapon with which to +meet it. “I know that.” + +“But mind,” he almost shouted, “there’s nobody like you.” + +“Yes, yes, I know that too.” She turned to him with a silencing +sternness. “I tell you I know everything.” + + +§ 2 + +The old groom who held her horse nodded with satisfaction when he +helped her into the saddle. She had not lost her spring and he +tightened her girths in a leisurely manner and arranged her skirt with +the care due to a fine rider and a lady who understood a horse, yet one +who was always ready to ask an old man’s advice. He had a great +admiration for Miss Mallett and, conscious of it and rather +pathetically glad of it, she lingered for the pleasure of talking to +some one who seemed simple and untroubled. He had spent all his life on +the Sales estate, and she wondered whether, though, like herself, of a +limited outward experience, he also had known the passions of love and +disgust and shame. He was sixty-five, he told her, but as strong as +ever, and she envied him: to be sixty-five with the turmoil of life +behind him, yet to be strong enough to enjoy the peace before him, was +a good finale to existence. She was only thirty-one, but she was strong +too, and she felt as though she had come through a storm, battered and +exhausted but whole and ready for the calm which already hovered over +her. She said, “The young are always sorry for the old, but that is one +of the many mistakes they make. I think it must be the best time of +all.” + +“If you have them that cares for you,” he answered. + +That was where her own happiness would break down. + +There were her stepsisters, who would probably die before herself; +there was Henrietta, who would form ties of her own; and there was no +one else. If she had had less faith in Francis Sales’s love and, at the +same time, had been capable of pandering to it, she might have had his +devotion for her old age, the devotion of a somewhat querulous and dull +old man. Now she had not even that to hope for, and she was glad. She +had always wanted the best of everything, and always, except in the one +fatal instance, refused what fell below her standard. She had not +realized until now that Francis Sales had always been below it. She had +at least tried to wrap their love in beauty, but that sort of beauty +was not enough for him. It was her scruples, he said, which had been +his undoing, and there was truth in that, but she had to remember that +when originally she had disappointed him, he had found comfort quickly +in Christabel; when Christabel failed him he had returned to her; and +now he had found consolation, if only of a temporary kind, in some one +else. When would he seek yet another victim of his affection and his +griefs? He was, she thought scornfully, a man who needed women, yet she +knew that if he had pleaded with her to-day, saying that in spite of +everything he needed her, she would have listened. + +She admitted her responsibility, it would always be present to her, for +she had that kind of conscientiousness, and having once helped him, she +must always hold herself ready to do it again. The chain binding them +was not altogether broken, but she no longer felt its weight. She had a +lightness of spirit unknown for years; the anger, the jealous rage and +the disgust had vanished with a completeness which made her doubt their +short existence, and she began to make plans for a new life. There was +no reason now why she should not wander all over the world, yet, on the +very doorstep of Nelson Lodge, she found a reason in the person of +Henrietta—flushed and gay and just returned from a tea party. She had +enjoyed herself immensely, but her head ached a little. It had been all +she could do to understand the brilliant conversation. There had been +present a budding poet and a woman painter and she had never heard +people talk like that before. + +“I didn’t speak at all, except to Charles,” she said. + +“Oh, Charles was there?” + +“Yes. I thought it safer not to talk but I looked as bright as I could, +and of course I asked for cakes and things. They all ate a lot. I was +glad of that. But most of them still looked hungry at the end. And +Charles has taken tickets for me for the concerts, next to him, in a +special corner where you can sometimes hear the music through the +whispering of the audience. That’s what he says!” + +“But, Henrietta, I have taken tickets for you too.” + +“Thank you, but perhaps they will take them back.” + +“Henrietta, you really can’t sit in a corner with Charles when I’m in +another part of the hall.” + +“Can’t I? Well, Charles will be very angry, but he’ll have to put up +with it. If you explained to him, Aunt Rose, he’d understand. And I’d +really rather sit with you. I shall be able to look at people and if I +crackle my programme you won’t glare. Of course, I shall try not to. +Will you explain to him? And I did promise to go to a concert with him +some day.” + +“Then you must. I’ll tell him that, too. Are you afraid of him, +Henrietta?” + +“He shouts,” Henrietta said, “and I’m sorry for him. And I do like him +very much. I feel inclined to do things just to please him.” + +“Don’t let that carry you too far.” + +“That’s what I’m afraid of. Not him, exactly, but me.” + +“I didn’t suspect you of such tenderness. I shall have to look after +you.” + +“I wish you would.” + +“And if you are feeling very kind some day, perhaps you will go and see +Christabel Sales. She has promised to behave herself.” + +Henrietta’s expression tightened. “I don’t want to go. It’s a dreadful +place.” + +“I know,” Rose said, and she added encouragingly, “but the cat has +gone.” + +They were standing together in the hall and against the white panelled +walls, the figure of Rose, in the austere riding habit, one gauntletted +hand holding her crop, the other resting lightly on her hip, had an +heroic aspect, like a statue in dark marble; but her eyes did not offer +the blank gaze, the calm effrontery of stone: they looked at Henrietta +with something like appeal against this obsession of the cat. + +“Oh, I’m glad the cat’s gone,” Henrietta murmured. “What happened to +it?” + +Rose shook her head. “It disappeared.” + +They stared at each other until Henrietta said, “But all the same, I +don’t want to go.” And then, because Rose would not help her out, she +was obliged to say, “It’s Mr. Sales.” Her voice dropped. “I haven’t +seen him since I hit him.” + +Rose turned to go upstairs. “I shouldn’t think too much of that.” + +“You don’t think it matters?” + +“No.” + +Henrietta looked after her and followed her for a step. “You think I +may go?” Her voice was dull under her effort to control it. She felt +that the stately figure moving up the stairs was deliberately leaving +her to face a danger, sanctioning her desire to meet it. She felt her +fate was in the answer made by Rose. + +“I think you can take care of yourself perfectly well, Henrietta,” and +like a sigh, another sentence floated from the landing where Rose +stood, out of sight: “You are not like me.” + +This was a mysterious and astonishing remark. Henrietta did not +understand it and in her excited realization that the door so carefully +locked by her own hand had been opened. Aunt Rose, she did not try to +understand it. Aunt Rose had said she was able to take care of herself, +and it was true, but honesty and a weak clinging to safety urged her to +answer, “But you see, you see I don’t want to do it!” + +These words were not uttered. She stood, looking up towards the empty +landing with a hand pressed against her heart. It was beating fast. The +spirit of Reginald Mallett, subdued in his daughter for some months, +seemed to be fluttering in her breast and it was Aunt Rose who had +waked it up. It was not Henrietta’s fault, she was not responsible; and +suddenly, the ordinary happiness she had been enjoying was transferred +into an irrational joy. She went singing up the stairs, and Rose, +sitting in her room in a state of limpness she would never have allowed +anybody to see, heard a sound as innocent as if a bird had waked to a +sunny dawn. + +Henrietta sang, but now and then she paused and became grave when the +spirit of that mother who lived in her memory more and more dimly, as +though she had died when Henrietta was a child, overcame the spirit of +her father. Her mission was to be one of kindness to Christabel Sales, +and if—the song burst out again—if adventure came in her way, could she +refuse it? She would refuse nothing—the song ceased—short of sin. She +looked at herself and saw a solemn feminine edition of the portrait +hanging behind her on the wall. She was like her father, but she took +pride in her greater conscientiousness; her vocabulary was larger than +his by at least one word. + +A few days later she set out on that road and past those trees which +had been the safe witnesses of so much of Rose Mallett’s life, but +their safeness lay in their constant muteness, and they had no message +for Henrietta. Walking quickly, she rehearsed her coming meeting with +Francis Sales, but when she actually met him on the green track, on the +very spot where Rose had pulled up her horse in amazement at the scene +of transformation, Henrietta, like Rose, had no formal greeting for +him. + +She said, “The trees! What are you doing with them?” + +“Turning them into gold.” + +“But they were beautiful.” + +“So are lots of things they will buy.” She moved a little under his +look, but when he said, “I’m hard up,” she became interested. + +“Really? I thought you were frightfully rich. You ought to be with all +these belongings.” She looked round at the fields dotted with sheep and +cattle, the distant chimneys of Sales Hall, the fallen trees and the +team of horses dragging logs under the guidance of workmen in their +shirt sleeves. “I know all about being poor,” she said, “but I don’t +suppose we mean the same thing by the word. I’ve been so poor—” She +stopped. “But there’s a lot of excitement about it. I used to hope I +should find a shilling in my purse that I’d forgotten. A shilling! You +can do a lot with a shilling. At least I can.” + +“I wish you’d tell me how.” + +“Pretend you haven’t got it. That’s the beginning. You haven’t got it, +so you can’t have what you want.” + +“I never have what I want.” + +“Then you mustn’t want anything.” + +“Oh, yes, that’s so easy.” + +“Well”—she descended to details with an air of kindness—“what do you +want? Let’s work it out. We’d better sit on the wall. After all, it’s +rather lovely without the trees. It’s so clear and the air’s so blue, +as if it’s trying to make up. Now tell me what you want.” + +“Something money can’t buy.” + +“Then you needn’t have cut down the trees.” + +“I shouldn’t have if I’d thought you’d care.” + +She said softly but sharply, “I don’t believe that for a moment. Why +don’t you tell the truth?” + +“Do you want to hear it?” + +“I’m not sure.” + +“Then I’ll wait while you make up your mind.” + +Sitting on the wall, his feet rested easily on the ground while hers +swung free, and while he seemed to loll in complete indifference, she +was conscious of a tenseness she could not prevent. She hated her +enjoyment of his manner, which was impudent, but it had the spice of +danger that she liked and it was in defiance of the one and +encouragement of the other that she said, “I’m sure you would never +talk to Aunt Rose like that.” + +“I should never give your Aunt Rose my confidence,” he said severely. + +It was impossible not to feel a warmth of satisfaction, and she asked +shortly, “Why not?” “She wouldn’t understand. You’re human. I’m +devilish lonely. Well, you know my circumstances.” A shadow which +seemed to affect the brightness of the autumn day, even deadening the +clear shouting of the men and the jingling of the chains attached to +the horses, passed over Francis Sales’s face. “One wants a friend.” + +A cry of genuine bewilderment came from Henrietta. “But I thought you +were so fond of Aunt Rose!” + +From sulky contemplation of his brown boots and leggings, he looked at +her. His eyes, of a light yet dense blue, were widely opened. “What +makes you think that? Did she tell you?” + +Henrietta’s lip curled derisively. “No, it was you, when you looked at +her. And now you have told me again.” She had a moment of thoughtful +contempt for the blundering of men. There was Charles, who always +seemed to wander in a mist, and now this Francis Sales, who revealed +what he wished to hide. He was mentally inferior to Mr. Jenkins, who +had a quickness of wit, a vulgar sharpness of tongue which kept the +mind on the alert; but physically she had shrunk from Mr. Jenkins’s +proximity, while that of Francis Sales, in his well-cut tweeds and his +shining boots, who seemed as clean as the air surrounding him, had an +attraction actually enhanced by his heaviness of spirit. He was like a +child possessed, consciously or unconsciously, of a weapon, and her +sense of her own superiority was corrected by fear of his strength and +of the subtle weakness in her own blood. + +She heard a murmur. “She has treated me very badly. I’ve known her all +my life. Well—” + +Henrietta, with a gentleness he appreciated and a cleverness he missed, +said commiseratingly, “She wouldn’t let you take her hand in the wood.” + +“What on earth are you talking about? Look here, Henrietta, what do you +mean?” There had been so many occasions of the kind that it was +impossible to know to which one she referred, and, looking back, his +past seemed to be blocked with frustrations and petty torments. “What +do you mean?” he repeated. + +“Never mind.” + +“This is some gossip,” he muttered. + +“Yes, among the squirrels and the rabbits. Woods are full of eyes and +ears.” + +“Well,” he said, “the eyes and ears will have to find another home. +There will soon be no wood left.” + +So he had tried to take Aunt Rose’s hand in this wood too! She laughed +with the pretty trill which made her laughter a new thing every time. + +“I don’t see the joke,” he grumbled. + +She turned to him. “I don’t think you’ve laughed very much in your +life. You’re always being sorry for yourself.” + +“I have been very unfortunate,” he replied. + +“There you are again! Why don’t you tell yourself you’re lucky not to +squint or turn in your toes? You’d be much more miserable then—much. +But thinking yourself unfortunate, when you’re not, is a pleasant +occupation.” + +“How do you know?” + +“I know a lot,” Henrietta said. “But I never thought myself +unfortunate, so I wasn’t.” + +“Very noble,” Sales said sourly. + +“No. I told you it was exciting to be poor. You’re not poor enough. A +new dress,” she went on, clasping her hands; “first of all, I had to +save up—in pennies.” She turned accusingly. “You don’t believe it.” + +“It must have taken a long time.” + +“It did, but not so long as you would think, because it cost so little +in the end. I saved up, and then I looked in the shop windows, and then +I talked about it for days, and then I bought the stuff. Mother cut out +the dress, and then I made it.” + +“And the result was charming.” + +“I thought so then. Now I know it wasn’t, but at the time I was happy.” + +“Well,” he said, “that’s very interesting, but it doesn’t help me.” + +“But I could help you if you told me your troubles. I should know how.” + +“Telling my troubles would be a help.” + +“Here I am, then.” + +“What’s the good?” he said. “You’ll desert me, too.” + +“Not if you’re good.” + +“Oh, if that’s the stipulation—” He stood up. His tone, which might +have been provocative, was simply bored. She knew she had been dull, +and her lip trembled with mortification. + +“Why, of course!” she cried gaily, when she had mastered that weakness. +“Aunt Caroline warned me against you this very afternoon. She said—but, +never mind. I’m not going to repeat her remarks. And anyhow, Aunt +Sophia said they were not true. Aunt Rose,” Henrietta said +thoughtfully, “was not there. I don’t suppose either of them is right. +And now I’m going to see Mrs. Sales.” + +He ran after her. “Henrietta, I shouldn’t tell her you’ve seen me.” + +She frowned. “I don’t like that.” + +“It’s for her sake.” + +Henrietta turned away without a word, but she pondered, as she went, on +the dangerous likeness between right and wrong and the horrible +facility with which they could be, with which they had to be, +interchanged. One became bewildered, one became lost; she felt herself +being forced into a false position: she might not be able to get out. +Aunt Rose had sent her, Francis Sales was conspiring with her—she made +her father’s gesture of helplessness, it was not her fault. But she +made up her mind she would never allow Francis Sales to find her dull +again, for that was unfair to herself. + + +§ 3 + +Rose Mallett, who had always accepted conditions and not criticized +them, found herself in those days forced to a puzzled consideration of +life. It seemed an unnecessary invention on the part of a creator, a +freak which, on contemplation, he must surely regret. She was not tired +of her own existence, but she wondered what it was for and what, +possessing it, she could do with it. Her one attempt at usefulness had +been foiled, and though she had never consciously wanted anything to +do, she felt the need now that she was deprived of it. She passed her +days in the order and elegance of Nelson Lodge, in a monotonous +satisfaction of the eye, listening to the familiar chatter of Caroline +and Sophia, dressing herself with tireless care and refusing to regret +her past. Nevertheless, it had been wasted, and the only occupation of +her present was her anxiety for Francis Sales. She could not rid +herself of that claim, begun so long ago. She had to accept the +inactive responsibility which in another would have resolved itself +into earnest prayer but which in her was a stoical endurance of +possibilities. + +What was he doing? What would he do? She knew he could not stand alone, +she knew she must continue to hold herself ready for his service, but a +prisoner fastened to a chain does not find much solace in counting the +links, and that was all she had to do. It seemed to her that she moved, +rather like a ghost, up and down the stairs, about the landing, in the +delicate silence of her bedroom; that she sat ghost-like at the +dining-table and heard the strangely aimless talk of human beings. She +supposed there were countless women like herself, unoccupied and +lonely, yet her pride resented the idea. There was only one Rose +Mallett; there was no one else with just her past, with the same mental +pictures and her peculiar isolation, and if she had been a vainer woman +she would have added that no other woman offered the same kind of +beauty to a world in need of it. Her obvious consolation was in the +presence of Henrietta, though she had little companionship to give her +aunt, and no suspicion that Rose, almost unawares, began to transfer +her interests to the girl, to set her mind on Henrietta’s happiness. +She would take her abroad and let her see the world. + +Caroline sniffed at the suggestion, Sophia sighed. + +“The world’s the same everywhere,” Caroline said. “If you know one man +you know them all.” + +“But if you know a great many, you will know one all the better. +However,” she smiled in the way of which her stepsisters were afraid, +“I wasn’t thinking of men.” + +“That’s where you’re so unnatural.” + +“I was thinking of places—cities and mountains and plains.” + +“You’ll get the plague or be run away with by brigands.” + +“I think Henrietta and I would rather like the brigands. We must avoid +the plague.” + +“Smallpox,” Caroline went on, “and your complexions ruined.” + +“I wish you would stay at home,” Sophia said. “Caroline and I are +getting old.” + +“Nonsense, Sophia! I’d go myself for twopence. But I’d better wait here +and get the ransom money ready, and then James Batty and I can start +out together with a bag of it.” She laughed loudly at the prospect of +setting forth with the respectable James. “And it wouldn’t be the first +elopement I’d planned either. When I was eighteen I set my mind on +getting out of my bedroom window with a bundle—no, of course I never +told you, Sophia. You would have run in hysterics to the General. But +there was never one among them all who was worth the inconvenience, so +I gave it up. I always had more sense than sentiment.” She sighed with +regret for the legions of disappointed and fictitious lovers waiting +under windows, with which her mind was peopled. “Not one,” she +repeated. + +No one took any notice. Sophia, drooping her heavy head, was thinking +of brigands in a far country and of Caroline and herself left in Nelson +Lodge without Rose and without Henrietta. If they really went away she +determined to tell Henrietta the story of her lover, lest she should +die and the tale be unrecorded. She wanted somebody to know; she would +tell Henrietta on the eve of her departure, among the bags and boxes. +He had gone to America and died there, and that continent was both +sacred to her and abhorrent. + +“Don’t go to America,” she murmured. + +“Why not?” Caroline demanded. “Just the place they ought to go to. Lots +of millionaires.” + +Rose reassured Sophia. “And it is only an idea. I haven’t said a word +to Henrietta.” + +Henrietta showed no enthusiasm for the suggestion. She liked Radstowe. +And there was the Battys’ ball. It would be a pity to miss that. She +must certainly not miss that, said Caroline and Sophia. And what was +she going to wear? They had better go upstairs at once, to the elder +ladies’ room, and see what could be done with Caroline’s pink satin. +She had only worn it once, years ago. Nobody would remember it, and +trimmed with some of her mother’s lace, the big flounce and the fichu, +it would be a different thing. Sophia could wear her apricot. + +“Come along, Henrietta. Come along, Rose. We must really get this +settled.” + +They went upstairs, Caroline moving with heavy dignity, but keeping up +her head as she had been taught in her youth. Nothing was more +unbecoming than ducking the head and sticking out the back. Sophia went +slowly, holding to the balustrade, so very slowly that Henrietta did +not attempt to start. She said softly to Rose, “How slowly she goes. +I’ve never noticed it before.” + +“She always goes upstairs like that,” Rose said. “It is not natural to +her to hurry.” + +Henrietta followed and found Sophia panting a little on the landing. +She laid hold of her niece’s arm. “A little out of breath,” she +whispered. “Don’t say anything, dear child, to Caroline. She doesn’t +like to be reminded of our age.” + +They went into the bedroom and Rose, drifting into her own room, heard +the opening of the great wardrobe doors. She would be called in +presently for her advice, but there would be a lot of talk and many +reminiscences before she was needed. She stood by the fire, which, +giving the only light to the room, threw golden patches on the white +dressing-gown lying across a chair, and made the buckles on her shoes +sparkle like diamonds. + +She was wondering why Henrietta’s eyes had darkened as though with fear +at the idea of going away. She had been very quick in veiling them, and +her voice, too, had been quick, a little tremulous. There was more than +the Battys’ ball in her desire to stay in Radstowe. Was it Charles whom +she was loth to leave? Afterwards, perhaps in the spring, she had said +it would be nice to go. It was kind of Aunt Rose, and Aunt Rose, gazing +down at the fire, controlled her longing to escape from this place too +full of memories. She would not leave Henrietta who had to be cared +for, perhaps protected; she would not persuade her who had to be happy, +but she felt a sinking of the heart which was almost physical. She +rested both hands on the mantelshelf and on them her weight. She felt +as though she could not go on like this for ever. She, who apparently +had no ties, was never free; she had the duties without the joys, and +for these few minutes, before a knock came at the door, she allowed +herself the relief of melancholy. She was incapable of tears, but she +wished she could cry bitterly and for a long time. + +The knock was Henrietta’s. She entered a little timidly. Aunt Rose was +not free with invitations to her room and to Henrietta it was a +beautiful and mysterious place. She had a childlike pleasure in the +silver and glass on the dressing-table, in glimpses of exquisite +garments and slippers worn to the shape of Aunt Rose’s slim foot, and +Aunt Rose herself was like some fairy princess growing old and no less +lovely in captivity, but to-night, that dark straight figure splashed +by the firelight reminded her of words uttered by Christabel. She had +said that all Henrietta’s aunts were witches, and for the first time +the girl agreed. In the other room, brilliantly lighted, Caroline and +Sophia were bending somewhat greedily over a mass of silks and satins +and laces, their cheeks flushed round the dabs of rouge, their fingers +active yet inept, fumbling in what might have been a brew for the +working of spells; and here, straight as a tree, Aunt Rose looked into +the fire as though she could see the future in its red heart, but her +voice, very clear, had a reassuring quality. It was not, Henrietta +thought, a witch’s voice. Witches mumbled and screeched, and Aunt Rose +spoke like water falling from a height. + +“Come in, Henrietta. Is the consultation over?” + +“It has hardly begun. What a lot of clothes they have, and boxes of +lace, boxes! I think you will have to decide for them. And Aunt +Caroline snubs Aunt Sophia, all the time.” + +“Did they send you to fetch me?” + +“Yes, but we needn’t go back yet, need we? Aunt Caroline wants to wear +her emeralds, but she says they will look vulgar with pink satin. +There’s some lovely grey stuff like a cobweb. She says it was in her +mother’s trousseau and I think she ought to wear that, but she says she +is going to keep it until she’s old!” + +“Then she’ll never wear it. She will never make such an admission.” + +“And she won’t let Aunt Sophia have it because she says it would make +her look like a dusty broom. And it would, you know! She’s really very +funny sometimes.” + +“Very funny. We’re queer people, Henrietta.” + +“Are we? And I’m more theirs than yours.” + +“As far as blood goes, yes.” She spoke very quietly, but she felt a +great desire to assert, for once, her own claims, instead of accepting +those of others. She wanted to tell Henrietta that in return for the +secret care, the growing affection she was giving, she demanded +confidence and love; but she had never asked for anything in her life. +She had taken coolly much she could easily have done without, +admiration and respect and the material advantages to which she had +been born, but she had asked for nothing. Cruelly conscious of all that +lay in the gift of Henrietta, who sat in a low chair, her chin on the +joined fingers of her hands, Rose continued to look at the fire. + +“You mean I’m really more like you?” Henrietta said. “Am I? I’m like my +father,” and she added softly, “terribly.” + +“Why terribly?” + +Henrietta moved her feet. “Oh, I don’t know.” + +“I wish you’d tell me.” + +“He was queer. You said we all were, and I’m a Mallett, too, that’s +all. Don’t you think we ought to go and see about the dresses now? Aunt +Rose, they’re bothering me to wear white, the only thing for a young +girl, but I want to wear yellow. Don’t you think I might?” + +Rose, who had felt herself on the brink of confidences, as though she +peered over a cliff, and watched the mists clear to show the secret +valley underneath, now saw the clouds thicken hopelessly, and retreated +from her position with an effort. + +“Yellow? Yes, certainly. You will look like a marigold. Henrietta—” She +did not know what she was going to say, but she wanted to detain the +girl for a little longer, she hoped for another chance of drawing +nearer. “Henrietta, wait a minute.” She moved to her dressing-table, +smiling at what she was about to do. It seemed as though she were going +to bribe the girl to love her, but she was only yielding to the +pathetic human desire to give something tangible since the intangible +was ignored. “When I was twenty-one,” she said, “your father gave me a +present.” + +“Only when you were twenty-one?” + +“Well,” Rose excused him, “we didn’t know each other very well. He was +a great deal from home, but he remembered my twenty-first birthday and +he gave me this necklace. I think it’s beautiful, but I never wear it +now, and I think you may like to have it. Here it is, in its own box +and with the card he wrote—‘A jewel for a rose.’” + +Holding it in her cupped hands, Henrietta murmured with delight: “May I +have it really? How lovely! And may I have the card, too? He did say +nice things. Are you sure you can spare the card? I expect he admired +you very much. He liked beautiful women. My mother was pretty, too; but +I don’t believe he ever gave her anything except a wedding-ring, and he +had to give her that.” + +“Oh, Henrietta—well, his daughter shall have all he gave me.” + +“If you’re sure you don’t want it. What are the stones?” + +“Topaz and diamonds; but so small that you can wear them.” + +“Topaz and diamonds! Oh!” And Henrietta, clasping it round her neck and +surveying herself by the candles Rose had lighted, said earnestly, “Oh, +I do hope he paid for it!” This was the first thought of Reginald +Mallett’s daughter. + +Rose was horrified into laughter, which seemed hysterically continuous +to Henrietta, and through it Rose cried tenderly, “Oh, you poor child! +You poor child!” + +Henrietta did not laugh. She said gravely, “All the same, I’m glad I +had him for a father. Nobody but he would have chosen a thing like +this. He had such taste.” She looked at her aunt. “I do hope I have +some taste, too.” + +“I hope you have,” Rose said with equal gravity. She laughed no longer. +“There are many kinds, and though he knew how to choose an ornament, he +made mistakes in other ways.” + +Henrietta unclasped the necklace and laid it down. She looked, indeed, +remarkably like her father. Her eyes flashed above her angry mouth. +“You mean my mother!” + +“No, Henrietta. How could I? I did not know your mother, and from the +little you have told us I believe she was too good for him.” + +“How can I tell you more,” Henrietta protested, “when I know what you +would be thinking? You would be thinking she was common. Aunt Caroline +does. She does! I don’t know how she dare! No, I won’t have the +necklace.” + +“You must believe what I say, Henrietta. Your mother was not the only +woman in your father’s life, and I was referring to the others.” + +“You need not speak of them to me,” Henrietta said with dignity. + +“I won’t do so again. That, perhaps, is where my own taste failed.” She +decided to put out no more feelers for Henrietta’s thoughts. It was +what she would have resented bitterly herself, and it did no good. She +was not clever at this unpractised art, and she told herself that if +her own affection could not tell her what she wished to know, the +information would be useless. Moreover, she had Henrietta’s word for it +that she was terribly like her father. + +“So put on the necklace again. It suits you better than it does me, so +well that we can pretend he really chose it for you.” + +“Yes,” Henrietta said, fingering it again, “if you promise you never +think anything horrid about my mother.” + +“The worst I have ever thought of her,” Rose said lightly, “is envying +her for her daughter.” + +She saw Henrietta’s mouth open inelegantly. “Me? Oh, but you’re not old +enough.” + +“I feel very old sometimes.” + +“I thought you were when I first saw you,” Henrietta said, looking in +the glass and swaying her body to make the diamonds glitter, “but now I +know you never will be, because it’s only ugly people who get old. When +your hair is white you’ll be like a queen. Now you’re a princess, +though Mrs. Sales says you’re a witch. Oh, I didn’t mean to tell you +that. It was a long time ago. She is never disagreeable now. I’m going +to see her again to-morrow.” + +“I wish you would go in the morning, Henrietta. The afternoons get dark +so soon and the road is lonely.” + +“She doesn’t like visitors in the morning,” Henrietta said. “I love +this necklace. Could I wear it to the dance?” + +“It depends on the dress. If you are really to look like a marigold you +must wear no ornaments. If you had yellow tulle—” And Rose took pencil +and paper and made a rough design, talking with enthusiasm meanwhile, +for like all the Malletts, she loved clothes. + +The next day Caroline had to stay in bed. She had been feverish all +night and Sophia appeared in Rose’s bedroom early in the morning, her +great plait of hair swinging free, her face yellow with anxiety and +sleeplessness and lack of powder, to inform her stepsister that dear +Caroline was very ill: they must have the doctor directly after +breakfast. Sophia was afraid Caroline was going to die. She had groaned +in the night when she thought Sophia was asleep. “I deceived her,” +Sophia said. “I hope it wasn’t wrong, but I knew she would be easier if +she thought I slept. Now she says there is nothing the matter with her +and she wants to get up, but that’s her courage.” + +Caroline was not allowed to rise and after breakfast and an hour with +Sophia behind the locked door she announced her readiness to see the +doctor, who diagnosed nothing more serious than a chill. She was very +much disgusted with his order to stay in bed. She had not had a day in +bed for years; she believed people were only ill when they wanted to be +and, as she did not wish to be, she was not ill. She had no resource +but to be unpleasant to Sophia, to the silently devoted Susan and to +Rose who had intended to go to Sales Hall with Henrietta. + +She was not able to do that, but later in the afternoon she set out to +meet her so that she might have company for part of the dark way home. + +Afterwards, she could never make up her mind whether she was glad or +sorry she had gone. She had expected to meet Henrietta within a mile or +two of the bridge, and the further she went without a sight of the +small figure walking towards her, the more necessary it became to +proceed, but she felt a deadly sickness of this road. She loved each +individual tree, each bush and field and the view from every point, but +the whole thing she hated. It was the personification of mistake, +disappointment and slow disillusion, but now it was all shrouded in +darkness and she seemed to be walking on nothing, through nothing and +towards nothing. She herself was nothing and she thought of nothing, +though now and then a little wave of anxiety washed over her. Where was +Henrietta? + +She became genuinely alarmed when, in the hollow between the track and +the rising fields, she saw a fire and discovered by its light a +caravan, a cart, a huddle of dark figures, a tethered pony, and heard +the barking of dogs. There were gipsies camping in the sheltered dip. +If Henrietta had walked into their midst, she might have been robbed, +she would certainly have been frightened; and Rose stood still, +listening intently. + +The cleared space, where the wood had been, stretched away to a line of +trees edging the main road and above it there was a greenish colour in +the sky. There was not a sound but what came from the encampment. Down +there the fire glowed like some enormous and mysterious jewel and +before it figures which had become poetical and endowed with some +haggard kind of beauty passed and vanished. They might have been +employed in the rites of some weird worship and the movements which +were in reality connected with the cooking of some snared bird or +rabbit seemed to have a processional quality. The fire was replenished, +the stew was stirred, there was a faint clatter of tin plates and a +sharp cracking of twigs: a figure passed before the fire with +extraordinary gestures and slid into the night: another figure appeared +and followed its predecessor: smoke rose and a savoury smell floated on +the air. + +Suddenly a child wailed and Rose had the ghastly impression that it was +the child who was in the pot. + +Cautiously she stepped into the clearing; the dogs barked again and she +ran swiftly, as silently as possible, leaping over the small hummocks +of heath, dodging the brushwood and finding a certain pleasure in her +own speed and in her fear that the dogs would soon be snapping at her +heels. If she did not find Henrietta on the road, she would go on to +Sales Hall. Very high up, clouds floated as though patrolling the sky; +they found in her fleeting figure something which must be watched. + +She was breathless and strangely happy when she reached the road. She +was pleased at her capacity for running and her dull trouble seemed to +have lifted, to have risen from her mind and gone off to join the +clouds. She laughed a little and dropped down on a stone, and above the +hurried beating of her heart she heard fainter, more despairing, the +cry of the gipsy child. “It isn’t cooked yet,” she thought. There was a +deeper silence, and she imagined a horrible dipping into the pot, a +loud and ravenous eating. + +For a few minutes she forgot her quest, conscious of a happy loss of +personality in this solitary place, feeling herself merged into the +night, looking up at the patrolling clouds which, having lost her, had +moved on. She sat in the darkness until she heard, very far off, the +beat of a horse’s hoofs, the rumble of wheels. She remembered then that +she had to find Henrietta. The road towards Sales Hall was nowhere +blurred by a figure, there was no sound of footsteps, and the noise of +the approaching horse and cart was distantly symbolic of human activity +and home-faring; it made her think of lights and food. + +She looked back, and not many yards away two figures stepped from the +sheltering trees by the roadside. On the whiteness of the road they +were clear and unmistakable. Their arms were outstretched and their +hands were joined and, as she looked, the two forms became one, +separated and parted. The feet of Henrietta went tapping down the road +and for a moment Francis stood and watched her. Then he turned. He +struck a match, and Rose saw his face and hands illuminated like a +paper lantern. The match made a short, brilliant journey in the air and +fell extinguished. He had lighted his pipe and was advancing towards +her. She, too, advanced and stopped a few feet from him and at once she +said calmly, “Was that Henrietta? I came to find her.” + +He stammered something; she was afraid he was going to lie, yet at the +same time she knew that to hear him lie would give her pleasure; it +would be like the final shattering and trampling of her love: but he +did not lie. + +“Yes, Henrietta,” he said sullenly. “There are gipsies in the hollow. I +shall turn them out to-morrow.” + +“Let them stay there,” she said, she knew not why. + +“They’re all thieves,” he muttered. + +Neither spoke. It was like a dream to be standing there with him and +hearing Henrietta’s footsteps tapping into silence. Then Rose asked in +genuine bewilderment, “Why did you let her go home alone? Why did you +leave her here?” + +“She wouldn’t have me. She’s safe now”; and raising his voice, he +almost cried, “You shouldn’t let her come here!” It was a cry for help, +he was appealing to her again, he was the victim of his habit. She +smiled and wondered if her pale face was as clear to him as his was to +her. + +“No, I should not,” she said slowly. “I should not. One does nothing +all one’s life but make mistakes.” Her chief feeling at that moment was +one of self-disgust. She moved away without another word, going slowly +so that she should not overtake Henrietta. + + +§ 4 + +Henrietta was going very fast, impelled by the fury of her thoughts, +and she forgot to be afraid of the lonely country, for she felt herself +still wrapped in the dangerous safety of that man’s embrace, and the +darkness through which she went was still the palpitating darkness +which had fallen over her at his touch. The thing had been bound to +happen. She had been watching its approach and pretending it was not +there, and now it had arrived and she was giddy with excitement, +inspired with a sense of triumph, tremulous with apprehension. + +Her thoughts were not of her lover as an individual, but of the +situation as a whole. Here she was, Henrietta Mallett, from Mrs. +Banks’s boarding-house, the chief figure in a drama and an unrepentant +sinner. She could not help it: she loved him; he needed her. Since that +day when she had offered him friendship and help, he had been depending +on her more and more, a big man like a neglected baby. She had +strenuously fixed her mind on the babyish side of him, but all the time +her senses had been attracted by the man, and now, by the mere physical +experience of the force of his arms, she could never see him as a child +again. She clung to the idea of helping him, to the thought of his +misfortunes, for that was imperative, but she was now conscious of her +fewer years, her infinitely smaller bodily strength, the limitations of +her sex. + +And suddenly, as she moved swiftly, hardly feeling the ground under her +feet, she began to cry, with emotion, with fear and joy. What was going +to happen to her? She loved him. She could still feel the violence of +his clasp, the roughness of his coat on her cheeks, the iron of his +hands, so distinctly that it seemed to have happened only a moment ago, +yet she was nearly home. She could see the lights of the bridge as +though swung on a cord across the gulf, and she dried her eyes. She was +exhausted and hungry and when she had passed over the river she made +her way to a shop where chocolates could be bought. She knew their +comforting and sustaining properties. It was unromantic, but hunger +asserts itself in spite of love. + +It was getting late and the shop was empty but for one assistant and a +tall young man. This was Charles Batty, taking a great deal of trouble +over his purchase, for spread before him on the counter was an +assortment of large chocolate boxes adorned with bows of ribbon and +pictures of lovers leaning over stiles and red-lipped maidens caressing +dogs. + +“I don’t like these pictures,” Henrietta heard him mutter bashfully. + +“Here’s one with roses. Roses are always suitable.” “No,” he said, “I +want a big white box with crimson ribbon.” Henrietta stepped up to his +side. “I’ll help you choose,” she said. + +He started, stared, forgot to take off his hat. He gazed at her with +the absorption of some connoisseur looking at the perfect thing he has +dreamed of: he looked without greed and with a sort of ecstasy which +left his face expressionless and embarrassed Henrietta in the presence +of the arch girl behind the counter. + +Charles waked up. “I want a white one,” he repeated, “with crimson +ribbon. No pictures.” The assistant went away and he turned to +Henrietta. “It’s for you,” he said. + +“Charles, don’t speak so loud.” + +“I don’t care. But I suppose you’re ashamed of me. Yes, of course, +that’s it.” + +“Don’t be silly,” Henrietta said, “and do be quick, because I want some +chocolates myself.” + +With the large box, white and crimson-ribboned and wrapped in paper, +under his arm, he waited until she was served, and then they walked +together down the street, made brilliant with the lights of many little +shops. + +“This is for you,” he said, “but I’ll carry it.” + +“But this isn’t the way home.” + +“No.” They turned back into the dimmer road bordering The Green. + +“I suppose you wouldn’t walk round the hill?” + +“I don’t mind.” She felt as she might have done in the company of some +large, protective dog. He was there, saving her from the fear of +molestation, but there was no need to speak to him, it was almost +impossible to think consecutively of him, yet she did remind herself +that a very long time ago, when she was young, he had said wonderful +things to her. She had forgotten that fact in the stir of these last +days. + +“I got these chocolates for you,” he said again. “I thought perhaps +that was the kind of thing I ought to do. I don’t know, and you can’t +ask people because they’d laugh. Why didn’t you come to tea on Sunday?” + +“I can’t come every Sunday.” + +“Of course you can. Considering I’m engaged to you, it’s only proper.” + +“I don’t know what you mean.” + +“Yes,” he said, “you may not be engaged to me, but I’m engaged to you. +That’s what I’ve decided.” + +She laughed. “You’ll find it rather dull, I’m afraid.” + +“No,” he said. “I can do things for you.” She was struck by that simple +statement, spoilt by his next words: “Like these chocolates.” + +He was very insistent about the chocolates and proud of his idea. She +thanked him. “But I don’t want you to give me things.” + +“You can’t stop me. I’m doing it all the time.” + +They had reached the highest point of the hill and they halted at the +railing on the cliff’s edge. Below them, the blackness of earth gave +way to the blackness of air and the shining blackness of water, and +slowly the opposing cliff cleared itself from a formless mass into the +hardly seen shapes of rock and tree. Here was beauty, here was +something permanent in the midst of change, and it seemed as though the +hand of peace were laid on Henrietta. For a moment the episode on the +other side of the water and the problem it involved took their tiny +places in the universe instead of the large ones in her life and, +strangely enough, it was Charles Batty who loomed up big, as though he +had some odd fellowship with immensity and beauty. + +“What do you give me?” she asked. “I don’t want it, you know, but tell +me.” + +“I told you that night when you listened and took it all. I don’t think +I can say it again.” + +“No, but you’re not to misunderstand me, and you mustn’t go on giving +and getting nothing back.” + +“That’s just what I can do. Not many people could, but I can. Perhaps +it’s the only way I can be great, like an artist giving his work to a +world that doesn’t care.” + +The quick sense she had to serve her instead of knowledge and to make +her unconsciously subtle, detected his danger in the words and some +lack of homage to herself. “Ah, you’re pretending, and you’re enjoying +it,” she said. “It’s consoling you for not being able to do anything +else.” + +“Who said I couldn’t do anything else?” + +“Well, you nearly did, and I don’t suppose you can. If you could, you +wouldn’t bother about me.” + +He was silent and though she did not look at him she was very keenly +aware of his tall figure wrapped in an overcoat reaching almost to his +heels and with the big parcel under his left arm. He was always +slightly absurd and now, when he struck the top bar of the railing with +his left hand and uttered a mournful, “Yes, it’s true!” the tragedy in +his tone could not repress her smile. Yet if he had been less funny he +might have been less truly tragic. + +“So, you see, I’m only a kind of makeshift,” she remarked. + +“No,” he said, “but I may have been mistaken in myself. I’m not +mistaken about you. Never!” he cried, striking the rail again. + +They were alone on the hill, but suddenly, with a clatter of wings, a +bird left his nest in the rocks and swept out of sight, leaving a +memory of swiftness and life, of an intenser blackness in the gulf. Far +below them, to the left, there were lights, stationary and moving, and +sometimes the clang of a tramcar bell reached them with its harsh +music: the slim line of the bridge, with here and there a dimly burning +light, was like a spangled thread. The sound of footsteps and voices +came to them from the road behind the hill. + +“But after all,” Charles said more clearly, “it doesn’t matter about +being acclaimed. It’s just like making music for deaf people: the +music’s there; the music’s there. And so it doesn’t matter very much +whether you love me. It’s one’s weakness that wants that, one’s +loneliness. I can love you just the same, perhaps better; it’s the +audience that spoils things. I should think it does!” + +“So you’re quite happy.” + +“Not quite,” he answered, “but I have something to do, something I can +do, too. Music—no, I’m not good enough. I’m no more than an amateur, +but in this I can be supreme.” + +“You can’t be sure of that,” she said acutely. “If you wrote a poem you +might think it was perfect, but you wouldn’t absolutely know till you’d +tried it on other people. So you can’t be sure about love.” + +“You mightn’t be,” he said with a touch of scorn. “You may depend on +other people, but I don’t.” + +She made a small sound of scorn. “No, you’ll never know whether you’re +doing this wonderful work of yours well or not because,” she said, +cruelly exultant, “it won’t be tested.” + +“Ah, but it might be. You’ve got to do things as though they will be.” + +“I suppose so,” she said indifferently. “And now I must go back.” + +He turned obediently and thrust the parcel at her. + +“But aren’t you going to take me home?” she asked. + +“No, I don’t think I need do that. I shall stay here.” + +“Then I won’t have your chocolates. I didn’t want them, anyhow, but now +I won’t take them.” + +“I don’t understand you,” he said miserably. + +“Doesn’t the painter understand his paints or the musician his +instruments? No, you’ll have to begin at the beginning, Charles Batty, +and work very hard before you’re a success.” + +She ran from him fleetly, hardly knowing why she was so angry, but it +seemed to her that he had no right to be content without her love; she +felt he must be emasculate, and the guilty passion of Francis Sales +was, by contrast, splendid. But for that passion, Charles Batty might +have persuaded her she was incapable of rousing men’s desire and not to +rouse it was not to be a woman. Accordingly, she valued Francis and +despised the other, yet when she had reached home and run upstairs and +was standing in the dim room where the firelight cast big, uncertain +shadows, like vague threats, on walls and ceiling, she suffered a +reaction. + +The scene on the road became sinister: she remembered the strange +silence of the trees and the clangorous barking of the dogs, the hoarse +voices from the encampment in the hollow. It had been very dark there +and an extraordinary blackness had buried her when she was in that +man’s arms. It had been dark, too, on the hill, but with a feeling of +space and height and freedom. If Charles had been a little +different—but then, he did not really want her; he was making a study +of his sorrow, he was gazing at it, turning it round and over, growing +familiar with all its aspects. He was an artist frustrated of any power +but this of feeling and to have given him herself would simply have +been to rob him of what he found more precious. But she and Francis +Sales were kin; she understood him: he was not better than herself, +perhaps he was not so good and he, too, was unhappy, but he did not +love her for those qualities of which Charles Batty had talked by the +Monks’ Pool, he wove no poetry about her: he loved her because she was +pretty; because her mouth was red and her eyes bright and her body +young: he loved her because, being her father’s daughter, her youth +answered his desire with enough shame to season appetite, but not to +spoil it. And she thought of Christabel as of some sick doll. + +Dinner was a strange meal that night. Caroline’s chair was empty, and +the sighs of Sophia were like gentle zephyrs in the room. Henrietta’s +silence might have been interpreted as anxiety about her aunt and Susan +informed the cook, truly enough, that Miss Henrietta had a feeling +heart. + +It was only Rose who could have explained the nature of the feeling. +She was fascinated by the sight of Henrietta, her rival, her fellow +dupe. Rose looked at her without envy or malice or covetousness, but +with an extraordinary interest, trying to find what likeness to herself +and what differences had attracted Francis Sales. + +There was the dark hair, curly where hers was straight, dark eyes +instead of grey ones, the same warm pallor of the skin, in Henrietta’s +case slightly overlaid with pink; but the mouth, ah! it must be the +mouth and what it meant that made the alluring difference. Henrietta’s +mouth was soft, red and mutinous; in her father it had been a blemish, +half hidden by the foreign cut of moustache and beard, but in Henrietta +it was a beauty and a warning. Rose had never properly studied that +mouth before and under the fixity of her gaze Henrietta’s eyelids +fluttered upwards. There were shadows under her eyes and it seemed to +Rose that she had changed a little. She must have changed. Rose had +never been in the arms of Francis Sales; she shuddered now at the +thought, but she knew that she, too, would have been different after +that experience. + +She looked at Henrietta with the sadness of her desire to help her, the +fear of her inability to do it; and Henrietta looked back with a hint +of defiance, the symbol of her attitude to the cruel world in which +fond lovers were despised and love had a hard road. Rose restrained an +impulse to lean across the table and say quietly, “I saw you to-night +with Francis Sales and I am sorry for you. He told me I should not let +you meet him. He said that himself, so you see he does not want you,” +and she wondered how much that cry of his had been uttered in despair +of his passion and how much in weariness of Henrietta and himself. + +Rose leaned back in her chair and immediately straightened. She was +intolerably tired but she refused to droop. It seemed as though she +were never to be free from secrecy: after her release there had been a +short time of dreary peace and now she had Henrietta’s fight to wage in +secret, her burden to carry without a word. And this was worse, more +difficult, for she had less power with which to meet more danger. +Between the candle lights she sent a smile to Henrietta, but the girl’s +mouth was petulantly set and it was a relief when Sophia quavered out, +“She won’t be able to go to the Battys’ ball! She will be +heart-broken.” + +Rose and Henrietta were momentarily united in their common amazement at +the genuineness of this sorrow and to both there was something comic in +the picture of the elderly Caroline, suffering from a chill and +bemoaning the loss of an evening’s pleasure. Henrietta cast a look of +scornful surprise at her Aunt Sophia. Was the Battys’ ball a matter for +a broken heart? Rose said consolingly, “It isn’t till after Christmas. +Perhaps she will be well enough.” + +“And Christmas,” Sophia wailed. “Henrietta’s first Christmas here! With +Caroline upstairs!” + +“I don’t like Christmas,” Henrietta said. “It makes me miserable.” + +“But you will like the ball,” Rose said. “Why, if it hadn’t been for +the ball we might have been in Algiers now.” + +“With Caroline ill! I should have sent for you.” + +“Shall we start, Henrietta, in a few weeks’ time?” She ignored +Henrietta’s vague murmur. “Oh, not until Caroline is quite well, +Sophia. We could go to the south of France, Henrietta. Yes, I think we +had better arrange that.” Rose felt a slightly malicious pleasure in +this proposal which became a serious one as she spoke. “You must learn +to speak French, and it is a long time since I have been abroad. It +will be a kindness to me. I don’t care to go alone. We have no +engagements after the middle of January, so shall we settle to go +then?” There was authority in her tone. “We shall avoid brigands, +Sophia, but I think we ought to go. It is not fair that Henrietta’s +experiences should be confined to Radstowe.” + +“Quite right, dear.” Sophia was unwillingly but nobly truthful. “We +have a duty to her father, but say nothing to Caroline until she is +stronger.” + +Henrietta was silent but she had a hot rage in her heart. She felt +herself in a trap and she looked with sudden hatred and suspicion at +her Aunt Rose. It was impossible to defy that calm authority. She would +have to go, in merest gratitude she must consent; she would be carried +off, but she looked round wildly for some means of escape. + +The prospect of that exile spoilt a Christmas which otherwise would not +have been a miserable one, for the Malletts made it a charming festival +with inspired ideas for gifts and a delightful party on Christmas Day, +when Caroline was allowed to appear. She refused to say that she was +better; she had never been ill; it was a mere fad of the doctor and her +sisters; she supposed they were tired of her and wanted a little peace. +However, she continued to absorb large quantities of strengthening +food, beef tea, meat jelly and heady tonic, for she loved food, and she +was determined to go to the ball. + +This was on New Year’s Eve, and all that day, from the moment when +Susan drew the curtains and brought the early tea, there was an +atmosphere of excitement in Nelson Lodge and Henrietta permitted +herself to enjoy it. Francis Sales was to be at the ball. She forgot +the threatened exile, she ignored Charles Batty’s tiresome insistence +that she must dance with him twice as many times as with anybody else, +because he was engaged to her. + +“I don’t believe you can dance a bit,” she cried. + +“I can get round,” he said. “It’s the noise of the band that upsets +me—jingle, jingle, bang, bang! But we can sit out when we can’t bear it +any longer.” + +“That would be very amusing,” Henrietta said. + +Susan, drawing Henrietta’s curtains, remarked that it was a nice day +for the ball and then, looking severely at Henrietta and arranging a +wrap round her shoulders, she said, “I suppose Miss Caroline is going.” + +“Oh, I hope so,” Henrietta said. “She’s not worse, is she?” + +“Not that I know of, Miss Henrietta, but I’m afraid it will be the +death of her.” She seemed to think it would be Henrietta’s fault and, +in the kitchen, she told Cook that, but for Miss Henrietta, the Battys, +who were close-fisted people—you had only to look at Mr. Batty’s +mouth—would not be giving a ball at all, but they had their eyes on +Miss Henrietta for that half-witted son of theirs. She was sure of it. +And Miss Caroline was not fit to go, it would be the death of her. Cook +was optimistic. It would do Miss Caroline good; she was always the +better for a little fun. + +The elder ladies breakfasted in bed to save themselves all unnecessary +fatigue, and throughout the day they moved behind half-lowered blinds. +Henrietta was warned not to walk out. There was a cold wind, her face +would be roughened; and when she insisted on air and exercise she was +advised to wear a thick veil. Both ladies offered her a shawl-like +covering for the face, but Henrietta shook her head. “Feel,” she said, +lifting a hand of each to either cheek. + +“Like a flower,” Sophia said. + +“The wind doesn’t hurt flowers. It won’t hurt me.” + +Fires were lighted in the bedroom earlier than usual. Caroline and +Sophia again retired to their room, leaving orders that they were not +to be disturbed until four o’clock, and a solemn hush fell on the +house. + +While the ladies were having tea, Susan was busy in their bedroom +laying out their gowns and Henrietta, chancing to pass the open door, +peeped in. The bed was spread with the rose-pink and apricot dresses of +their choice, with petticoats of corresponding hues, with silken +stockings and long gloves and fans; and on the mound made by the +pillows two pairs of very high-heeled slippers pointed their narrow +toes. It might have been the room of two young girls and, before she +fluttered down to tea, Henrietta took another glance at the mass of +yellow tulle on her own bed. She wished Mrs. Banks and Miss Stubb could +see her in that dress. Mrs. Banks would cry and Miss Stubb would grow +poetical. She would have to write and tell them all about it. At eight +o’clock the four Miss Malletts assembled in the drawing-room. Caroline +was magnificent. Old lace veiled the shimmering satin of her gown and +made it possible to wear the family emeralds: these, heavily set, were +on her neck and in her ears; a pair of bracelets adorned her arms. Seen +from behind, she might have been the stout and prosperous mother of a +family in her prime and only when she turned and displayed the pink +patches on yellow skin, was her age discernible. She was magnificent, +and terrible, and Henrietta had a moment of recoil before she gasped, +“Oh, Aunt Caroline, how lovely!” + +Sophia advanced more modestly for inspection. “She looks about +twenty-one!” Caroline exclaimed. “What a figure! Like a girl’s!” + +“You’re prejudiced, dear Caroline. I never had your air. You’re +wonderful.” + +“We’re all wonderful!” Henrietta cried. + +They had all managed to express themselves: Caroline in the superb +attempt at overcoming her age, and Sophia in the softness of her +apparel; Rose, in filmy black and pearls round her firm throat, gently +proud and distant; and Henrietta was like some delicately gaudy insect, +dancing hither and thither, approaching and withdrawing. + +“Yes, we’re all wonderful,” Henrietta said again. “Don’t you think we +ought to start? It’s a pity for other people not to see us!” + +With Susan’s help they began the business of packing themselves into +the cab. Caroline lifted her skirts and showed remarkably thin legs, +but she stood on the doorstep to quarrel with Sophia about the taking +of a shawl. She ought to have a lace one round her shoulders, Sophia +said, for the Assembly Rooms were always cold and it was a frosty +night. + +“Sophia, you’re an idiot,” Caroline said. “Do you think I’m going to +sit in a ball-room in a shawl? Why not take a hot-water bottle and a +muff?” + +“At least we must have the smelling salts. Susan, fetch the salts. Miss +Caroline might need them.” + +Miss Caroline said she would rather die than display such weakness and +she stepped into the cab which groaned under her weight. Another +fainter groan accompanied Sophia’s entrance and Rose and Henrietta, +tapping their satin shoes on the pavement, heard sounds of bickering. +Sophia had forgotten her handkerchief and Susan fled once more into the +house. + +The cabman growled his disapproval from the box. “I’ve another party to +fetch,” he said. “And how many of you’s going?” + +“Only four,” Henrietta said sweetly, “and we shan’t be a minute.” + +“I’ve been waiting ten already,” said the man. + +The handkerchief was handed into the darkness of the cab and Rose and +Henrietta followed. “Mind my toes,” Caroline said. “Susan, tell that +disagreeable fellow to drive on.” + +They had not far to go, but the man did not hurry his horse. Other cabs +passed them on the road, motor-cars whizzed by. + +“We shall be dreadfully late,” Henrietta sighed. + +“I am always late for balls,” Caroline said calmly. + +Rose, leaning back in her corner, could see Henrietta’s profile against +the window-pane. Her lips were parted, she leaned forward eagerly. “We +shall miss a dance,” she murmured. + +Caroline coughed. “Oh, dear,” Sophia moaned. “Caroline, you should be +in bed.” + +“You’re a silly old woman,” Caroline retorted. + +“But you’ll promise not to sit in a draught; Henrietta, see that your +Aunt Caroline doesn’t sit in a draught.” But Henrietta was letting down +the window, for the cab had drawn up before the portals of the Assembly +Rooms. + +In the cloak-room, Rose and Henrietta slipped off their wraps, glanced +in the mirror, and were ready, but there were anxious little +whisperings and consultations on the part of the elder ladies and +Henrietta cast a despairing glance at Rose. Would they never be ready? +But at last Caroline uttered a majestic “Now” and led the way like a +plump duck swimming across a pond with a fleet of smaller ducks behind +her. + +No expense and no trouble had been spared to justify the expectations +of Radstowe. The antechamber was luxuriously carpeted, arm-chaired, +cushioned, palmed and screened, and the hired flunkey at the ballroom +door had a presence and a voice fitted for the occasion. + +“Miss Mallett!” he bawled. “Miss Sophia Mallett! Miss Rose Mallett! +Miss Henrietta Mallett!” + +The moment had come. Henrietta lifted her head, settled her shoulders +and prepared to meet the eyes of Francis Sales. The Malletts had +arrived between the first and second dances and the guests sitting +round the walls had an uninterrupted view of the stately entrance. Mrs. +Batty, in diamonds and purple satin, greeted the late-comers with +enthusiasm and James Batty escorted Caroline and Sophia to arm-chairs +that had all the appearance of thrones. Mrs. Batty patted Henrietta on +the shoulder. + +“Pretty dear,” she said. “Here you are at last. There are a lot of boys +with their programmes half empty till you come, and my Charles, too. +Not that he’s much for dancing. I’ve told him he must look after the +ugly ones. We’re going to have a quadrille for your aunts’ sake!” And +then, whispering, she asked, “What do you think of it? I said if we had +it at all, we’d have it good.” + +“It’s gorgeous!” Henrietta said, and off the stage she had never seen a +grander spectacle. The platform at the end of the room was banked with +flowers and behind them uniformed and much-moustached musicians played +with ardour, with rapture, their eyes closing sentimentally in the +choicest passages. Baskets of flowers hung from the chandeliers, the +floor was polished to the slipperiness of ice and Mrs. Batty, on her +hospitable journeys to and fro, was in constant danger of a fall. + +The society of Radstowe, all in new garments, appeared to Henrietta of +a dazzling brilliance, but she stood easily, holding her head high, as +though she were well used to this kind of glory. Looking round, she saw +Francis Sales leaning against a wall, talking to his partner and +smiling with unnecessary amiability. A flame of jealousy flickered +hotly through her body. How could he smile like that? Why did he not +come to her? And then, in the pride of her secret love, she remembered +that he dare not show his eagerness. They belonged to each other, they +were alone in their love, and all these people, talking, laughing, +fluttering fans, thinking themselves of immense importance, had no real +existence. He and she alone of all that company existed with a +fierceness that changed the sensuous dance-music into the cry of +essential passion. + +Young men approached her and wrote their initials on her programme +which was already marked with little crosses against the numbers she +had promised to Francis Sales. Charles Batty, rather hot, anxious and +glowering, arrived too late. His angry disgust, his sense of desertion, +were beyond words. He stared at her. “And my flowers,” he demanded. + +“Charles, don’t shout.” + +“Where are my flowers? I sent some—roses and lilies and maidenhair. +Where are they?” + +“I haven’t seen them.” + +“Ah, I suppose you didn’t like them, but the girl in the shop told me +they would be all right. How should I know?” + +“I haven’t seen them,” she repeated. Over his shoulder she saw the +figure of Francis Sales coming towards her. + +“I ordered them yesterday,” Charles continued loudly. “I’ll kill that +girl. I’ll go at once.” + +“The shop will be shut,” Henrietta reminded him. “Oh, do be quiet, +Charles.” She turned with a smile for Francis. + +“She hasn’t a dance left,” Charles said. + +“Mr. Sales took the precaution of booking them in advance,” Henrietta +said lightly, and with a miserable gesture Charles went off, muttering, +“I hadn’t thought of that. Why didn’t some one tell me?” + + +§ 5 + +That ball was to be known in Nelson Lodge as the one that killed Miss +Caroline, but Miss Caroline had her full share of pleasure out of it. +It was the custom in Radstowe to make much of Caroline and Sophia: they +were respected and playfully loved and it was not only the middle-aged +gentlemen who asked them to dance, and John and Charles Batty were not +the only young ones who had the honour of leading them into the middle +of the room, taking a few turns in a waltz and returning, in good +order, to the throne-like arm-chairs. Francis Sales had their names on +his programme, but with him they used the privilege of old friends and +preferred to talk. + +“You can keep your dancing for Rose and Henrietta,” Caroline said. + +“He comes too late for me,” Rose said pleasantly. He gave her something +remarkably like one of his old looks and she answered it with a grave +one. There was gnawing trouble at her heart. She had watched his +meeting with Henrietta. It had been wordless; everything was +understood. She had also seen the unhappiness of Charles Batty, and, on +an inspiration, she said to him, “Charles, you must take pity on an old +maid. I have all these dances to give away.” + +For him this dance was to be remembered as the beginning of his +friendship with Rose Mallett; but at the moment he was merely annoyed +at being prevented from watching Henrietta’s dark head appearing and +disappearing among the other dancers like that of a bather in a rough +sea. He said, “Oh, thank you very much. Are you sure there’s nobody +else? But I suppose there can’t be”; and holding her at arm’s length, +he ambled round her, treading occasionally on her toes. He apologized: +he was no good at dancing: he hoped he had not hurt her slippers, or +her feet. + +She paused and looked down at them. “You mustn’t do that to Henrietta. +Her slippers are yellow and you would spoil them.” + +“She isn’t giving me a single dance!” he burst out. “I asked her to, +but I never thought I ought to get a promise. Nobody told me. Nobody +tells me anything.” + +An icily angry gentleman remonstrated with him for standing in the +fairway and Rose suggested that they should sit down. + +“You see, I’m no good. I can’t dance. I can’t please her.” + +“Charles, you’re still in the way. Let us go somewhere quiet and then +you can tell me all about it.” + +He took her to a small room leading from the big one. “I’ll shut the +door,” he said, “and then we shan’t hear that hideous din.” + +“It is a very good band.” + +“It’s profane,” Charles said wearily. “Music—they call it music!” He +was off at a great pace and she did not try to hold him in. She lay +back in the big chair and seemed to study the toes on which Charles +Batty had trampled. His voice rolled on like the sound of water, +companionable and unanswerable. Suddenly his tone changed. “Henrietta +is very unkind to me.” + +“Is there any reason why she shouldn’t be?” + +“I do everything I can think of. I’ve told her all about myself.” + +“She would rather hear about herself.” + +“I’ve done that, too. Perhaps I haven’t done it enough. I’ve given her +chocolates and flowers. What else ought I to do?” + +Her voice, very calm and clear after his spluttering, said, “Not too +much.” + +“Oh!” This was a new idea. “Oh! I never thought of that. Why—” + +She interrupted his usual cry. “Women are naturally cruel.” + +“Are they? I didn’t know that either.” He swallowed the information +visibly. She could almost see the process of digestion. “Oh!” he said +again. + +“They don’t mean to be. They are simply untouched by a love they don’t +return.” She added thoughtfully: “And inclined to despise the lover.” + +“That’s it,” he mourned. “She despises me.” And in a louder voice he +demanded, not of Rose Mallett, but of the mysterious world in which he +gropingly existed, “Why should she?” + +“She shouldn’t, but perhaps you yourself are making a mistake.” + +She heard indistinctly the word, “Impossible.” + +“You can’t be sure.” + +“I’m quite certain about that—about nothing else.” His big hands moved. +“I cling to that.” + +“Then you must be ready to serve her. Charles, if I ever needed you—” + +“I’d do anything for you because you’re her aunt. And besides,” he said +simply, “you’re rather like her in the face.” + +“Thank you, but it’s her you may have to serve—and not me. I want her +to be happy. I don’t know where her happiness is, but I know where it +is not. Some day I may tell you.” She looked at him. He might be useful +as an ally; she was sure he could be trusted. “Promise you will do +anything I ask for her sake.” + +He turned the head which had been sunk on his crumpled shirt. “Is +anything the matter?” he asked, concerned, and more alert than she had +ever seen him. + +She said, “Hush!” for the door behind was opening and it let in a +murmur of voices and a rush of cold, fresh air. Rose shivered and, +looking round, she saw Henrietta and Francis Sales. Her cloak was half +on and half off her shoulders, her colour was very high and her eyes +were not so dazzled by the light that she did not immediately recognize +her aunt. It was Francis Sales who hesitated and Rose said quickly, +“Oh, please shut the door.” + +He obeyed and stood by Henrietta’s side, a pleasing figure, looking +taller and more finely made in his black clothes. + +“Have you been on the terrace?” + +“Yes, it’s a glorious night.” + +“You’ll get cold,” Charles said severely. She had been out there with +the man who murdered music and who, therefore, was a scoundrel, and +Charles’s objection was based on that fact and not on Francis Sales’s +married state. He had not the pleasure of feeling a pious indignation +that a man with an invalid wife walked on the terrace with Henrietta. +He would have said, “Why not?” and he would have found an excuse for +any man in the beauty, the wonder, the enchantment of that girl, though +he could not forgive Henrietta for her friendship with the slaughterer +of music and of birds. + +He glared and repeated, “You’ll be ill.” + +Henrietta pretended not to hear him, and Rose said thoughtfully and +slowly, “Oh, no, Charles, people don’t get cold when they are happy.” + +“I suppose not.” He felt in a vague way that he and Rose, sitting +there, for he had forgotten to stand up, were united against the other +two who stood, very clear, against the gold-embossed wall of the room, +and that those two were conscious of the antagonism. They also were +united and he felt an increase of his dull pain at the sight of their +comeliness, the suspicion of their likeness to each other. “I suppose +not,” Charles said, and after that no one spoke, as though it were +impossible to find a light word, and unnecessary. + +Each one was aware of conflict, of something fierce and silent going +on, but it was Rose who understood the situation best and Charles who +understood it least. His feelings were torturing but simple. He wanted +Henrietta and he could not get her: he did not please her, and that +Sales, that Philistine, that handsome, well-made, sulky-looking beggar +knew how to do it. + +But Rose was conscious of the working of four minds: there was her own, +sore with the past and troubled by a present in which her lover +concealed his discomfiture under the easy sullenness of his pose. He, +too, had the past shared with her to haunt him, but he had also a +present bright with Henrietta’s allurements yet darkly streaked with +prohibitions, struggles and surrenders, and Rose saw that the worst +tragedy was his and hers. It must not be Henrietta’s. In their youth +she and Francis had misunderstood, and in their maturity they had +failed, each other; it was the fault of neither and Henrietta must not +be the victim of their folly. Looking at the big fan of black feathers +spread on her knee, Rose smiled a little, with a maternal tenderness. +Henrietta was her father’s daughter, wilful and lovable, but she was +also the daughter of that mother who had been good and loving. +Henrietta had her father’s passion for excitement but, being a woman, +she had the greater need of being loved, and Rose raised her eyes and +looked at Charles with an ironical appreciation of his worthiness, of +his comicality. She saw him with Henrietta’s eyes, and her white +shoulders lifted and dropped in resignation. Then she looked at +Henrietta and smiled frankly. “Another dance has begun,” she said. +“Somebody must be looking for you.” + +“No,” Henrietta said, “it’s with Mr. Sales,” and turning to him with +the effect of ignoring Rose, she said in a clear voice which became +slightly harsh as she saw him gazing at her aunt oddly, almost as +though he were astonished by a new sight, “Shall we go back to the +terrace or shall we dance?” + +“You’ll get cold,” Charles said again angrily. + +“Let us dance,” Sales said. + +The door to the ball-room closed behind them and Charles let out a +groan. “You see!” he said. + +Rose hoped he did not see too much and she was reassured when he added, +“She takes no notice of me.” + +“Poor Charles, but you know you treat her a little like a child. You +shouldn’t talk of catching cold. You’re too material.” + +She was surprised to hear him say with a sort of humble pride, “Only +before other people. She’s heard me different.” Then, dropping into the +despair of his own thoughts, and with the rage of one feeling himself +sinking hopelessly, he cried out, “It’s like pouring water through a +sieve.” + +The voice of Rose, very calm and wise, said gently, “Continue to pour.” + +“It’s all very fine,” he muttered. + +“Continue to pour. It may be all you can do, but it is worth while.” + +“I told her I would do that, one night, on the hill. She said she +didn’t want it.” + +“She doesn’t know,” Rose said in the same voice, comforting in its +quietness. She stood up. “We had better go back now, and remember, you +promise to do for her anything I ask of you.” + +“Of course,” he said, “but I shall do it wrong.” + +She laid her hand on his arm. “It must be done rightly. It must. It +will be. Now take me back.” + +He resigned her unwillingly, for he felt that she was his strength, to +the partner who claimed her, but as she prepared to dance, Charles +returned hurriedly and, ignoring the affronted gentleman who had +already clasped her, he said anxiously, “This service—what is it? Is +there something wrong?” + +She looked deeply into his eyes. “There must not be.” + +And now, for him in the sea of dancers, there were two dark heads +bobbing among the waves. + +The hours sped by; the lavish supper was consumed; dresses and flowers +lost their freshness; the musicians lost their energetic ardour; the +man at the piano was seen to yawn cavernously above the keys. The +guests began to depart, leaving an exhausted but happy Mrs. Batty. She +had been complimented by Miss Mallett on the perfection of her +arrangements, on the brilliance of the assembly, on the music and even +on the refreshments, and Mrs. Batty had blessed her own perseverance +against Mr. Batty’s obstinacy in the matter of the supper. He had +wanted light refreshments and she had insisted on a knife-and-fork +affair, and Miss Caroline had actually remarked on the wisdom of a +solid meal. She had no patience with snacks. Mrs. Batty intended to +lull Mr. Batty to slumber with that quotation. + +In the cab, as the Malletts jolted home in the care of the same surly +driver, Caroline complaisantly spoke of her congratulations. She would +not have said so much to anybody else, but she knew Mrs. Batty would be +pleased. + +“So she was, dear,” Sophia said, but her more delicate social sense was +troubled. “Though I do think one ought to treat everybody as one would +treat the greatest lady in the land. I think we ought to have taken for +granted that everything would be correct.” + +“Rubbish! You must treat people as they want to be treated. She was +panting for praise, and she got it, and anyhow it’s too late to argue.” + +They had stayed to the end so that Henrietta’s pleasure should not be +curtailed, and now she was leaning back, very white and still. + +“I believe the child’s asleep,” Sophia whispered. + +“No, I’m not. I’m wide awake.” + +“Did you enjoy it, dear?” + +“Very much,” said Henrietta. + +“I kept my eye on you, child,” Caroline said. + +Henrietta made an effort. “I kept my eye on you, Aunt Caroline. I saw +you flirting with Mr. Batty.” + +“Impudence! Sophia, do you hear her? I only danced with him twice, +though I admit he hovered round my chair. They always did. I can’t help +it. We’re all like that. You should have seen your father at a ball! +There was no one like him. Such an air! Ah, here we are. I suppose this +disagreeable cabman must be tipped.” + +“I’ll see to that,” Rose said. It was the first time she had spoken. +“Be quick, Caroline. Don’t stand in the cold.” + +“The dancing has done me good,” Caroline said, and she lingered on the +pavement to look at the stars, holding her skirts high in the happy +knowledge of her unrivalled legs and feet. “No, Sophia, I am not cold, +or tired; but yes, I’ll take a little soup.” + +They sat round the roaring fire prepared for them and drank the soup +out of fine old cups. Caroline chattered; she was gay; she believed she +had been a great success; young men had paid court to her; she had +rapped at least one of them with her fan; a grey-haired man had talked +to her of her lively past. But Sophia had much ado to prevent her heavy +head from nodding. Henrietta was silent, very busy with her thoughts +and careful to avoid the eyes of Rose. + +“I think,” Caroline said, “we ought to give a little dance. We could +have this carpet up. Just a little dance—” + +“But Henrietta and I,” Rose said distinctly, “are going away.” + +“Oh, nonsense! You must put it off. We ought to give a dance for the +child. Now, how many couples? Ten, at least. Sophia, you’re asleep.” + +“No, dear. A party. I heard. But if you’re ready now, I think I’ll go +to bed.” + +“Go along. I’ll follow.” + +“Oh, no, Caroline, we always go together.” + +“Well, well, I’ll come, but I could stay here and talk for hours. I +could always sit you out and dance you out, couldn’t I?” + +“Yes, dear. You’re wonderful. Such spirit!” + +They kissed Rose; they both kissed Henrietta on each cheek. + +“A little dance,” Caroline repeated, and patted Henrietta’s arm. “Good +child,” she murmured. + +Henrietta went upstairs behind them, slowly, not to overtake Sophia. +She did not want to be left down there with Aunt Rose. She wanted +solitude, and she knew now what people meant when they talked of being +in a dream. Under her hand the slim mahogany rail felt like the cold, +firm hand of Francis Sales when, after their last dance together, he +had led her on to the terrace again. They were alone there, for the +wind was very cold, but for Henrietta it was part of the exquisite +mantle in which she was wrapped. She was wrapped in the glamour of the +night and the stars and the excitement of the dance, yet suddenly, +looking down at the dark river, she was chilled. She said, and her +voice seemed to be carried off by the wind, “Aunt Rose is going to take +me away.” + +He bent down to her. “What did you say?” + +She put her lips close to his ear. “Aunt Rose is going to take me +away.” + +He dropped her hand. “She can’t do that.” + +“But she will. I shall have to go,” and he said gloomily, “I knew you +would leave me, too.” She felt helpless and lonely: her happiness had +gone; the wind had risen. She said loudly, “It’s not my fault. What can +I do? I shall come back.” + +He stood quite still and did not look at her. “You don’t think of me.” + +“I think of nothing else. How can I tell her I can’t leave you? She has +been good to me.” + +“She was once good to me, too. That won’t last long.” + +“Ah, that’s not true!” she cried. + +“Go, then, if she’s more to you than I am. I’m used to that.” + +She moved away from him. Why did he not help her? He was a man; he +loved her, but he was cruel. Ah, the thought warmed her, it was his +love that made him cruel: he needed her; he was lonely. Under her +cloak, she clasped her gloved hands in a helplessness which must be +conquered. What shall I do? she asked the stars. Across the river the +cliff was sombre; it seemed to listen and to disapprove. The stars were +kinder: they twinkled, they laughed, they understood, and the lights on +the bridge glowed steadily with reassurance. She turned back to Francis +Sales. “You must trust me,” she said firmly. He put his hands heavily +on her shoulders. “I won’t let you go.” + +A murmur, inarticulate and delighted, escaped her lips. This was what +she wanted. Very small and willing to be commanded, she leaned against +him. “What will you do with me?” she whispered, secure in his strength. +She laughed. “You will have to take me away yourself!” + +“You wouldn’t come,” he said with unexpected seriousness. + +So close to him that the wind could not steal the words, she answered, +“I would do anything for one I loved.” + +The memory of her own voice, its tenderness and seduction, startled her +in the solitude of her room. She had not known she could speak like +that. She dropped her face into her hands, and in the rapture of her +own daring and in the recollection of the excitement which had frozen +them into a stillness through which the beating of their hearts sounded +like a faint tap of drums, there came the doubt of her sincerity. + +Had she really meant what she said? Yet she could have said nothing +else. The words had left her lips involuntarily, her voice, as though +of itself, had taken on that tender tone. She could not have failed in +that dramatic moment, but now she was half afraid of her undertaking. +Well, her hands dropped to her sides, she had given her word; she had +promised herself in an heroic surrender and her very doubts seemed to +sanctify the act. + +For a long time she sat by the fire, half undressed, her immature thin +arms hanging loosely, her sombre eyes staring at the fire. She wished +this night might go on for ever, this time of ecstasy between a promise +and its fulfilment. She had seen disillusionment in another and did not +laugh at its possibility for herself; it would come to her, she +thought, as it had come to her mother, who had hoped her daughter would +find happiness in love; and Henrietta wondered if that gentle spirit +was aware of what was happening. + +The thought troubled her a little, and from her mother, who had been a +neglected wife, it was no more than a step to that other, lying on her +back, tortured and lonely. If Christabel Sales had a daughter, what +would be her fierce young thoughts about this thief, sitting by the +fire in a joy which was half misery? Yet she was no thief: she was only +picking up what would otherwise be wasted. It seemed to her that life +was hardly more than a perpetual and painful choice. Some one had to be +hurt, and why should it not be Christabel? Or was she hurt enough +already? And again, what good would she get from Henrietta’s sacrifice? +No one would gain except Henrietta herself, she could see that plainly, +and she was prepared to suffer; she was anxious to suffer and be +justified. + +The coals in the grate began to fade, the room was cold and she was +tired. Slowly she continued her undressing, throwing down her dainty +garments with the indifference of her fatigue. She feared her thoughts +would stand between her and sleep, but, when she lay down, warmth +gradually stole over her and soothed her into forgetfulness. She slept, +but she waked to unusual sounds in the house: a door opened, there were +footsteps on the landing and then a voice, shrill and frightened. She +jumped out of bed. Sophia was on the landing; Rose was just opening her +door; Susan, decently covered by a puritanical dressing-gown, had been +roused by the noise. Caroline was in pain, Sophia said. She was +breathing with great difficulty. “I told her she ought to take a +shawl,” Sophia sobbed. + +Fires had to be lighted, water boiled and flannels warmed, and the +voice of Caroline was heard in gasping expostulation. Henrietta dressed +quickly. “I’m going for the doctor,” she told Rose, who was already +putting on her coat, and Henrietta noticed that she still wore her +evening gown. She had not been to bed, and for a moment Henrietta +forgot her Aunt Caroline and stared at her Aunt Rose. + +“I am going,” Rose said quietly. “Oh, hadn’t you better stay here? +Aunt Sophia is in such a fuss.” + +“We’ll go together,” Rose said. “I can’t let you go alone.” + +Henrietta laughed a little. This care was so unnecessary for one who +had given herself to a future full of peril. + +They went out in the cold darkness of the morning, walking very fast +and now and then breaking into a run, and with them there walked a +shadowy third person, keeping them apart. It was strange to be yoked +together by Caroline’s danger and securely separated by this shadow. +They did not speak, they had nothing to say, yet both thought, What +difference is this going to make? But on their way back, when the +doctor had been roused and they had his promise to come quickly, +Henrietta’s fear burst the bonds of her reserve. “You don’t think she +is going to die, do you?” + +Rose put her arm through Henrietta’s. “Oh, Henrietta, I hope not. No, +no, I’m not going to believe that, “and, temporarily united, the third +person left behind though following closely, they returned to the +lighted house. As they stood in the hall they could hear the rasping +sound of Caroline’s breathing. + + +§ 6 + +John Gibbs, of Sales Hall, milkman and news carrier, shook his head +over the cans that morning. Mrs. Sales was very bad. The master had +fetched the doctor in the early morning. He had set out in the same car +that brought him from the dance. Cook and Susan looked at each other +with a compression of lips and a nodding of heads, implying that +misfortune never came singly, but they did not tell John Gibbs of the +illness in their own house. They had imbibed something of the Mallett +reserve and they did not wish the family affairs to be blabbed at every +house in Radstowe. But when the man had gone, Susan reminded Cook of +her early disapproval of that ball. It would kill Miss Caroline, it +would kill Mrs. Sales. + +“She wasn’t there, poor thing,” Cook said. + +“But he was, gallivanting. I dare say it upset her.” + +Susan was right. Christabel Sales had fretted herself into one of her +heart attacks; but the Malletts did not know this until later. At +present they were concerned with Caroline, about whom the doctor was +reassuring. She was very ill, but she had herself remarked that if they +were expecting her to die they would be disappointed, and that was the +spirit to help recovery. + +A nurse was installed in the sick-room, Sophia fluttered a little less +and Rose and Henrietta ignored their emotion of the early morning; they +also avoided each other. They were both occupied with the same problem, +though Henrietta’s thoughts had taken definite shape; above her +dreaming, her practical mind was dealing with concrete details, and +Rose was merely speculating on the future, and the more she speculated, +the surer she became of the necessity to interfere. Her plan of +carrying Henrietta to other lands was frustrated for the present by +Caroline’s illness and she dared not allow things to drift. There was a +smouldering defiance in Henrietta’s manner: she was absorbed yet wary; +she seemed to have a grudge against the aunt who had missed nothing at +the dance, who had seen her exits and entrances with Francis Sales and +interrupted their farewell glance, the wave of Henrietta’s gloved hand +towards the tall figure standing in the porch of the Assembly Rooms to +see her depart. + +There was a certain humour about the situation, and for Rose an +impeding feeling of hypocrisy. Here she was, determined to put +obstacles on the primrose path where she herself once had dallied. It +looked like the envy of age for youth, it looked like inclining to +virtue because the opposite was no longer possible for her, like tardy +loyalty to Christabel; but she must not be hampered by appearances. + +Her chief fear was of hardening Henrietta’s temper, and she came to the +conclusion that she must appeal to Francis Sales himself. It was an +unpleasant task and, she dimly felt, she hardly knew why, a dangerous +one; and meeting Henrietta that day at meals or in the hushed quiet of +the passages, she felt herself a traitor to the girl. After all, what +right had she to interfere? She had no right, and her double excuse was +her knowledge of Francis Sales’ character and her certainty that +Henrietta was chiefly moved by her dramatic instinct. And again Rose +wished that the hair of Charles Batty’s head were thicker and that he +could supply the counter-attraction needed; but she might at least be +able to use him; there was no one else. + +That night, after an evening spent in soothing Sophia’s fears which had +been roused by the unnatural gentleness of Caroline, and treating +Henrietta to all the friendliness she would receive, Rose went out to +post a letter to Francis Sales. She had asked him, with an irony she +had no doubt he would miss, to meet her in the hollow where the gipsies +had encamped and where so many of their interviews had taken place. It +was within a few yards of that bank of primroses where he had asked her +to marry him. + +Caroline was better the next morning and it was easy for Rose to +escape. She chose to ride. It was one of those mild January days which +already promise the return of spring. Birds chirped in the leafless +trees, the earth was damp and seemed to stir with the efforts of +innumerable roots to produce a richer life, yet the leaves of autumn +were still lying on the ground. How she loved this country, this blue +air, this smell of fruit present even before the blossom was on the +trees, the sight of wood smoke curling from the cottage chimneys, the +very ruts in the road! A little while ago she had told herself she was +sickened by it: it was the symbol of failure and young, tender, ruined +hopes, but the love of it lay deeply in her heart; all this, the +failure and the ruin, were of her life and it could be no more cast off +than could the hands which had refused the kissing and clasping of +Francis Sales. + +This was her own country: the strange, unbridled, stealthy wildness of +it was in her blood; it was in Henrietta through her father, it was in +Francis, too, and due to it was this tragic muddle in which they found +themselves. She had a faint, despairing feeling that she could not +fight against it, that her mission would only be another failure, yet +she counted on Francis’s easy tenderness of heart. The very weakness +which persuaded him to an action could turn him from it, and it was to +his tenderness she must appeal. + +She reached the track and, raised high on her horse, she could see the +fields with the rough grass and gorse bushes sloping to the channel; +the pale strip of water like silver melted in the heart of the hills +and falling slowly to the sea; the blue hills themselves like gates +keeping a fair country. The place where the wood had been was like a +brown and purple rug, but before long the pattern would be complicated +by creeping green. Where the trees had murmured and whispered or stood +silent, listening, there was now no sound, no secrecy; the place lay +candidly under the wide sky, but, from a field out of sight, a sheep +bleated disconsolately, with a sound of infinite, uncomprehending woe, +and a steamer in the river sent out a distant hoot of answering +derision. + +The gipsies had departed; the ashes of their fire made a black patch on +the ground and a few rags fluttered in the wind. There was no human +being in sight and she rode down the slope to wait in the hollow. She +was beginning to wonder if Francis had received her letter when, with a +dreary sense of watching a familiar scene reacted, she saw him in the +lane with Henrietta by his side. Here was an unexpected difficulty, and +she could do nothing but ride towards them, raising her whip in +greeting. + +She said at once to Francis, “Did you get my letter?” She saw +Henrietta’s face flush angrily, but she knew that the time had come for +her to speak. “I asked you to meet me here.” + +He was staring at her and his mouth moved mechanically. “No, I didn’t +get it by the first post. Perhaps it’s there now.” With his eyes still +fixed on her, he moved back a step. + +“No.” Rose smiled. “Don’t go and get it. Fortunately you are here. I +want to talk to you, Henrietta, please—” Her voice was gentle, she +leaned forward in the saddle with a charming gesture of request, but +Henrietta shook her head. She was antagonized by that charm which was +holding Francis’s eyes. A loosened curl had fallen over her forehead, +giving to the severity of her dress, copied from that portrait of her +father, a dishevelling touch, as though a young lady were suddenly +discovered to be a gipsy in an evil frame of mind. + +“If it’s anything to do with me, I’m going to stay,” she said. “If it +hasn’t, I’ll go.” She looked at Francis and added, between her teeth, +“But it must have.” Those words and that look claimed him for her own. + +Rose lifted her chin and looked over the two heads, the uncovered one +of Francis Sales and Henrietta’s, with her hat a little askew, and, +absurdly, Rose remembered that the child had washed her hair the night +before: that was why the hat was crooked and the curl loose, making the +scene undignified and funny above the pain of it. Rose spoke in a voice +heightened by a tone. “It concerns you both,” she said. + +“Ah, then, you needn’t say it, need she, Francis?” + +“Francis,” she repeated the name with a grave humour, “this is not fair +to Henrietta.” + +“I know that,” he muttered, and Rose saw Henrietta shoot at him a thin +look of scorn. + +Henrietta said, “But I don’t care about that, and anyhow, we’re not +going to do it any more. We’re tired of these meetings”—she faced +him—“aren’t we? We had just made up our minds to have no more of them.” + +“I’m glad of that,” said Rose, and she fancied that the hurried beating +of her heart must be plain through the thick stuff of her coat. + +Henrietta laughed, showing little teeth, and Rose thought, “Her teeth +are too small. They spoil her.” + +“No, you need not spy on us any more,” Henrietta said. + +Francis made a movement of distaste. He said, as though the words cost +him much labour, “Henrietta, don’t.” + +But there seemed to be no limit to what Rose could bear. She stooped +forward suddenly and put her cheek against the horse’s neck in an +impulsive need to express affection, perhaps to get it. + +“You think I don’t understand,” she said quietly, “but I do, too well.” +She paused, and in her overpowering sense of helplessness, of distrust, +she found herself making, without a quiver, the confession of her own +foolishness. + +“I don’t know whether Francis has told you that he and I were once in +love with one another. At least that is what we called it.” Very pale, +appearing to have grown thinner in that moment, she looked at the +horse’s ears and spoke as though she and Henrietta were alone. “Until +quite lately. Then he realized, we both realized, our mistake. But it +seems that Francis must have somebody to—to meet, to kiss. Between me +and you there has been some one else.” With a wave of her hand, she put +aside that thought. “We used to meet here often. This place must be +full of memories for him. For me, the whole countryside is scattered +with little broken bits of love. It breaks so easily, or it may be only +the counterfeit that breaks. Anyhow, it broke, it chipped. I thought +you ought to know that.” She touched her horse with her heel and turned +down the lane. She went slowly, sitting very straight, but she had the +constant expectation of being shot in the back. She had to remind +herself that Henrietta had no weapon but her eyes. + +It was those eyes Francis Sales chiefly remembered when he had parted +from Henrietta and turned homewards. There had been scorn in them, +anger, grief, jealousy and expectation. If she had not been so small, +if they had not been raised to his, if he could have looked levelly +into them as he did into the clear grey eyes of Rose, things might have +been different. But she was little and she had clung to him, looking +up. She had told him she could never see her Aunt Rose again. How could +she? Was he sure he did not love Rose still? Was he sure? He ought to +be, for it was he who had made Henrietta love him. He had liked that +tribute too much to contradict it, but Rose Mallett was right: whoever +had been the promoter of this business, it was not fair to Henrietta, +and the thought of Rose, so white and straight, was like wind after a +sultry day. She was like a church, he thought; a dim church with tall +pillars losing themselves in the loftiness of the roof; yes, that was +what was the matter with her: she was cold, but there was no one like +her, you could not forget her even in the warmth of Henrietta’s +presence. One way and another, these Malletts tortured him. + +He walked home, trying to find some way out of this maze of promises to +Henrietta and of self-reproach, and his mental wanderings were +interrupted by an unwelcome request from the nurse that he should go at +once to Mrs. Sales. She seemed, the woman warned him, to be very much +excited: would he please be careful? She must not have another heart +attack. + +As he entered the room, it seemed to him that he had been treading on +egg-shells all his life, but a sudden pity swept him at the sight of +his wife, very weak from the pain of the night before last, yet +intensely, almost viciously alive. He wished he had not gone to the +Battys’ ball; it had upset her and done him no good. If it had not been +for that walk on the terrace— + +He shut the door gently and stood by her. “Are you in pain?” he asked. +He felt remorsefully that he did not know how to treat her; he had not +love enough, yet with all his heart he wanted to be kind. + +“You haven’t kissed me to-day,” she said. “No, don’t do it. You don’t +want to, do you?” + +“Yes, I do,” he said, and as he bent over her he was touched by the +contented sigh she gave. If he could begin over again, he told himself, +with the virtue of the man who has committed himself fatally, things +would be different. If he hadn’t brought Henrietta to such a pass, they +should be different now. + +“I’ve never stopped being fond of you, Christabel.” + +She laughed and disconcerted him. “Or of your horses, or your dogs,” +she said. “No one could expect you to care much for a useless log like +me. No one could have expected you not to go to that dance.” Tears +filled her eyes. “But I was lonely. And I imagined you there—” + +“I wish I hadn’t gone,” he said truthfully. + +She seemed to consider that remark, but presently she asked, “Have you +lost something?” + +He had lost a great deal, for Rose despised him; that had been plain in +the face which once had been so soft for him. + +“I asked you,” Christabel said, “if you had lost something.” + +“Yes—no, nothing.” + +She let out a small piercing shriek. “You’re lying, lying! But why +should I care? You’ve done that for years. And Rose has been so kind, +hasn’t she, coming to see me every week? Take your letter, Francis. +Yes, I’ve read it! I don’t care. I’m helpless. Take it!” From its +hiding-place under the coverlet she drew the letter and threw it at +him. It fluttered feebly to the ground. She had made a tremendous +effort, trying to fling it in his face, and it had fallen as mildly as +a snowflake. She began to sob. This was the climax of her suffering, +that it should fall like that. + +He picked it up and read it. It was no good trying to explain, for one +explanation would only necessitate another. He was deeply in the mire, +they were both, they were all in it, and he did not know how to get +anybody out, but he had to stop that sobbing somehow. His pity for +Christabel swelled into his biggest feeling. He crumpled the letter +angrily and, at the sound, she held her breathing for a moment. Of +course, she should have crumpled the letter and then she might have hit +him with it. + +“I wish to God I’d never seen her,” she heard him say with despairing +anger. And then, more gently, “Don’t cry, Christabel. I can’t bear to +hear you. The letter’s nothing. I shall never meet her again. I must +take more care of you.” He took her hand and stroked it. He would never +meet Rose again, but he had an appointment with Henrietta. + +“You promise? But no, it doesn’t matter if you love her.” + +“I don’t love her.” + +“But you did.” + +He passed his free hand across his forehead. No, he would not keep that +appointment with Henrietta, or he would only keep it to tell her it was +impossible. He could not go with this wailing in his ears and he knew +that piteous sound was his salvation. It gave him the strength to +appear weak. “Don’t cry. It’s all right, Christabel. Look, I’ll burn +the confounded letter and I swear it’s the only one I’ve ever had from +her. “It was to Rose, he admitted miserably, that he owed the +possibility of telling that truth. + +Her weeping became quieter. “Tell her,” she articulated, “I never want +to see her again.” + +“But,” he said petulantly, “haven’t I just told you I never want to +meet her?” + +“Then write—write—I don’t mind Henrietta.” + +“No!” he almost shouted, “not Henrietta either!” + +She turned to him a face ravaged with tears and misery. “Why not +Henrietta?” she whispered. + +“I hate the lot of them,” he muttered. “They’re all witches.” + +She laughed joyously. “That’s what I’ve said myself!” She gave him both +her thin, hot hands to hold. “But it’s worth while, all this, if you +are going to be good to me.” + +He kissed her then as the sinner kisses the saint who has wrought a +miracle of salvation for him. “We’ve had bad luck,” he murmured. +“You’ve had the worst of it.” He stroked her cheek. “Poor little +thing.” + + +§ 7 + +Once out of sight of the two standing in the lane, Rose rode home +quickly. She felt she had a great deal to do, but she did not know what +it was. Her head was hot with the turmoil of her thoughts. There was no +order in them; the past was mixed with the present, the done with the +undone: she was assailed by the awful conviction that right was +prolific in producing wrong. If she had not preserved her own physical +integrity, these two, who were almost like her children—yes, that was +how she felt towards them—would not have been tempted to such folly. +For it was folly: they did not love each other, and she remembered, +with a sickening pang, the expression with which Francis had looked at +her. She told herself he loved her still; he had never loved anybody +else and she had only pity and protection and a deep-rooted fondness to +give him in return. She cared more passionately for Henrietta, who was +now the victim of the superficial chastity on which Rose had insisted. + +If she had known that Henrietta was to suffer, she would have subdued +her niceness, for if Francis had been in physical possession of her +body, she would have had no difficulty in possessing his mind. Holding +nothing back, she could also have held him securely. She did not want +him, but Henrietta would have been saved. But then Rose had not known: +how could she? And Henrietta might be saved yet, she must be saved. The +obvious method was to lay siege to the facile heart of Francis, but +there was no time for that. Rose was not deceived by Henrietta’s +enigmatic words. They were tired of meeting stealthily, she had said. +What did that mean? Her head grew hotter. She had to force herself into +calm, and the old man at the toll-house on the bridge received her +visual greeting as she passed, but, as she went slowly to the stables, +there was added to her anxiety the thrilling knowledge that at last, +and for the first time, she was going to take definite action. Her +whole life had been a long and dull preparation for this day. She began +to take a pleasure in her excitement: she had something to do; she was +delivered from the monotony of thought. + +On her way from the stables she met Charles Batty going home for his +midday meal, and she stopped him. “Charles!” she said. She presented to +his appreciative eyes a very elegant figure in the habit looped up to +show her high slim boots, with her thick plait of hair under the hard +hat, her complexion defying the whiteness of her stock; while to her he +appeared with something of the aspect of an angel in a long top coat +and a hat at the back of his head. “Charles,” she said again, tapping +her boot with her whip, “I’m in trouble. Would you mind walking home by +the hill? I want you to help me, but I can’t tell you how. Not yet.” + +He walked beside her without speaking and they came to the place where +he had stood with Henrietta and she had flouted him; whither she had +wandered on her first day in Radstowe, that high point overlooking the +gorge, the rocks, the trees, the river; that scene of which not +Charles, nor Rose, nor Henrietta could ever tire. + +“Not, yet,” she repeated. “Will you meet me this afternoon?” + +“Look here,” he remonstrated, “if Henrietta found out—” + +She had not time to smile. “It’s for her sake.” + +“I’ll do anything,” he said. + +“Then will you meet me this afternoon at five o’clock? Not here. I may +not be able to get so far. Where can we meet?” + +“Well, there’s the post-office. Can’t mistake that.” + +“No, no, I may have something important, very important, Charles, to +say to you. At five o’clock, will you be on The Green? There’s a seat +by the old monument. It won’t take a minute to get there. Are you +listening? On The Green at five o’clock. Come towards me as soon as you +see me and at once we’ll walk together towards the avenue. Wait till +six, and if I don’t come, will you still hold yourself in readiness at +home? Don’t forget. Don’t be absent-minded and forget what you are +there for, and even if there’s a barrel-organ playing dreadful tunes, +you’ll wait there? For Henrietta.” + +“I don’t understand this about Henrietta.” + +“That doesn’t matter, not in the least. Now what are your +instructions?” + +He repeated them. + +“Very well. I trust you.” + +They separated and she went home, a little amused by her melodramatic +conduct, but much comforted by the fact that Charles, though ignorant +of his part, was with her in this conspiracy. She was met by reproaches +from Sophia. + +“Oh, Rose, riding on such a day! And Henrietta out, too! Suppose we’d +wanted something from the chemist!” + +“But you didn’t, did you? And there are four servants in the house. How +is Caroline now?” + +“Very quiet. Oh, Rose, she’s very ill. She lets me do anything I like. +She hasn’t a fault to find with me.” + +“Let Henrietta sit with her this afternoon while Nurse is out.” + +“No, no, Rose, I must do what I can for her.” + +“I should like Henrietta to feel she is needed.” + +“I don’t think Caroline would be pleased. I’ll see what she says.” + +Caroline was distressingly indifferent but, as Henrietta went to her +room on her return and sent a message that she had a headache and did +not want any food, she was left undisturbed. Sophia became still more +agitated. What was the matter with the child? It would be terrible if +she were ill, too. Would Rose go and take her temperature? No, Rose was +sure Henrietta would not care for that. She had better be left to +sleep. If only she could be put to sleep for a few days! + +Now that she was in the house and locked into her room, Rose was +alarmed. She was afraid she had done wrong in making that confession; +she had played what seemed to be her strongest card but she had played +it in the wrong way, at the wrong moment. She had surely roused the +girl’s antagonism and rivalry, and there came to Rose’s memory many +little scenes in which Reginald Mallett, crossed in his desires, or +irritated by reproaches, had suddenly stopped his storming, set his +stubborn mouth and left the house, only to return when need drove him +home. + +But if Henrietta went, and Rose had no doubt of her intention, she +would not come back. She had the unbending pride of her mother’s class, +and Rose’s fear was changed into a sense of approaching desolation. The +house would be unbearable without Henrietta. Rose stood on the landing +listening to the small sounds from Caroline’s room and the unbroken +silence from Henrietta’s. If that room became empty, the house would be +empty too. There would be no swift footsteps up and down the stairs, no +bursts of singing, no laughter: she must not go; she could not be +spared. For a moment Rose forgot Francis Sales’s share in the +adventure: she could only think of her own impending loneliness. + +She went quickly down the stairs and sat in the drawing-room, leaving +the door open, and after an hour or so she heard stealthy sounds from +the room above; drawers were opened carefully and Henrietta, in +slipperless feet, padded across the floor. Rose looked at her watch and +rang the bell. + +“Please take a tray to Miss Henrietta’s room,” she told Susan, “with +tea, and sandwiches and, yes, an egg. She had no luncheon. A good, +substantial tea, please, Susan.” If the child were anticipating a +journey, she must be fed. + +A little later she heard Susan knock at Henrietta’s door. It was not +opened, but the tray was deposited outside with a slight rattle of +china, and Susan’s voice, mildly reproachful, exhorted Miss Henrietta +to eat and drink. + +At half-past four the tray was still lying there untouched. This meant +that Henrietta was in no hurry, or that she was too indignant to eat: +but it might also mean that she had no time. Only half-past four and +Charles Batty was not due till five! He might be there already; in his +place, she would have been there, but men were painfully exact, and +five was the hour she had named. But again, Charles Batty was not an +ordinary man. Trusting to that fact, she went to her room and provided +herself with money, and, having listened without a qualm at Henrietta’s +door, she ran out of the house. + +The church facing The Green sounded the three-quarters and there, on +the seat by the old stone, sat Charles, his hands in his pockets, his +hat pulled over his eyes in a manner likely to rouse suspicions in the +mildest of policemen. + +He rose. “Where’s your hat?” + +“No time,” she said. + +He repeated his lesson. “We were to walk towards the avenue.” + +“Yes, but I daren’t. I want to keep in sight of the house. Come with +me. Here’s money. Don’t lose it.” + +He held it loosely. “Some one’s been playing ‘The Merry Peasant’ for +half an hour,” he said. “I’ll never sit here again.” + +“Charles, take care of the money. You may need it. There’s ten +pounds—all I had—but perhaps it will be enough. I want you to watch our +gate, and if Henrietta goes out, please follow her, but don’t let her +see you.” + +“Oh, I say!” he murmured. + +“I know. It’s hateful, it’s abominable, but you must do it.” + +“She won’t be pleased.” + +“You must do it,” Rose repeated. + +“She’s sure to see me. Eyes like needles.” + +“She mustn’t. She’ll probably go by train. If she goes to London, to +this address—I’ve written it down for you—you may leave her there for +the night and let me know at once. If she goes anywhere else, you must +go with her. Take care of her. I can’t tell you exactly what to do +because I don’t know what’s going to happen. She may meet somebody, and +then, Charles, you must go with them both. But bring her home if you +can. Don’t go to sleep. Don’t compose music in your head. Oh, Charles, +this is your chance!” + +“Is it? I shall miss it. I always do the wrong thing.” + +“Not to-night.” She smiled at him eagerly, imperiously, trying to endue +him with her own spirit. “Stay here in the shadow. I don’t think you +will have long to wait, and if you get your chance, if you have to talk +to her, don’t scold.” + +“Scold! It’s she that scolds. She bullies me.” + +“Ah, not to-night!” she repeated gaily. + +He peered down at her. “Yes, you are rather like her in the face, +specially when you laugh. Better looking, though,” he added mournfully. + +“Don’t tell her that.” + +“Mustn’t I? Well, I don’t suppose I shall think of it again.” + +“Remember that for you she is the best and most beautiful woman in the +world. You can tell her that.” + +“The best and most beautiful—yes,” he said. “All right. But you’ll +see—I’ll lose her. Bound to,” he muttered. + +She put her hand on his arm. “You’ll bring her home,” she said firmly, +and she left him standing monumentally, with his hat awry. + +Charles stood obediently in the place assigned to him, where the +shelter of the Malletts’ garden wall made his own bulk less conspicuous +and whence he could see the gate. The night was mild, but a little wind +had risen, gently rocking the branches of the trees which, in the +neighbourhood of the street lamps, cast their shadows monstrously on +the pavements. Their movements gradually resolved themselves into +melody in Charles Batty’s mind: the beauty of the reflected and +exaggerated twigs and branches was not consciously realized by his +eyes, but the swaying, the sudden ceasing, and the resumption of that +delicate agitation became music in his ears. He, too, swayed slightly +on his big feet and forgot his business, to remember it with a jerk and +a fear that Henrietta had escaped him. Rose had told him he must not +make music in his head. How had she known he would want to do that? She +must have some faculty denied to him, the same faculty which warned her +that Henrietta was going to do something strange to-night. + +He felt in his pocket to assure himself of the money’s safety. He +rearranged his hat and determined to concentrate on watching. The pain +which, varying in degrees, always lived in his bosom, the pain of +misunderstanding and being misunderstood, of doing the wrong thing, of +meaning well and acting ill, became acute. He was bound to make a +mistake; he would lose Henrietta or incense her, though now he was more +earnest to do wisely than he had ever been. He had told her he was +going to make an art of love, but he knew that art was far from +perfected, and she was incapable of appreciating mere endeavour. He was +afraid of her, but to-night he was more afraid of failing. + +The music tripped in his head but he would not listen to it. He +strained his ears for the opening of the Malletts’ door, and just as +the sound of the clock striking two steady notes for half-past five was +fading, as though it were being carried on the light wings of the wind +over the big trees, over the green, across the gorge, across the woods +to the essential country, he heard a faint thud, a patter of feet and +the turning of the handle of the gate. He stepped back lest she should +be going to pass him, but she turned the other way, walking quickly, +with a small bag in her hand. + +“She’s going away,” Charles said to himself with perspicacity, and now +for the first time he knew what her absence would mean to him. She did +not love him, she mocked and despised him, but the Malletts’ house had +held her, and several times a day he had been able to pass and tell +himself she was there. Now, with the sad little bag in her hand, she +was not only in personal danger, she threatened his whole life. + +He followed, not too close. Her haste did not destroy the beauty of her +carriage, her body did not hang over her feet, teaching them the way to +go; it was straight, like a young tree. He had never really looked at +her before, he had never had a mind empty of everything except the +consideration of her, and now he was puzzled by some difference. In his +desire to discover what it was, he drew indiscreetly close to her, and +though a quick turn of her head reminded him of his duty to see and not +to be seen, he had made his discovery. Her clothes were different: they +were shabby and, searching for an explanation, he found the right one. +She was wearing the clothes in which she had arrived at Nelson Lodge. +He remembered. In books it was what fugitives always did: they +discarded their rich clothes and they left a note on the pin-cushion. +It was her way of shaking the dust from her feet and, with a rush of +feeling in which he forgot himself, he experienced a new, protective +tenderness for her. He realized that she, too, might be unhappy, and it +seemed that it was he who ought to comfort her, he who could do it. + +He had to put a drag on his steps as they tried to hurry after her, +through the main street of Upper Radstowe, through another darker one +where there were fewer people and he had to exercise more care, and so +past the big square where tall old houses looked at each other across +an enclosure of trees, down to a broad street where tramcars rushed and +rattled. She boarded one of these and went inside. Pulling his hat +farther over his face in the erroneous belief that he would be the less +noticeable, he ascended to the top, to crane his head over the side at +every stopping-place lest Henrietta should get off; but there was no +sign of her until they reached that strange place in the middle of the +city where the harbour ran into the streets and the funnels and masts +of ships mingled with the roofs of houses. This was the spot where, +round a big triangle of paving, tramcars came and went in every +direction, and here everybody must alight. + +The streets were brilliant with electricity; electric signs popped +magically with many-coloured lights on the front of a music hall where +an audience was already gathering for the first performance, on +public-houses, on the big red warehouses on the quay. The lighted +tramcars with passengers inside looked like magic-lantern slides, and +amid all the people using the triangle as a promenade or hurrying here +and there on business, the newsboys shouting and the general bustle, +Charles did not know whether to be more afraid of losing Henrietta or +colliding with her. But now his faculties were alert and he used more +discretion than was necessary, for Henrietta, under the influence of +that instinct which persuades that not seeing is a precaution against +being seen, was scrupulous in avoiding the encounter of any eye. + +He followed her to another tramcar which would take her to the station; +he followed her when she alighted once more and, seeing her change that +bag from one hand to another, as though she found it heavy, he let out +a groan so loud and heartfelt that it aroused the pity of a passer-by, +but he was really luxuriating in his sorrow for her. It was an immense +relief after much sorrowing for himself and it induced a forgetfulness +of everything but his determination to help her. + +It was easy to keep her in sight while she went up the broad approach +to the dull, crowded, badly lighted and dirty station: it was harder to +get near enough to hear what ticket she demanded. He did not hear, but +again he followed the little, shabby, yet somehow elegant figure, and +he took a place in the compartment next to the one she chose. It was +the London train, and he found himself hoping she was not going so far; +he felt that to see her disappearing into that house of which he had +the address in his pocket would be like seeing her disappear for ever. +He would lose his chance of helping her, or rather, she would lose her +chance of being helped, a slightly different aspect of the affair and +the one on which he had set his mind. + +He had taken a ticket for the first stop, and when the train slowed +down for the station of that neighbouring city, he had his head out of +the window. An old gentleman with a noisy cold protested. Could he not +wait until the train actually stopped? Charles was afraid he could not +be so obliging. He assured the old gentleman that the night was mild. +“And I’m keeping a good deal of the draught out,” he said pleasantly. + +He saw a small hand on the door of the next compartment, then the +sleeve of a black coat as Henrietta stretched for the handle, and he +said to himself, “She was in mourning for her mother.” He was proud of +remembering that; he had a sense of nearness and a slow suspicion that +hitherto he had not sufficiently considered her. In their past +intercourse he had been trying to stamp his own thoughts on her mind, +but now it seemed that something of her, more real than her physical +beauty, was being impressed on him. He wanted to know what she was +feeling, not in regard to him, but in regard, for instance, to that +dead mother, and why she ran away like this, in her old clothes and +with the little bag. + +She was out of the train: she had descended the steps to the roadway +and there she looked about her, hesitating. Cabmen hailed her but, +ignoring them and crossing the tramlines, she began to walk slowly up a +dull street where cards in the house windows told of lodgings to be +let. If she knocked at one of these doors, what was he to do? But she +did not look at the houses: her head was drooping a little, her feet +moved reluctantly, she was no longer eager and her bag was heavy again, +she had changed it from the right to the left hand, and then, +unexpectedly, she quickened her pace. The naturally unobservant Charles +divined a cause and, looking for it, he saw with a shock of surprise +and horror the tall figure of a man at the end of the street. She was +hastening towards him. + +Charles stood stock-still. A man! He had not thought of that, he had +positively never thought of it! Nor had he guessed at his capacity for +jealousy and anger. Then this was why Rose Mallett had sent him on this +mission: it was a man’s work, and in the confusion of his feelings he +still had time to wish he had spent more of his youth in the exercise +of his muscles. He braced himself for an encounter, but already +Henrietta had swerved aside. This was not the man she was to meet; her +expectation had misled her; but the acute Charles surmised that the man +she looked for would also be tall and slim. + +Tall and slim; he repeated the words so that he should make no mistake, +but subconsciously they had roused memories and instead of that little +black figure hurrying on in front of him, he saw a young woman clothed +in yellow, entering from the frosty night, with brilliant half veiled +eyes, and by the side of her was Francis Sales. + +Again he stood still, as much in amazement at his own folly as in any +other feeling. Francis Sales, the fellow who could dance, who murdered +music and little birds! And he had a wife! Charles was not shocked. If +Henrietta had wished to elope with a great musician, wived though he +might be, Charles could have let her go, subduing his own pangs, not +for her own sake but for that of a man more important than himself, but +he would not yield the claims of his devotion to Francis Sales. He +should not have her. + +He walked on quickly, taking no precautions. He had lost sight of +Henrietta and he could not even hear the sound of her steps, yet he had +no doubt but he would find her, and she was not far to seek. A turn of +the road brought him under the shadow of the cathedral and, in the +paved square surrounded by old houses in which it stood, he saw her. +Apparently at that moment she also saw him, for with an incredibly +swift movement and a furtiveness which wrung his heart, she slipped +into the porch and disappeared. He followed. The door was unlocked and +she had passed through it, but he lingered there, fancying he could +smell the faint sweetness of her presence. Within, the organ was +booming softly and in that sound he forgot, for a moment, the necessity +for action. The music seemed to be wonderfully complicated with the +waft of Henrietta’s passage, with his love for her, with all he +imagined her to be, but the forgetfulness was only for that moment, and +he pushed open the door. + + +§ 8 + +The place was dimly lighted. Two candles, like stars, twinkled on the +distant altar; a few people sat in the darkness with an extraordinary +effect of personal sorrow. This was not where happy people came to +offer thanks; it was a refuge for the afflicted, a temporary harbour +for the weary. They did not seem to pray; they sat relaxed, wrapped in +the antique peace, the warm, musty smell of the building, sitting with +the stillness of their desire to preserve this safety which was theirs +only for a little while. Their dull clothes mixed with the shadows, the +old oak, the worn stone, and the voice of the organ was like the voice +of multitudes of sad souls. Very soon the music ceased with a kind of +sob and the verger, with his skirts flapping round his feet, came to +warn those isolated human creatures that they must face the world +again. + +They rose obediently, but Henrietta did not move, as though she alone +of that company had not learnt the lesson of necessity. But the altar +lights were now extinguished, the skirted verger was approaching her, +and Charles forestalled him. He murmured, “Henrietta!” + +She looked up without surprise. “What time is it?” she asked. + +“Seven o’clock.” + +She rose, picking up her bag. + +“Let me have that,” he said. + +“No, no,” she answered absently, and then, “Is it really seven?” + +“Yes, there’s the clock striking now.” The sound of the seven notes +whirred and then clanged above their heads. “We must go,” he said. +“They’re locking up.” The air was cold and damp after the warmth of +the church and Henrietta stood, shivering a little and looking round +her. + +“I’m hungry,” Charles Batty said. “Will you come and have dinner with +me?” + +“No,” she replied, “I shall stay here.” + +“How long for?” + +“I don’t know.” And sharply she turned on him and asked, “What are you +doing here?” + +“I come here sometimes. There are concerts.” + +“You’ll be late, then, if you are going to dine.” + +“I know, but I’m hungry. You can’t listen to music if you’re hungry. +Let’s have dinner first.” + +The square was deserted, the lights in the little shops, where old +furniture and lace and jewels were sold, were all put out and the large +policeman who had been standing at the corner had moved away. + +“I don’t want anything to eat,” she said. She dropped the bag and +covered her face with both her hands. She was going to cry, but he was +not afraid; he was rather glad and, not without pleasure at his own +daring, he removed a hand, tucked it under his arm, and said, “Come +along.” + +She struggled. “I can’t. I must go to London. If you want to help me +you’ll find out about the trains. I can go to Mrs. Banks. I can’t go +back to Radstowe.” + +“Henrietta,” he said firmly, “come and have dinner and we’ll talk about +it.” + +“If you’ll promise to help me.” + +“There’s nothing I want to do so much,” he said. “We mustn’t forget the +bag.” + +“Somewhere quiet, Charles,” she murmured. + +“Somewhere good,” he emended. + +She looked down, “Such old clothes.” + +“It doesn’t matter what you wear,” he told her. “You always look +different from anybody else.” + +“Do I? And I am! I am! I’m much worse, and nobody,” she almost sobbed, +“is so unhappy! Charles, will you wait here for a minute? I must +just—just walk round the square.” + +“You’ll come back?” + +She nodded, and he kept the bag as hostage. + +The large policeman had strolled back. He saw the tall young man +standing over the bag and thought it would be well to keep an eye on +him, but Charles did not notice the policeman. His whole attention was +for Henrietta’s reappearance. She would come back because she had said +she would, but if she did not come alone there would be trouble. He did +not, however, expect to see Francis Sales: he gathered that Sales had +failed her, and he was sorry. He would have beaten him, somehow; he +would have conquered for the first time in his life, and now he felt +that his task was going to be too easy. He wished he could have sweated +and panted in the doing of it; and when Henrietta returned alone, +walking with an angry swiftness, he felt a genuine regret. + +“Come along, Charles,” she said briskly. “Let us have dinner.” + +He could see the brightness of her eyes, looking past him; her lips had +a fixed smile and he wished she would cry again. “She is crying +inside,” he told himself. He moved forward beside her vaguely. The +tenderness of his love for her was like a powerful, warm wave, sweeping +over him and making him helpless for the time. He could do nothing +against it, he had to be carried with it, but suddenly it receded, +leaving him high and dry and unromantically in contact with a +lamp-post. His hat had fallen off. + +“What are you doing?” Henrietta asked irritably. + +He rubbed his head. “Bumped it. I was thinking about you.” + +“What were you thinking?” she asked defiantly. + +“Oh, well—” he said. + +She laughed. “Charles, you’re hopeless.” + +“No, I’m not.” He stooped for his hat and picked it up. “Not,” he +repeated strongly. “Here’s the place.” They had turned into a busy +street. “I hope there won’t be a band.” + +“I hope there will be. I want noises, hideous noises.” + +“You’re going to get them,” he sighed as he pushed open the swing-door +and received in his ears the fierce banging, braying and shrieking of +various instruments played in a frenzy by a group of musicians +confined, as if for the public safety, in a small gallery at the end of +the room. Large and encumbered by the bag, he stood obstructing the +waiters in the passage between the tables. + +“They’re like wild beasts in a cage,” he said in the loud voice of his +anger. “Can you stand it?” + +“Oh, yes—yes. Let us sit here, in this corner.” He was ridiculous, she +thought, yet to-night, unconscious of any absurdity himself, he had a +dignity; he was not so ugly as she had thought; his somewhat protruding +eyes had less vacancy, and though his tie was crooked, she was not +ashamed of him. Nevertheless, she said as he sat down, “Charles, I’m +going to London to-night. Get a time-table.” + +“Soup first,” he said. + +“I must go to-night. I can’t go back to Radstowe.” + +“Did you,” he asked unexpectedly, “leave a note on your +dressing-table?” + +“What?” She frowned. “No, of course not.” + +“Oh, well, you can go back. We’re going to a concert together. It’s +quite easy. I told you you were different from everybody else.” And +then, remembering Rose’s words, he leaned across the table towards her. +“The most beautiful and the best,” he said severely. + +“Me?” + +“Yes. Here’s the soup.” + +She drank it, looking at him between the spoonfuls. This was the man +who had talked to her by the Monks’ Pool. Here was the same detachment +he had shown then, and though the act of taking soup was not poetical, +though the band blared and the place shone with many lights, she was +taken back to that night among the trees, with the water lying darkly +at her feet, keeping its own secrets; with the ducks quacking sleepily +and unseen, and the water rats diving with a silken splash. + +She seemed to be recovering something she had lost because she had +disregarded it, something she wanted, not for use but for the sake of +possessing and sometimes looking at it. + +Sternly she tried not to think of Francis Sales, who had deserted her. +She might have known he would desert her. He had looked at Aunt Rose +and she had seen him weaken, yet he had promised. He was that kind of +man: he could not say no to her face, but he left her in this city, all +alone. + +Her lips trembled; she steadied them with difficulty. She was +determined not to honour him with so much as a memory or a regret, but +there came forbidden recollections of the dance, of the terrace, and of +her hands in his. She closed her eyes and a tremor, delicious, +horrible, ran through her body. She felt the strength of those brown, +muscular hands and she was assailed by the odour of wind and tobacco +that clung to him. He had never said anything worth remembering, but +there had been danger and excitement in his presence. There was neither +in the neighbourhood of Charles, yet she could not forget his words. + +She opened her eyes. “What was it you said just now?” + +“You’re the best and most beautiful woman in the world. Your fish is +getting cold.” + +She ate it without appetite or distaste. “But, Charles—” + +“I know.” + +“What?” + +“Everything,” he said. + +“How?” + +He tapped himself, “Here.” + +“I expect you’ve got it all wrong.” + +“Yesterday, perhaps, but not to-day. To-day I know everything.” + +“How does it feel?” + +“Wonderful,” he replied. They laughed together but, as though with that +laughter the door to emotion had been opened, he saw tears start into +her eyes. “No,” he begged, “there’s no need to cry.” + +She laughed again. “I’ve got to cry some time.” + +“When we’re going home, then. We’re going home in a car.” + +“Are we?” she said, pleased as a child. “But what about London, +Charles? I have to go.” + +“Not to-night. Here’s some chicken.” + +“I can’t go back.” + +“But you haven’t left a note.” + +“No.” + +“Then it’s easy. You and I have just been to a concert. You promised me +that long ago.” + +She uttered no more protests. She ate and drank obediently, glad to be +cared for, and when the meal was over she told him gratefully, “You +have been good. You never said another word about the band and it has +made even my head ache.” + +“And I forgot about it!” He stared at her in amazement. “I forgot about +it! I didn’t hear it! Good heavens! But come away quickly before I +begin remembering.” + +That they might be able to tell the truth, they went to the concert +and, standing at the back of the hall stayed there for a little while. +Even for Charles, the music was only a covering for his thoughts. +Henrietta, strangely gentle, was beside him, but he dwelt less on that +than on the greater marvel of the new power he felt within himself. She +might laugh at him, she might mock him in the future, but she could not +daunt him, and though she might never love him, he had done her +service. No one could take that from him. He turned his head and looked +down at her, to find her looking up at him, a little puzzled but +entirely friendly. + +“Oh, Henrietta!” he whispered loudly, transgressing his own law of +silence and evoking an indignant hiss from an enthusiastic neighbour. +He blushed with shame, then decided that to-night he could not really +care, and signing to Henrietta to follow him, he tiptoed from the hall. + +“Did you hear? Did you hear?” he asked her. “I spoke! I—at a concert! +I’ve never done that in my life before. I’ll never do it again! But, +then, it was the first time you’d ever looked at me like that, +Henrietta! And, oh Lord, we’ve forgotten the bag. I dare not go back +for it.” + +“We’ll leave it, then,” she said indifferently. “I don’t want to see it +again.” + +“But I like it. It’s an old friend. I’ve watched it—” He checked +himself. “I’ll go. Wait here.” + +“Why aren’t we going home by train?” she asked, when he returned. + +“The angry man didn’t see me,” he said triumphantly. “Oh, because— +well, you wanted somewhere to cry, didn’t you?” + +In the closed car she sat, for a time very straight, looking out of the +window at the streets and the people, but when they had drawn away from +the old city and left its grey stone houses behind and taken to the +roads where slowly moving carts were creaking and snatches of talk from +slow-tongued country people were heard and lost in the same moment, she +sank back. The roads were dark. They were lined by tall, bare trees +which seemed to challenge this swift passage and then decide to permit +what they could not prevent, and for a mile or so the river gleamed +darkly like an unsheathed sword in the night. + +“We shall soon be there, shan’t we?” she asked, in a small voice. + +“Yes, pretty soon.” + +“I wish we wouldn’t. I wish we could go on like this for ever, to the +edge of the world and then drop over and forget.” + +He sighed. He could not arrange that for her but he told the man to +drive more slowly. Against the dark upholstery of the car, her face was +like a young moon, wan and too weary for its work. He slipped his arm +under her back and drew her to him. Pulling off her hat, she found a +place for her head against his shoulder and he shut his eyes. She +breathed regularly and lightly, as though she were asleep, but +presently she said, “Charles, I don’t mean anything by this, but you +are the only friend I have. You won’t think I mean anything, will you?” + +He shook his head and it came to rest on hers. He, too, wished they +might go on like this for ever, to the world’s edge. + + +The car was stopped at a little distance from the house and Henrietta +had to rouse herself from the state between waking and sleeping, +thought and imagery, in which she had passed the journey. The jarring +of the brake shocked her into a recognition of facts and the gentle +humming of the engine reminded her that life had to go on as before. +The persistent sound, regular, not loud, controlled, was like existence +in Nelson Lodge; one wearied of it, yet one would weary more of +accidents breaking the healthy beating of the engine: to-night had been +one of the accidents and she was terribly tired. No wonder! She had +been trying to run away with a man who did not want her, a man who had +a lonely, miserable invalid for a wife, the old lover of Aunt Rose. A +little blaze of anger flared up at the thought of Rose; nevertheless, +she continued her self-accusations. She had been willing to leave her +aunts without a word and they had been good to her and one of them was +ill, and the very money in her pocket was not her own. She was shocked +by her behaviour. She was like her father, who took what belonged to +other people and used it badly. + +She sat, flaccid, her hands loose on her lap. She felt incapable of +movement, but Charles was speaking to her, telling her to get out and +run home quickly. She looked at him. She was holding his friendly hand. +What would she have done without him? She saw herself in the train, +speeding through the lonely darkness; she saw herself knocking at Mrs. +Banks’s door, felt herself clasped to the doubtful blackness of that +bosom, and she shuddered. + +“You must go,” Charles said, but he still held her hand. + +He had brought her back to cleanliness and comfort, he had saved her +from behaviour of gross ingratitude, he had been marvellously kind and +wise. + +“Charles,” she said, “it’s awful.” + +“No, it’s all right. We’ve been to a concert.” + +“Yes”—her voice sank—“I’ve kept that promise. But the whole thing— and +Aunt Caroline so ill. She may have died.” + +“There hasn’t been time,” he said. + +“Oh, Charles, it only takes a minute.” + +“Well, run home quickly. This bag’s a nuisance,” he said, but he looked +at it tenderly. How he had dogged that bag! How heavy it had seemed for +her! “Look here, I’ll take it home and get it to you to-morrow +somehow.” + +“I don’t want it. I hate it.” + +He thought, “I’ll keep it, then,” and aloud he said, “I’ll wrap the +things up in a parcel and let you have them. Nothing you don’t want me +to see, is there?” + +“No, nothing.” + +“All right. Do get out, dear. No, I shall drive on.” + +She lingered on the pavement. She had not said a word of thanks. She +jumped on to the step and put her head through the window. “Thank you, +kind Charles,” she said. + +“Henrietta,” he began in a loud voice, filling the dark interior with +sound, “Henrietta—” + +“What is it?” + +“No, no. Nothing.” + +“Tell me.” + +“No. Not fair,” he said. “Just weakness. Good night. Be quick.” + +She ran along the street and gave the front-door bell a gentle push. To +her relief it was the housemaid and not Susan who opened to her. Susan +would have looked at her severely, but the housemaid had a welcoming +smile, an offer of food if Miss Henrietta had not dined. + +Henrietta shook her head. She was going to bed at once. She did not +want anything to eat. How was Miss Caroline? + +“Not so well to-night, Miss Henrietta. The doctor’s been again and +there’s a night-nurse come.” + +Henrietta pressed her hands against her heart. Oh, good Charles, +wonderful Charles! She did not know how to be grateful enough. She +moved meekly, humbly through the hall and up the stairs. All was +terribly, portentously still, but in her bedroom there were no signs of +the trouble in the house. The fire was lighted, her evening gown had +been laid out on the bed, her silk stockings and slippers were in their +usual places. Nobody had suspected, nobody had been alarmed; she had +stolen back by a miracle into her place. + +Yes, Charles Batty was a miracle, there was no other word for him and, +by contrast, the image of Francis Sales appeared mean, contemptible. +Why had he failed her? His desertion was a blessing, but it was also a +slight and perhaps a tribute to the power of Rose. Yes, that was it. +She set her little teeth. He had stared at Aunt Rose as though he could +not look at her enough, not with the starved expression she had first +intercepted long ago, but with a look of wonder, almost of awe. She was +nearly middle-aged, yet she could force that from him. Well, she was +welcome to anything he could give her, his offerings were no +compliment. Henrietta was done with him; she would not think of him +again; she had been foolish, she had been wicked, but she was the +richer and the wiser for her experience. + +She had always been taught that sin brought suffering, yet here she +was, warm and comfortable, in possession of a salutary lesson and with +the good Charles for a secure friend. It was odd, unnatural, and this +variation in her case gave her a pleasant feeling of being a special +person for whom the operation of natural laws could be diverted. By the +weakness of Francis Sales and the strength of Aunt Rose whom, +nevertheless, she could never forgive, she was saved from much +unhappiness, and if her mother knew everything in that heaven to which +she had surely gone, she must now be weeping tears of thankfulness. Yet +Henrietta’s future lay before her rather drearily. She stretched out +her arms and legs; she yawned. What was she to do? Being good, as she +meant to be, and realizing her sin, as indeed she did, was hardly +occupation enough for all her energies. + +Her immediate business was to answer a knock at the door. It was Rose +who entered. Her natural pallor was overlaid by the whiteness of +distress. “Oh, Henrietta, I am glad you have come in.” + +“I’ve been to a concert with Charles Batty,” Henrietta said quickly. + +Rose showed no interest or surprise. “Caroline is so much worse.” +Henrietta felt a pang at her forgetfulness. “She is very ill. I was +afraid you might not be back in time. She has been asking for you.” + +“I’ve been to Wellsborough, to a concert,” Henrietta insisted. “Is she +as bad as that, Aunt Rose? But she’ll get better, won’t she?” + +“Come with me and say good night to her. “Rose took Henrietta’s hand. +“How warm you are,” she said, in wonder that anything could be less +cold than Caroline soon would be. + +Henrietta’s fingers tightened round the living hand. “She’s not going +to die, is she?” + +“Yes, she’s dying,” Rose said quietly. + +“Oh, but she can’t,” Henrietta protested. “She doesn’t want to. She’ll +hate it so.” It was impossible to imagine Aunt Caroline without her +parties, without her clothes, she would find it intolerably dull to be +dead. “Perhaps she will get better.” + +Rose said nothing. They crossed the landing and entered the dim room. +Caroline lay in the middle of the big bed: with her hair lank and +uncurled she was hardly recognizable and strangely ugly. Her body +seemed to have dwindled, but her features were strong and harsh, and +Henrietta said to herself, “This is the real Aunt Caroline, not what I +thought, not what I thought. I’ve never seen her before.” She wondered +how she had ever dared to joke with her: she had been a funny, vain old +woman without much sensibility, immune from much that others suffered, +and now she was a mere human creature, breathing with difficulty and in +pain. + +Henrietta stood by the bed, saying and doing nothing: Rose had slipped +away; the nurse was quietly busy at a table and Aunt Sophia was +kneeling before a high-backed chair with her elbows on the cushioned +seat, her face in her hands. She was praying; it was as bad as that. +Her back, the sash-encircled waist, the thick hair, looked like those +of a young girl. She was praying. Henrietta looked again at Aunt +Caroline’s grey face and saw that the eyes had opened, the lips were +smiling a little. “Good child,” she said, with immense difficulty, as +though she had been seeking those words for a long time and had at last +fitted them to her thought. + +Sophia stirred, dropped her hands and looked round: the nurse came +forward with a little crackle of starched clothes. “Say good night to +her and go.” + +Henrietta leaned over the empty space of bed and kissed Caroline on the +temple. “Good night, dear Aunt Caroline,” she said softly. + +There was no answer. The eyes were closed again and the harsh breathing +went on cruelly, like waves falling back from a pebbled shore, and +Henrietta felt the dampness of death on her lips. No, Aunt Caroline +would not get better. + +She died in the early morning while Henrietta slept. Susan, entering as +usual with Henrietta’s tea, did not say a word. She knew her place; it +was not for her to give the news to a member of the family; moreover, +she blamed Henrietta for Miss Caroline’s death. It was the Battys’ ball +that had killed Miss Caroline, and Susan stuck to her belief that if it +had not been for Miss Henrietta, there would not have been a ball. + +Sleepily, Henrietta watched Susan draw the blinds, but something in the +woman’s slow, languid movements startled her into wakefulness. Her +dreams dropped back into their place. She had been sleeping warmly, +forgetfully, while death hovered over the house, looking for a way in. +She sat up in bed. “Aunt Caroline?” + +Susan began to cry, but in spite of her tears and her distress she +ejaculated dutifully, “Miss Henrietta, your dressing-gown, your +slippers!” but Henrietta had rushed forth and bounded into Rose’s room. + +“You might have told me! You might have waked me!” + +Rose was writing at her desk. She turned. “Put on your dressing-gown, +Henrietta. You will get cold. I came into your room but you were fast +asleep, and in that minute it was all over. The big things happen so +quickly.” + +Yes, that was true. Quickly one fell in and out of love, ran away from +home, returned and slept and waked to find that people had quickly +died. The big things happened quickly, but the little ones of every day +went on slow feet, as though they were tired of themselves. + +“It was somehow a comfort,” Rose went on, “to know that you were fast +asleep, but living. You never moved when I kissed you.” + +“Kissed me? What did you do that for?” Henrietta asked in a loud voice. +She had been taken unawares by the woman who had wronged her, yet she +was touched and pleased. + +“I couldn’t help it. I was so glad to have you there, and you looked so +young. I don’t know what we should do without you, poor Sophia and I. +Oh, do put on my dressing-gown!” + +“Yes, dear, yes, put on the dressing-gown.” It was Sophia who spoke. +Her face was very calm; she actually looked younger, as though the +greatness of her sorrow had removed all other signs, like a fall of +snow hiding the scars of a hillside. + +“Oh, Aunt Sophia!” Henrietta went forward and pressed her cheek against +the other’s. + +“Yes, dear, but you must go and dress. Breakfast is ready.” + +Henrietta was a little shocked that Aunt Sophia, who was naturally +sentimental, should be less emotional on this occasion than Aunt Rose, +but she was also awed by this control. She remembered how, when her own +mother died, Mrs. Banks had refused to take solid food for a whole day, +and the recollection braced her for her cold bath, for fresh linen, for +emulation of Aunt Sophia, for everything unlike the slovenly weeping of +Mrs. Banks, sitting in the neglected kitchen with a grimy +pocket-handkerchief on her lap and the teapot at her elbow; but she +knew that the Banksian manner was really natural to her, and the +Mallett control, the acceptance, the same eating of breakfast, were a +pose, a falseness oddly better than her sincerity. + +At table no one referred to Caroline; they were practical and composed +and afterwards, when Sophia and Rose were closeted together, making +arrangements, writing letters to relatives of whom Henrietta had never +heard, interviewing Mr. Batty and a husky personage in black, Henrietta +stole upstairs past Caroline’s death chamber and into her own room. + +She was glad to find the pretty housemaid there, tidying the hearth and +dusting the furniture. She wanted to talk to somebody and the pretty +housemaid was sympathetic and discreet. She told Henrietta, inevitably, +of deaths in her own family, and Henrietta was interested to hear how +the housemaid’s grandmother had died, actually while she was saying her +prayers. + +“And you couldn’t have a better end than that, could you, Miss +Henrietta?” + +“I suppose not,” Henrietta said, “but it might depend on what you were +praying for.” + +“Oh, she would be saying the usual things, Miss Henrietta, just daily +bread and forgive our trespasses. There was no harm in my grandmother. +It was her husband who broke his neck picking apples. His own apples,” +she said hastily, “And now poor Mrs. Sales has gone.” + +“Mrs. Sales?” + +“Yes, Miss Henrietta, I thought you’d know—last night. Her and Miss +Caroline together.” She implied that in this journey they would be +company for each other. + +Henrietta found nothing to say, but above the shock of pity she felt +for the woman she had disliked and the awe induced by the name of +death, she was conscious of a load lifted from her mind: she had not +been deserted, her charm had not failed; it was the approach of death +that had held him back. She put the thought away lest it should lead to +others of which she would be ashamed, yet she felt a malicious +pleasure, lasting only for a second, at remembering that downstairs sat +Aunt Rose calmly full of affairs, Aunt Rose for whom the love of +Francis Sales had ceased too soon! And, suppressed but fermenting, was +the idea that in these late events, including the failure of her +escape, there was the kind hand of fate. + +At that very moment Charles Batty chose to call. + +“With a parcel, Miss Henrietta, and he would like to see you.” + +“I can’t see him,” Henrietta said. “Tell him—tell him about Miss +Caroline.” She had already drifted away from Charles. He had been so +near last night, so almost dear in the troubled fog of her distress, +but this morning she had drifted and between them there was a shining +space of water sparkling hardly. But she spared him an instant of +gratitude and softness. His part in her life was like that, to a +sailor, of some lightship eagerly looked for in the darkness, of +strangely diminished consequence in the clear day, still there, safely +anchored, but with half its significance gone. + +“I can’t see him,” she repeated. + +She wanted, suddenly, to see Aunt Rose. Voices no longer came from the +drawing-room. Mr. Batty, genuinely sad in the loss of an old friend, +had gone; the undertaker had tiptoed off to his gloomy lair, and +Henrietta went downstairs, but when she saw her aunt she dared not ask +her if she knew about Christabel Sales. Rose had a look of +invulnerability; perhaps she knew, but it was impossible to ask, and if +she knew, it had made no difference. It seemed as though she had gone +beyond the reach of feeling: she and Sophia both wore white masks, but +Sophia’s was only a few hours old and Rose’s had been gradually +assumed. It was not only Caroline’s death which had given her that +strange, calm face: the expression had grown slowly, as though +something had been a long time dying, yet she hardly had a look of +loss. She seemed to be in possession of something, but Henrietta could +not understand what it was and she was vaguely afraid. + +It was Aunt Sophia who, in spite of her amazing courage, had an air of +desolation. And there was no rouge on her cheeks: its absence made +Henrietta want to cry. She did cry at intervals throughout that day and +the ones that followed. It was terrible without Aunt Caroline and +pitiful to see Aunt Sophia keeping up her dignity among black-clothed, +black-beaded relatives who seemed to appear out of the ground like +snails after rain and who might have been part of the undertaker’s +permanent stock-in-trade. Henrietta hated the mournful looks of these +ancient cousins, the shaking of their black beads, their sibilant +whisperings, and in their presence she was dry-eyed and rather rude. +Aunt Caroline would have laughed at them and their dowdy clothes that +smelt of camphor, but it seemed as though no one would ever laugh again +in Nelson Lodge. + +And over the river, in the unsubdued country, where death was only the +repayment of a loan, there was another house with lowered blinds and +voices hushed. She was irritated by the thought of it, of the +consolatory letters Francis would receive, of the emotions he would +display, or conceal, but at the same time she was sorry that in death, +as in life, Christabel should be lonely. Her large and lively family +was far away, even the cat had gone, and there were only the nurse and +Francis and the little dog to miss her. In a sense Henrietta missed her +too, and that fair region of fields and woods which had been as though +blocked by that helpless body now lay open, vast, full of +possibilities, inviting exploration; and when Henrietta looked at her +Aunt Rose, it was with the jealous eye of a rival adventurer. But that +was absurd: there could be no rivalry between them. Henrietta was sure +of that and she tried to avoid these speculations. + +And meanwhile necessary things were done and Christabel Sales and +Caroline Mallett were buried on the same day. The beaded relatives +departed, not to reappear until the next death in the family, and Rose +and Henrietta, both perhaps thinking of Francis Sales returning to his +big empty house, returned with Sophia to a Nelson Lodge oppressive in +its desolation. It seemed now that the whole business of life there, +the servants, the fires, the delicate meals, had proceeded solely for +Caroline’s benefit; yet everything continued as before: the machinery +went on running smoothly; the dinner-table still reflected in its rich +surface the lights of candles, the sheen of silver, the pallor of +flowers. Nothing was neglected, everything was beautiful and exact, and +Susan had carefully arranged the chairs so that the vacant space should +not be emphasized. + +The three black-robed women slipped into their seats without a word. +The soup was very hot, according to Caroline’s instructions, but the +cook, inspired more by the desire to give pleasant nutriment than by +tact, had chosen to make the creamy variety which was Caroline’s +favourite and, as each Mallett took up her spoon, she had a vision of +Caroline tasting the soup with the thoughtfulness of a connoisseur and +proclaiming it perfect to the last grain of salt. + +“I can’t eat it,” Sophia said faintly. In this almost comic realization +of her loss she showed the first sign of weakness. She rose, trembling +visibly, and Susan, anxious for the preservation of the decencies, +opened the door and closed it on her faltering figure before the first +sob shook her body. The others, without exchanging a single glance, +proceeded with the meal, eating little, each eager for solitude and +each finding it unbearable to picture Sophia up there in the bedroom +alone. + +“But she doesn’t want us,” Rose said. + +“She might want me,” Henrietta replied provocatively, and for answer +Rose’s smile flickered disconcertingly across the candle-light, and her +voice, a little worn, said quietly, “Then go and see.” + +The bedroom had a dreadful neatness; it smelt of disinfectant, +furniture polish and soap, and Sophia, from the big armchair, said +mournfully, “They might have left it as it was. It feels like +lodgings.” And as the very feebleness of her outcry smote her sense and +waked echoes of all she left unsaid, her mouth fell shapeless, and she +cried, “She’s gone!” in a tone of astonishment and horror. + +Henrietta, sitting on a little stool before the fire, listened to the +weeping which was too violent for Sophia’s strength, and the harsh +sound reminded her of Aunt Caroline’s difficult breathing. It seemed as +though the noise would go on for ever: she counted each separate sob, +and when they had gradually lessened and died away the relief was like +the ceasing of physical pain. + +“Aunt Sophia,” Henrietta said, “everybody has to die.” + +Sophia heard. Tears glistened on her cheeks, her hair was disordered, +she looked like a large flaxen doll that had been left out in the rain +for a long time. “But each person only once,” she whispered. “One +doesn’t get used to it, and Caroline—” She struggled to sit up. +“Caroline would be ashamed of me for this.” + +“She might pretend to be, but she’d like it really.” + +“I don’t know,” Sophia murmured. “She had such character. You never +believed her, did you, Henrietta, when she made out she had been—had +been indiscreet?” + +“No, I never believed it.” + +“I’m glad of that. It was a fancy of hers. I encouraged her in it, I’m +afraid; but it made her happy, it pleased her and it did no harm. I +suppose nobody believed her, but she didn’t know. I don’t think I’ll +sit here doing nothing, Henrietta. I suppose I ought to go through her +papers. She never destroyed a letter. I might begin on them.” + +“Oh, do you think you’d better? Don’t you like just to sit here and +talk to me?” + +“No, no, I must not give way. I’m not the only one. There’s poor +Francis Sales. If he’d married Rose—I always planned that he should +marry Rose—and of course, we ought not to think of such things so soon, +but the thought has come to me that they may marry after all.” + +Henrietta tightened the clasp of the hands on her knee and said, “Why +do you think that?” + +“It would be suitable,” Sophia said. + +“But she’s so old. Haven’t you noticed how old she has looked lately?” + +“Old? Rose old?” Sophia’s manner became almost haughty. “Rose has +nothing to do with age. My only doubt is whether Francis Sales is +worthy of her. Dear Caroline used to say she ought to—to marry a king.” + +“And she hasn’t married anybody,” Henrietta remarked bitingly. + +“Nobody,” Sophia said serenely. “The Malletts don’t marry,” she sighed; +“but I hope you will, Henrietta.” + +“No,” Henrietta said sharply. “I shan’t. I don’t want to. Men are +hateful.” + +“No, dear child, not all of them. Perhaps none of them. When I was +eighteen—” She hesitated. “I must get on with her papers.” She stood up +and moved towards the bureau. “They’re here. We shared the drawers. We +shared everything.” She stretched out her hands and they fell heavily, +taking the weight of her body with them, against the shining slope of +wood. + +Henrietta, who had been gazing moodily at the fire, was astonished to +hear the thud, to see her Aunt Sophia leaning drunkenly over the desk. +Sophia’s lips were blue, her eyes were glazed, and Henrietta thought, +“She’s dying, too. Shall I let her die?” but at the same moment she +leapt up and lowered her aunt into a chair. + +“It’s my heart,” Sophia said after a few minutes, and Henrietta +understood why poor Aunt Sophia always went upstairs so slowly. “Don’t +tell anybody. No one knows. I ought not to have cried like that. +There’s a little bottle—” She told Henrietta to fetch it from a secret +place. “I never let Caroline know. It would have worried her, and, +after all, she was the first to go. I’m glad to think I saved her that +anxiety. You remember how she teased me about getting tired? Well, it +didn’t matter and she liked to think she was so young. Wherever she is +now, I do hope she isn’t feeling angry with herself. She thought +illness was so vulgar.” + +“But not death,” Henrietta said. + +“No, not death,” and Henrietta fancied her aunt lingered lovingly on +the word. “This must be a secret between us.” She lay back exhausted. +“I only had two secrets from Caroline. This about my heart was one. +Henrietta, in that little drawer, at the very back, you’ll find a +photograph wrapped in tissue-paper. Find it for me, dear child. Thank +you.” She held it tenderly between her palms. “This was the other. It’s +the picture of my lover, Henrietta. Yes, I wanted you to know that some +one once loved me very dearly.” + +“Oh, Aunt Sophia, we all love you. I love you dearly now.” + +“Yes, dear, yes, I know; I’m grateful, but I wanted somebody to know +that I had had my romance, and have it still—all these years. But I was +loved, Henrietta, till he died, and I was very young then, younger than +you are now. Yes, I wanted somebody to know that poor Sophia had a real +lover once. He went away to America to make a fortune for me, but he +died. I have been wondering, since Caroline went, if she and he have +met. If so, perhaps she knows, perhaps she blames me, but I don’t think +she will laugh—not now. I hope she laughs still, but not at that. And +now, Henrietta, we’ll put the photograph into the fire.” + +“Ah, no, Aunt Sophia, keep it still!” + +“Dear child, I may die at any moment, and I have his dear face by +heart. I shouldn’t like any other eyes to look at it, not even yours. +Stir the fire, Henrietta. Now help me up. No, dear, I would rather do +it myself.” + +She knelt, her faded face lighted by the flames which consumed her +greatest treasure, her back still girlish, her slim waist girdled with +a black ribbon, her thick knot of hair resting on her neck. + +Henrietta went quietly out of the room, but on the landing she wrung +her hands together. She felt herself surrounded by death, decay, lost +love, sad memories. She was too young for this house. She had a longing +to escape into sunshine, gaiety and pleasure. It was Caroline who had +laughed and planned, it was she who had made the place a home. Rose was +too remote, Sophia was living in the past, and Henrietta felt herself +alone. Even her father’s portrait looked down at her with eyes too much +like her own, and out there, beyond the high-walled garden, the roofs +and the river, there was only Francis Sales and he was not a friend. He +was, perhaps, a lover; he was a sensation, an accident; but he was not +a companion or a refuge. + +And the thought of Charles rose up, at that moment, like the thought of +a fireside. She wished he would come now and sit with her, asking for +nothing, but assuring her of service. That was what he was for, she +decided. You could not love Charles, but you could trust him for ever, +and the more trust he was given, the more he grew to it. She needed +him: she must not lose him. Deep in her heart she supposed she was +going to marry Francis Sales, yes, in spite of what Aunt Sophia said, +and it was a prospect towards which she tiptoed, holding her breath, +not daring to look; but she, like Rose, had no illusions. She was the +daughter of her mother’s union with her father, and she was prepared +for trouble, for the need of Charles. Besides, she liked him: he was +companionable even when he scolded. One forgot about him, but he +returned; he was there. She went to bed in that comfortable assurance. + + +§ 9 + +There could be no more parties for Henrietta that winter, but Mrs. +Batty’s house was always open to her, and Mrs. Batty, like her son +Charles, could be relied upon for welcome and for relaxation. In her +presence Henrietta had a pleasant sense of superiority; she was +applauded and not criticized and she knew she could give comfort as +well as get it. Mrs. Batty liked to talk to her and Henrietta could +sink into one of the superlatively cushioned arm-chairs and listen or +not as she chose. There she was relieved of the slight but persistent +strain she was under in Nelson Lodge, for Sophia and Rose had standards +of manner, conduct and speech beyond her own, while Mrs. Batty’s, +though they existed, were on another plane. Henrietta was sure of +herself in that luxurious, overcrowded drawing-room, decorated and +scented with the least precious of Mr. Batty’s hothouse flowers, and +somewhat overheated. + +On her first visit after Caroline’s death, Mrs. Batty received the +bereaved niece with unction. “Ah, poor dear,” she murmured, and whether +her sympathy was for Caroline or Henrietta, perhaps she did not know +herself. “Poor dear! I can’t get your aunt out of my head, Henrietta, +love. There she was at the party, looking like a queen— well, you know +what I mean—and Mr. Batty said she was the belle of the ball. It was +just his joke; but Mr. Batty never makes a joke that hasn’t something +in it. I could see it myself. And then for her to die like that—it +seems as if it was our fault. It was a beautiful ball, wasn’t it, dear? +I do think it was, but it’s spoilt for me. I can only be thankful it +wasn’t her stomach or I should have blamed the supper. As it is, there +must have been a draught. It was a cold night.” + +“It was a lovely night,” Henrietta said, thinking of the terrace and +the dark river and the stars. She could remember it all without shame, +for he had not failed her and her personality had not failed. He had +not deserted her, and when they met there would be no need for +explanations. He would look at her, she would look at him—she had to +rouse herself. “Yes, it was a splendid ball, Mrs. Batty.” + +“And what did you think of my dress, dear?” Mrs. Batty asked, and +checked herself. “But we ought not to talk about such things with your +dear aunt just dead. You must miss her sadly. Did you—were you with her +at the end?” + +But this was a region in which Henrietta could not wander with Mrs. +Batty. “Don’t let us talk of it,” she said. + +Mrs. Batty gurgled a rich sympathy and after a due pause she was glad +to resume the topic of the dance. This was her first real opportunity +for discussing it; under Mr. Batty’s slightly ironical smile and his +references to expense, she had controlled herself; among her +acquaintances it was necessary to treat the affair as a mere bagatelle; +but with Henrietta she could expand unlimitedly. What she thought, what +she felt, what she said, what other people said to her, and what her +guests were reported to have said to other people, was repeated and +enlarged upon to Henrietta who, leaning back, occasionally nodding her +head or uttering a sound of encouragement, lived through that night +again. + +Yes, out on the terrace he had been the real Francis Sales and that man +in the hollow looking at Aunt Rose and then turning to Henrietta in +uncertainty was the one evoked by that witch on horseback, the modern +substitute for a broomstick. Christabel Sales was right: Aunt Rose was +a witch with her calm, white face, riding swiftly and fearlessly on her +messages of evil. He was never himself in her presence: how could he +be? He was under her spell and he must be cleared of it and kept +immune. But how? Through these thoughts, which were both exciting and +alarming, Henrietta heard Mrs. Batty uttering the name of Charles. + +“He seems to have taken a turn for the better, my dear.” + +“Has he been ill?” Henrietta asked. + +“Ill? No. Bad-tempered, what you might call melancholy. Not lately. +Well, since the dance he has been different. Not so irritable at +breakfast. I told you once before, love, how I dreaded breakfast, with +John late half the time, going out with the dogs, and Mr. Batty behind +the paper with his eyebrows up, and Charles looking as if he’d been dug +up, like Lazarus, if it isn’t wrong to say so, pale and pasty and sorry +he was alive—sort of damp, dear. Well, you know what I mean. But as I +tell you, he’s been more cheerful. That dance must have done him good, +or something has. And Mr. Batty tells me he takes more interest in his +work. Still,” Mrs. Batty admitted, “he does catch me up at times.” + +“Yes, I know. About music. I know. He’s queer. I hate it when he gets +angry and shouts, but he’s good really, in his heart.” + +“Oh, of course he is,” Mrs. Batty murmured, and, looking at the plump +hands on her silken lap, she added, “I wish he’d marry. Now, John, he’s +engaged; but he didn’t need to be. You know what I mean. He was happy +enough before, but Charles, if he could marry a nice girl—” + +“He won’t,” Henrietta said at once, and Mrs. Batty, suddenly alert, +asked sharply, “Why not?” + +“Oh, I don’t know. Men are so easily deceived.” + +“We can’t help it. You wouldn’t neglect a baby. Well, then, it’s the +same thing. They never get out of their short frocks. Even Mr. Batty,” +his wife chuckled, “he’s very clever and all that, but he’s like all +the rest. The very minute you marry, you’ve got a baby on your hands.” + +Henrietta sighed. “It isn’t fair,” she murmured, yet she liked the +notion. Francis Sales was a baby. He would have to be managed, to be +amused; he would tire of his toys. She knew that, and she saw herself +constantly dressing up the old ones and deceiving him into believing +they were new. + +“I suppose they’re worth it,” she half questioned. + +“Men?” + +“No, babies,” Henrietta answered, meaning the same thing, but Mrs. +Batty took her up with fervour. She was reminiscent, and tears came +into her eyes; she was prophetic, she was embarrassing and faintly +disgusting to Henrietta, and when the door opened to let in Charles, +she welcomed him with a pleasure which was really the measure of her +relief. + +She had not seen him since she had parted from him in the car. He did +not return her smile and it struck her that he never smiled. It was a +good thing: it would have made him look odder than ever, and somehow he +contrived to show his happiness without the display of teeth. His eyes, +she decided, bulged most when he was miserable, and now they hardly +bulged at all. + +“You’re back early to-day, dear,” Mrs. Batty said. “I’ll have some +fresh tea made.” But Charles, without averting his gaze from Henrietta, +said, “I don’t want any tea,” and to Henrietta he said quietly, “I +haven’t seen you for weeks.” + +To her annoyance, she felt the colour creeping over her cheeks. No +doubt he would account for that in his own way, and to disconcert him +she added casually, “It’s not long really.” + +“It seems long,” he said. + +No one but Charles Batty would have said that in the presence of his +mother; it was ridiculous, and she looked at him with revengeful +criticism. He was plain; he was getting bald; his trousers bagged; his +socks were wrinkled like concertinas; his comparative self-assurance +was quite unjustified. He had looked at her consistently since he +entered the room, and Henrietta was angrily aware that Mrs. Batty was +trying to make herself insignificant in her corner of the sofa. +Henrietta could hear the careful control of her breathing. She was +hoping to make the young people forget she was there. Henrietta frowned +warningly at Charles. + +“What’s the matter?” he asked at once. + +“Nothing.” She might have known it was useless to make signs. + +“But you frowned.” + +“Well, don’t you ever get a twinge?” she prevaricated. + +“Toothache, dear?” Mrs. Batty clucked her distress. “I’ll get some +laudanum. You just rub it on the gum—” She rose. “I have some in my +medicine cupboard. I’ll go and get it.” She went out, and across her +broad back she seemed to carry the legend, “This is the consummation of +tact.” + +Charles stood up and planted himself on the hearthrug and Henrietta +wished Mrs. Batty had not gone. “I’m sorry you’ve got toothache,” he +said. + +“I haven’t. I didn’t say I had. My teeth are perfect.” With a vicious +opening of her mouth, she let him see them. + +“Then why did you frown?” + +“I had to do something to stop your glaring at me.” + +“Was I glaring? I didn’t know. I suppose I can’t help looking at you.” + +Henrietta appreciated this remark. “I don’t mind so much when we are +alone.” From anybody else she would have expected a reminder that she +had once allowed more than that, but she was safe with Charles and half +annoyed by her safety. Her instinct was to run and dodge, but it was a +poor game to play at hide-and-seek with this roughly executed statue of +a young man. “Your mother must have noticed,” she explained. + +“Well, why not? She’ll have to know.” + +“Know what?” she cried indignantly. + +“That we’re engaged.” + +She brightened angrily. After all, he was thinking of that night and +she felt a new, exasperated respect for him. “But I told you—I told you +I didn’t mean anything when I let you—when we were alone in that car.” + +“I wasn’t thinking of that,” he said, and she felt a drop. He had no +business not to think of it. + +“Then what do you mean?” she asked coldly. + +“I’ve been engaged to you,” he said, “for a long time. I told you. But +I’ve been thinking that it really doesn’t work.” + +“Of course it doesn’t. Anybody would have known that except you, +Charles Batty.” + +“Yes, but nobody tells me things. I have to find them out.” He sighed. +“It takes time. But now I know.” + +“Very well. You’re released from the engagement you made all by +yourself. I had nothing to do with it.” + +“No,” he said mildly, “but I can’t be released, so the only way out of +it is for you to be engaged too.” He fumbled in a pocket. “I’ve bought +a ring.” + +She sneered. “Who told you about that?” + +“I remembered it. John got one. It’s always done and I think this one +is pretty.” + +She had a great curiosity to see his choice. She guessed it would be +gaudy, like a child’s, but she said, “It has nothing to do with me. I +don’t want to see it.” + +“Do look.” + +“Charles, you’re hopeless.” “The man said he would change it if you +didn’t like it.” Into her hand he put the little box, attractively +small, no doubt lined with soft white velvet, and she longed to open +it. She had always wanted one of those little boxes and she remembered +how often she had gazed at them, holding glittering rings, in the +windows of jewellers’ shops. She looked up at Charles, her eyes bright, +her lips a little parted, so young and helpless in that moment that she +drew from him his first cry of passion. “Henrietta!” His hands +trembled. + +“It’s only,” she faltered, “because I like looking at pretty things.” + +“I know.” He dropped to the sofa beside her. “It couldn’t be anything +else.” + +She turned to him, her face close to his, and she asked plaintively, +“But why shouldn’t it be?” She seemed to blame him; she did blame him. +There was something in his presence seductively secure; there was +peace: she almost loved him; she loved her power to make him tremble, +and if only he could make her tremble too, she would be his. “But it +isn’t anything else,” she said below her breath. + +“No, it isn’t,” he echoed in the loud voice of his trouble. He got up +and moved away. “So just look at the ring and tell me if you like it.” + +He heard the box unwrapped and a voice saying, “I do like it.” + +“Then keep it.” + +“But I can’t.” + +“Yes, you can. It’s for you. It’s pretty, isn’t it? And you like pretty +things.” + +“I could just look at it now and then, couldn’t I? But no, it isn’t +fair.” + +“I don’t mind about that. + +“I mean fair to me.” + +He turned at that. “I don’t understand.” + +“A kind of hold,” she explained. + +“How could it be? I wasn’t trying to tempt you, but we’re engaged and +you must have a ring.” + +She shook her small, clenched fists. “We’re not, we’re not! Oh, yes, +you can be, if you like; but I didn’t mean it would hold me in that +way. I meant it would be like a sign—of you. I shouldn’t be able to +forget you; you would be there in the ring, in the box, in the drawer, +like the portrait of Aunt Sophia’s—” She stopped herself. “And I can’t +burn you.” + +“I don’t know what you are talking about. I suppose I ought to.” + +“No, you oughtn’t.” She sprang up, delivered from her weakness. “This +is nonsense. Of course, I can’t keep your ring. Take it back, Charles. +It’s beautiful. I thought it would be all red and blue like a flag, but +it’s lovely. It makes my mouth water. It’s like white fire.” + +“It’s like you,” he said. “You’re just as bright and just as hard, and +if only you were as small, I could put you in my pocket and never let +you go.” + +She opened her eyes very wide. “Then why do you let me go?” she asked +on an ascending note, and she did not mean to taunt him. It would be so +easy for him to keep her, if he knew how. She expected a despairing +groan, she half hoped for a violent embrace, but he answered quietly, +“I don’t really let you go. It’s you I love, not just your hair and +your face and the way your nose turns up, and your hands and feet, and +your straight neck. I have to let them go, but you don’t go. You stay +with me all the time: you always will. You’re like music, always in my +head, but you’re more than that. You go deeper: I suppose into my +heart. Sometimes I think I’m carrying you in my arms. I can’t see you +but I can feel you’re there, and sometimes I laugh because I think +you’re laughing.” + +She listened, charmed into stillness. Here was an echo of his +outpouring in the darkness of that hour by the Monks’ Pool, but these +words were closer, dearer. She felt for that moment that he did indeed +carry her in his arms and that she was glad to be there. He spoke so +quietly, he was so certain of his love that she was exalted and +abashed. She did not deserve all this, yet he knew she was hard as well +as bright, he knew her nose turned up. Perhaps there was nothing he did +not know. + +He went on simply, without effort. “And though I’m ugly and a fool, I +can’t be hurt whatever you choose to do. What you do isn’t you.” He +touched himself. “The you is here. So it doesn’t matter about the ring. +It doesn’t matter about Francis Sales.” + +She said on a caught breath and in a whisper, “What about him?” + +He looked at her and made a slight movement with the hands hanging at +his sides, a little flicking movement, as though he brushed something +away. “I think perhaps you are going to marry him,” he said deeply. + +Her head went up. “Who told you that?” she demanded. + +“Nobody. Nobody tells me anything.” + +“Because nobody knows,” she said scornfully. “I haven’t seen him +since—” She hesitated. This Charles knew everything, and he said for +her, rather wearily, very quietly, “Since his wife died. No. But you +will.” + +“Yes,” she said defiantly, “I expect I shall. I hope I shall.” + +A shudder passed through Charles Batty’s big frame and the words, +“Don’t marry him,” reached her ears like a distant muttering of a +storm. “You would not be happy.” + +“What has happiness to do with it?” she asked with an astonishing young +bitterness. + +“Ah, if you feel like that,” he said, “if you feel as I do about you, +if nothing he does and nothing he says—” + +“He says very little,” Henrietta interrupted gloomily, but Charles +seemed not to hear. + +“If his actions are only like the wind in the trees, fluttering the +leaves—yes, I suppose that’s love. The tree remains.” + +She dropped her face into her hands. “You’re making me miserable,” she +cried. + +He removed her hands and held them firmly. “But why?” + +“I don’t know,” she swayed towards him, but he kept her arms rigid, +like a bar between them, “but I don’t want to lose you.” + +“You can’t,” he assured her. + +“And though you think you have me in your heart, the me that doesn’t +change, you’d like the other one too, wouldn’t you? I mean, you’d +really like to hold me? Not just the thought of me? Tell me you love me +in that way too.” + +“Yes,” he said, “I love you in that way too, but I tell you it doesn’t +matter.” He dropped her hands as though he had no more strength. “Marry +your Francis Sales. You still belong to me.” + +“But will you belong to me?” she asked softly. She could not lose him, +she wanted to have them both, and Charles, perhaps unwisely, perhaps +from the depth of his wisdom, which was truth, answered quietly, “I +belonged to you since the first day I saw you.” + +She let out a sigh of inexpressible relief. + + +§ 10 + +To Rose, the time between the death of Caroline and the coming of +spring was like an invalid’s convalescence. She felt a languor as +though she had been ill, and a kind of content as though she were +temporarily free from cares. She knew that Henrietta and Charles Batty +often met, but she did not wish to know how Charles had succeeded in +preventing her escape: she did not try to connect Christabel’s illness +with Henrietta’s return; she enjoyed unquestioningly her rich feeling +of possession in the presence of the girl, who was much on her dignity, +very well behaved, but undeniably aloof. She had not yet forgiven her +aunt for that episode in the gipsies’ hollow, but it did not matter. +Rose could tell herself without any affectation of virtue that she had +hoped for no benefit for herself; looking back she saw that even what +might be called her sin had been committed chiefly for Francis’s sake, +only she had not sinned enough. + +But for the present she need not think of him. He had gone away, she +heard, and she could ride over the bridge without the fear of meeting +him and with the feeling that the place was more than ever hers. It was +gloriously empty of any claim but its own. To gallop across the fields, +to ride more slowly on some height with nothing between her and great +massy clouds of unbelievable whiteness, to feel herself relieved of an +immense responsibility, was like finding the new world she had longed +for. She wished sincerely that Francis would not come back; she wished +that, riding one day, she might find Sales Hall blotted out, leaving no +sign, no trace, nothing but earth and fresh spikes of green. + +Day by day she watched the advance of spring. The larches put out their +little tassels, celandines opened their yellow eyes, the smell of the +gorse was her youth wafted back to her and she shook her head and said +she did not want it. This maturity was better: she had reached the age +when she could almost dissociate things from herself and she found them +better and more beautiful. She needed this consolation, for it seemed +that her personal relationships were to be few and shadowy; conscious +in herself of a capacity for crystallizing them enduringly, they yet +managed to evade her; it was some fault, some failure in herself, but +not knowing the cause she could not cure it and she accepted it with +the apparent impassivity which was, perhaps, the origin of the +difficulty. + +And capable as she was of love, she was incapable of struggling for it. +She wanted Henrietta’s affection; she wanted to give every happiness to +that girl, but she could not be different from herself, she could not +bait the trap. And it seemed that Henrietta might be finding happiness +without her help, or at least without realizing that it was she who had +given Charles his chance. She had rejected her plan of taking Henrietta +away: it was better to leave her in the neighbourhood of Charles, for +he was not a Francis Sales, and if Henrietta could once see below his +queer exterior, she would never see it again except to laugh at it with +an understanding beyond the power of irritation; and she was made to +have a home, to be busy about small, important things, to play with +children and tyrannize over a man in the matter of socks and collars, +to be tyrannized over by him in the bigger affairs of life. + +And with Henrietta settled, Rose would at last be free to take that +journey which, like everything else, had eluded her so far. She would +be free but for Sophia who seemed in these days pathetically subdued +and frail; but Sophia, Rose decided, could stay with Henrietta for a +time, or one of the elderly cousins would be glad to take up a +temporary residence in Nelson Lodge. + +She was excited by the prospect of her freedom and sometimes, as though +she were doing something wrong, she secretly carried the big atlas to +her bedroom and pored over the maps. There were places with names like +poetry and she meant to see them all. She moved already in a world of +greater space and fresher air; her body was rejuvenated, her mind +recovered from its weariness and when, on an April day, she came across +Francis Sales in one of his own fields, it was a sign of her condition +that her first thought was of Henrietta and not of herself. He had +returned and Henrietta was again in danger, though one of another kind. + +She stopped her horse, thinking firmly, Whatever happens, she shall not +marry him: he is not good enough. She said: “Good morning,” in that +cool voice which made him think of churches, and he stood, stroking the +horse’s nose, looking down and making no reply. + +“I’ve been away,” he said at last. + +“I know. When did you come back?” + +“Last night. I’ve been to Canada to see her people. I thought they’d +like to know about her and she would have liked it, too.” + +A small smile threatened Rose’s mouth. It seemed rather late to be +trying to please Christabel. + +“I didn’t hope,” he went on quietly, “to have this luck so soon. I’ve +been wanting to see you, to tell you something. I wanted to get things +cleared up.” + +“What things?” + +He looked up. “About Henrietta.” + +“There’s no need for that.” + +“Not for you, perhaps, but there is for me. You were quite right that +day. I went home and I made up my mind to break my word to her. I’d +made it up before Christabel became so ill. I wanted you to know that. +I couldn’t have left her that night—perhaps you hadn’t realized I’d +meant to—but anyhow I couldn’t have left her, and I wouldn’t have done +it if I could. You were perfectly right.” + +Rose moved a little in her saddle. “And yet I had no right to be,” she +said. “You and I—” + +“Ah,” he said quickly, “you and I were different. I don’t blame myself +for that, but with Henrietta it was just devilry, sickness, misery. +Don’t,” he commanded, “dare to compare our—our love with that.” + +“No,” she said, “no, I don’t think of it at all. It has dropped back +where it came from and I don’t know where that is. I don’t think of it +any more, but thank you for telling me about Henrietta. Good-bye.” + +She moved on, but his voice followed her. “I never loved her.” + +She stopped but did not turn. “I know that.” + +“Yes, but I wanted to tell you.” He was at the horse’s head again. “I +don’t think much of the way those people are keeping your bridle. +There’s rust on the curb chain. Look at it. It’s disgraceful! And I’d +like to tell you that I tried to make it up to Christabel at the last. +Too late—but she was happy. Good-bye. Tell those people they ought to +be ashamed of themselves.” + +“I suppose we all ought to be,” Rose said wearily. + +“Some of us are,” he replied. “And,” he hesitated, “you won’t stop +riding here now I’ve come back?” + +“Of course not. It’s the habit of a lifetime.” + +“I shan’t worry you.” + +She laughed frankly. “I’m not afraid of that.” + +She was immune, she told herself, she could not be touched, yet she +knew she had been touched already: she was obliged to think of him. For +the first time in her knowledge of him he had not grumbled, he was like +a repentant child, and she realized that he had suffered an experience +unknown to her, a sense of sin, and the fact gave him a certain +superiority and interest in her eyes. + +She went home but not as she had set forth, for she seemed to hear the +jingle of her chains. + +At luncheon Henrietta appeared in a new hat and an amiable mood. She +was going, she said casually, to a concert with Charles Batty. + +“I didn’t know there was one,” Rose said. “Where is it?” + +“Oh, not in Radstowe. We’re going,” Henrietta said reluctantly, “to +Wellsborough.” + +But that name seemed to have no association for Aunt Rose. She said, +“Oh, yes, they have very good concerts there, and I hope Charles will +like your hat.” + +“I don’t suppose he will notice it,” Henrietta murmured. She felt +grateful for her aunt’s forgetfulness, and she said, with an enthusiasm +she had not shown for a long time, “You look lovely to-day, Aunt Rose, +as if something nice had happened.” + +Rose laughed and said, “Nonsense, Henrietta,” in a manner faintly +reminiscent of Caroline. And she added quickly, against the invasion of +her own thoughts, “And as for Charles, he notices much more than one +would think.” + +“Oh, I’ve found that out,” Henrietta grieved. “I don’t think people +ought to notice—well, that one’s nose turns up.” + +“It depends how it does it. Yours is very satisfactory.” + +They sparkled at each other, pleased at the ease of their intercourse +and quite unaware that these personalities also were reminiscent of the +Caroline and Sophia tradition of compliment. + +Sophia, drooping over the table, said vaguely, “Yes, very +satisfactory,” but she hardly knew to what Rose had referred. She lived +in her own memories, but she tried to disguise her distraction and it +was always safe to agree with Rose: she had good judgment, unfailing +taste. “Rose,” she said more brightly, “I’d forgotten. Susan tells me +that Francis Sales has come home.” + +Rose said “Yes,” and after the slightest pause, she added, “I saw him +this morning.” She did not look at Henrietta. She felt with something +like despair that this had occurred at the very moment when they seemed +to be re-establishing their friendship, and now Henrietta would be +reminded of the unhappy past. She did not look across the table, but, +to her astonishment, she heard the girl’s voice with trouble, enmity +and anger concentrated in its control, saying quickly, “So that’s the +nice thing that’s happened!” + +“Very nice,” Sophia murmured. “Poor Francis! He must have been glad to +see you.” + +Rose’s eyes glanced over Henrietta’s face with a look too proud to be +called disdain: she was doubly shocked, first by the girl’s effrontery +and then by the truth in her words. She had indeed been feeling +indefinitely happy and ignoring the cause. She was, even now, not sure +of the cause. She did not know whether it was the change in Francis or +the jingling of the chains still sounding in her ears, but there had +been a lightness in her heart which had nothing to do with the sense of +that approaching freedom on which she had been counting. + +She turned to Sophia as though Henrietta had not spoken. “Yes, I think +he was glad to see a friend. He has been to Canada to see Christabel’s +family. No, he didn’t say how he was, but I thought he looked rather +old.” + +“Ah, poor boy,” Sophia said. “I think, Rose dear, it would be kind to +ask him here.” + +“Oh, he knows he can come when he likes,” Rose said. + +On the other side of the table Henrietta was shaking delicately. She +could only have got relief by inarticulate noises and insanely violent +movements. She hated Francis Sales, she hated Rose and Sophia and +Charles Batty. She would not go to the concert—yes, she would go and +make Charles miserable. She was enraged at the folly of her own +remark, at Rose’s self-possession, and at her possible possession of +Francis Sales. She could not unsay what she had said and, having said +it, she did not know how to go on living with Aunt Rose; but she was +going to Wellsborough again and this time she need not come back: yet +she must come back to see Francis Sales. And though there was no one in +the world to whom she could express the torment of her mind she could, +at least, make Charles unhappy. + +Rose and Sophia were chatting pleasantly, and Henrietta pushed back her +chair. “Will you excuse me? I have to catch a train.” + +Rose inclined her head: Sophia said, “Yes, dear, go. Where did you say +you were going?” + +“To Wellsborough.” + +“Ah, yes. Caroline and I—Be careful to get into a ladies’ carriage, +Henrietta.” + +“I’m going with Charles Batty,” she said dully. + +“Ah, then, you will be safe.” + +Safe! Yes, she was perfectly safe with Charles. He would sit with his +hands hanging between his knees and stare. She was sick of him and, if +she dared, she would whisper during the music; at any rate, she would +shuffle her feet and make a noise with the programme. And to-morrow she +would emulate her aunt and waylay Francis Sales. There would be no harm +in copying Aunt Rose, a pattern of conduct! She had done it before, she +would do it again and they would see which one of them was to be +victorious at the last. + +She fulfilled her intentions. Charles, who had been flourishing under +the kindness of her friendship, was puzzled by her capriciousness, but +he did not question her. He was learning to accept mysteries calmly and +to work at them in his head. She shuffled her feet and he pretended not +to hear: she crackled her programme and he smiled down at her. This was +maddening, yet it was a tribute to her power. She could do what she +liked and Charles would love her; he was a great possession; she did +not know what she would do without him. + +As they ate their rich cakes in a famous teashop, Charles talked +incessantly about the music, and when at last he paused, she said +indifferently, “I didn’t hear a note.” + +Mildly he advised her not to wear such tight shoes. + +“Tight!” She looked down at them. “I had them made for me!” + +“You seemed to be uncomfortable,” he said. + +“I was thinking, thinking, thinking.” + +“What about?” + +“Things you wouldn’t understand, Charles. You’re too good.” + +“I dare say,” he murmured. + +“You’ve never wanted to murder anyone.” + +“Yes, I have.” + +“Who?” + +“That Sales fellow.” + +Her eyelids quivered, but she said boldly, “Because of me?” + +“No, of course not. Making noises at concerts. Shooting birds. I’ve +told you so before.” + +“He’s been to Canada.” + +“I know.” + +“But he has come back.” + +“Well, I suppose he had to come back some day.” + +“And I hate Aunt Rose.” + +“What a pity,” Charles said, taking another cake. + +“Why a pity?” + +“Beautiful woman.” + +“Oh, yes, everybody thinks so, till they know her.” + +“I know her and I think she’s adorable.” + +The word was startling from his lips. Charles, too, she exclaimed +inwardly. Was Aunt Rose even to come between her and Charles? + +“But of course”—he remembered his lesson—“you’re the most beautiful and +the best woman in the world.” + +“I’m not a woman at all,” she said angrily: “I’m a fiend.” + +“Yes, to-day; but you won’t be to-morrow. You’ll feel different +to-morrow.” + +He had, she reflected, a gift of prophecy. “Yes, I shall,” she said +softly, “I’m stupid. It will be all right to-morrow. I shan’t even be +angry with Aunt Rose and you’ve been an angel to me. I shall never +forget you.” + +He said nothing. He seemed very much interested in his cake. + +And because she foresaw that her anger towards Aunt Rose would soon be +changed to pity, she apologized to her that night. “I’m afraid I was +rude to you at luncheon.” + +“Were you? Oh, not rude, Henrietta. Perhaps rather foolish and +indiscreet. You should think before you speak.” + +This admonition was not what Henrietta expected, and she said, “That’s +just what I was doing. You mean I ought to be quiet when I’m thinking.” + +“Well, yes, that would be even better.” + +“Then, Aunt Rose, I should never speak at all when I’m with you.” + +“You haven’t talked to me for a long time.” + +She made a gesture like her father’s—impatient, hopeless. “How can I?” +she demanded. There was too much between them: the figure of Francis +Sales was too solid. + +She set out as she had intended the next afternoon. It was full +spring-time now and Radstowe was gay and sweet with flowering trees. +The delicate rose of the almond blossom had already faded to a fainting +pink and fallen to the ground, and the laburnum was weeping golden +tears which would soon drop to the pavements and blacken there; the red +and white hawthorns were all out, and Henrietta’s daily walks had been +punctuated by ecstatic halts when she stood under a canopy of flower +and leaf and drenched herself in scent and colour, or peeped over +garden fences to see tall tulips springing up out of the grass; but +to-day she did not linger. + +It seemed a long time since she had crossed the river, yet the only +change was in the new green of the trees splashing the side of the +gorge. The gulls were still quarrelling for food on the muddy banks, +children and perambulators, horses and carts, were passing over the +bridge as on her first day in Radstowe, but there was now no Francis +Sales on his fine horse. The sun was bright but clouds were being blown +by a wind with a sharp breath, and she went quickly lest it should rain +before her business was accomplished. She had no fear of not finding +Francis Sales: in such things her luck never failed her, and she came +upon him even sooner than she had expected in the outermost of his +fields. + +He stood beside the gate, scrutinizing a flock of sheep and lambs and +talking to the shepherd, and he turned at the sound of her footsteps on +the road. She smiled sweetly: rather stiffly he raised his hand to his +hat and in that moment she recognized that he had no welcome for her. +He had changed; he was grave though he was not sullen, and she said to +herself with her ready bitterness, “Ah, he has reformed, now that +there’s no need. That’s what they all do.” + +But her smile did not fade. She leaned over the gate in a friendly +manner and asked him about the lambs. How old were they? She hoped he +would not have them killed: they were too sweet. She had never touched +one in her life. Why did they get so ugly afterwards? It was hard to +believe those little things with faces like kittens, or like flowers, +were the children of their lumpy mothers. “Do you think I could catch +one if I came inside?” she asked. + +“Come inside,” he said, “but the shepherd shall catch one for you.” + +She stroked the curly wool, she pulled the apprehensive ears, she +uttered absurdities and, glancing up to see if Sales were laughing at +her charming folly, she saw that he was examining his flock with the +practical interest of a farmer. He was apparently considering some +technical point; he had not been listening to her at all. She hated +that lamb, she hoped he would kill it and all the rest, and she decided +to eat mutton in future with voracity. + +“I was going to pick primroses,” she said. “Are there any in these +fields?” “I don’t know. Can you spare me a few minutes? I want to +speak to you.” + +Her heart, which had been thumping with a sickening slowness, quickened +its beats. Perhaps she had been mistaken, perhaps his serious manner +was that of a great occasion, and she saw herself returning to Nelson +Lodge and treating her Aunt Rose with gentle tact. + +“Shall we sit on the gate?” she asked. + +“I’d rather walk across the field. I’ve been wanting to see you—since +that night. I owe you an apology.” + +She dared not speak for fear of making a mistake, and she waited, +walking slowly beside him, her eyes downcast. + +“An apology—for the whole thing,” he said. + +She looked up. “What whole thing?” + +“The way I behaved with you.” + +“Oh, that! I don’t see why you should apologize,” she said. + +“It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t even decent.” + +“But it was a sort of habit with you, wasn’t it?” she said +commiseratingly, and had the happiness of seeing his face flush. “I +quite understand. And we were both amused.” + +“I wasn’t amused,” he said, “not a bit, and I’m sorry I behaved as I +did. You were so young—and so pretty. Well, it’s no good making +excuses, but I couldn’t rest until I’d seen you and—humbled myself.” + +“Did Aunt Rose tell you to say this?” she asked. + +“Rose? Of course not. Why should she?” + +“She seems to have an extraordinary power.” + +“Yes, she has,” he said simply. + +“And have you humbled yourself to her, too?” + +“No. With her,” he said slowly, “there was no need.” + +“I see.” She laughed up at him frankly. “You know, I never took it very +seriously. I’m sorry the thought of it has troubled you.” + +He went on, ignoring her lightness, and determined to say everything. +“I meant to meet you that night and tell you what I’m telling you now; +but Christabel was very ill and I couldn’t leave her. I hope”—this was +difficult—“I hope you didn’t get into any sort of mess.” + +“That night?” She seemed to be thinking back to it. “That night—no—I +went to a concert with Charles Batty.” + +“Oh—” He was bewildered. “Then it was all right?” + +“Perfectly, of course.” + +“I didn’t know,” he muttered. “And you forgive me?” + +She was generous. “I was just as bad as you. The Malletts are all +flirts. Haven’t you heard Aunt Caroline say so? We can’t help doing +silly things, but we never take them seriously. Why, you must have +noticed that with Aunt Rose!” + +“No,” he said with dignity, “your Aunt Rose is like nobody else in the +world. I think I told you that once. She—” He hesitated and was silent. + +“Well, I must be going back,” Henrietta said easily. “I shan’t bother +about the primroses. I think it’s going to rain. And you won’t think +about this any more, will you? You know, Aunt Caroline says she nearly +eloped several times, and I know my father did it once, with my own +mother, probably with other people beside. It’s in the blood. I must +try to settle down. We did behave rather badly, I suppose, but so much +has happened since. That was my first ball and I felt I wanted to do +something daring.” + +“You were not to blame,” he said; “but I’m nearly old enough to be your +father. I can’t forgive myself. I can’t forget it.” + +“Oh, dear! And I never took it seriously at all. There was a train back +to Radstowe at ten o’clock. I looked it up. I was going to get that, +but as it happened I went to a concert with Charles Batty. You seem to +have no idea how to play a game. You have to pretend to yourself it’s a +matter of life and death; but you haven’t to let it be. That would +spoil it.” + +“I see,” he said. “I’m afraid I didn’t look at it like that. I wish I +had, and I’m glad you did. It makes it easier—and harder—for me.” + +“We ought,” she said, “to have laid the rules down first. Yes, we ought +to have done that.” She laughed again. “I shall do that another time. +Good-bye.” + +“Good-bye. You’ve been awfully good to me, Henrietta. Thank you.” + +“Not a bit,” she cried. “If I’d known you were bothering about it, I +would have reassured you.” She could not withhold a parting shot. “I +would have sent you a message by Aunt Rose.” + +She waved a hand and ran back to the road. She did not trouble to ask +herself whether or not he believed her. She was shaken by sobs without +tears. She did not love him, she had never loved him, but she could not +bear the knowledge that he did not love her. It was quite plain; she +was not going to deceive herself any more; his manner had been +unmistakable and it was Aunt Rose he loved. She had been beaten by Aunt +Rose, and even Charles called her adorable. She did not want Francis +Sales; he was rather stupid, and as a legitimate lover he would be +dull, duller than Charles, who at least knew how to say things; but +something coloured and exciting and dramatic had been ravished from +her—by Aunt Rose. That was the sting, and she was humiliated, though +she would not own it. She had been good enough for an episode, but her +charm had not endured. + +Her little, rather inhuman teeth ground against each other. But she had +been clever, she had carried it off well; she had not given a sign, and +she determined to be equally clever with Aunt Rose. Some day she would +refer lightly to her folly and laugh at the susceptibility of Francis +Sales. It would hurt Aunt Rose to have her faithful lover disparaged! +But, ah! if only she and Aunt Rose were friends, what a conspiracy they +could enjoy together! They had both suffered, they might both laugh. +How they might play into each other’s hands with Francis Sales for the +bewildered ball! It would be the finest sport in the world; but they +were not friends, and it was impossible to imagine Aunt Rose at that +game. No, she was alone in the world, and as she felt the first drop of +rain on her face she became aware of the aching of her heart. + +She stood for a moment on the bridge. A grey mist was being driven up +the river, blotting out the gorge and the trees. A gull, shrieking +dismally, cleaved the greyness with a white flash. It was cold and +Henrietta shivered, and once again she wished she could sit by a +fireside with some one who was kind and tender; but to-night there +would only be Aunt Sophia and Aunt Rose sitting with her in that +drawing-room, where everything was too elegant and too clear, where now +no one ever laughed. + + +§ 11 + +They sat by the fire as she had foreseen, Sophia pretending to be busy +with her embroidery, Rose, in a straight-backed chair, reading a book. +Henrietta sat on a low stool with a book open on her knee, but she did +not read it. The fire talked to itself, said silly things and chuckled, +or murmured sentimentally. That chatter, vaguely insane, and the +turning of Rose’s pages, the drawing of Sophia’s silks through the +stuff and the click of her scissors, were the only sounds until, +suddenly, Sophia gave a groan and fell back in her chair. Rose, very +much startled, glanced at Henrietta and jumped up. + +“It’s her heart,” Henrietta said with the superiority of her knowledge. +“I’ll get her medicine.” She came back with it. “She was like this when +Aunt Caroline died, but I promised not to tell. If she has this she +will be better.” + +It was Henrietta who poured the liquid into the glass and applied it to +Sophia’s lips. She was, she felt, the practical person, and it was she, +and not Aunt Rose, who had been trusted by Aunt Sophia. “She told me +where she kept the stuff,” Henrietta continued calmly. “There, that’s +better.” + +Sophia recovered with apologies: a little faintness; it was nothing. In +a few minutes she would go to bed. They helped her there. + +“You ought to have told me, Henrietta,” Rose said on the landing. + +“I couldn’t. She wished it to be our secret.” It was pleasant to feel +that Aunt Rose was out of this affair. + +“We must have the doctor and she ought not to be alone to-night.” + +I’ll sleep on the sofa in her room.” + +“No, Henrietta, you need more sleep than I do.” + +“Oh, but I’m young enough to sleep anywhere—on the floor! But let Aunt +Sophia choose.” + +Henrietta went back to the drawing-room, and the housemaid was sent for +the doctor. Shortly afterwards there came a ring at the bell; no doubt +it was the doctor, and Henrietta wished she could go upstairs with him, +for Aunt Rose, she told herself again, was not a practical person and +Henrietta was experienced in illness. She had nursed her mother and she +liked looking after people. She knew how to arrange pillows; she was +not afraid of sickness. However, she would have to wait until Aunt +Sophia sent for her; but it was not the doctor: it was Charles Batty +who appeared in the doorway. + +“Oh,” Henrietta said, “what have you come for?” + +He put down the hat and stick he had forgotten to leave in the hall. “I +don’t know,” he said. “I had a kind of feeling you might like to see +me. It’s the first time I’ve had it,” he added solemnly. + +He really had an extraordinary way of knowing things, but she said, +“Well, Aunt Sophia’s ill, so I don’t think you can stay.” + +He looked round for her. “She’s not here. I shan’t do any harm, shall +I? We can whisper.” + +“She wouldn’t hear us anyhow. It’s my room above this one.” + +“Is it?” He gazed at the ceiling with interest. “Oh, up there!” + +“I should have thought you knew by instinct,” she said bitingly. + +“No.” + +“Come and sit down, Charles, and don’t be disagreeable. I shall have to +go to Aunt Sophia soon, but then you will be able to talk to Aunt Rose. +That will do just as well.” + +“Not quite,” he said. “I really came to tell you—” + +“You said you came because you thought I wanted you.” + +“So I did, but there were several reasons. You said you were going to +be happy to-day, not murderous, do you remember? And I thought I’d like +to see how you looked. You don’t look happy a bit. What’s the matter?” + +“I’ve told you Aunt Sophia’s ill. And would you be happy if you had to +sit in this prim room with two old women?” + +“Two? But your Aunt Caroline is dead.” + +“But my Aunt Rose is very much alive.” + +He wagged his head. “I see.” + +“But she isn’t lively. She sits like this—reading a book, and Aunt +Sophia, poor Aunt Sophia, sews like this, and I sit on this horrid +little stool, like this. That’s how we spend the evening.” + +“How would you like to spend it?” + +“Oh, I don’t know.” She dropped her black head to her knees. “It’s so +lonely.” + +“Well,” he began again, “I really came to tell you that there’s a house +to let on The Green: that little one with the red roof like a cap and +windows that squint; a little old house; but—” he paused—“it has every +modern convenience. Henrietta, there’s a curl at the back of your +neck.” + +“I know. It’s always there.” + +“I can’t go on about the house unless you sit up.” + +“Why?” + +“Because of that curl.” + +“And I’m not interested in the house.” She did not move. “Whose is it?” + +“It belongs to a client of ours, but that doesn’t matter. The point is +that it’s to let. I’ve got an order to view. Look!—‘_Please admit Mr. +Charles Batty._’ I went this evening and we can both go to-morrow. It’s +really a very cosy little house. There’s a drawing-room opening on the +garden at the back, with plenty of room for a grand piano, and the +dining-room—I liked the dining-room very much. There was a fire in it.” + +“Is that unusual?” + +“It looked so cosy, with a red carpet and everything.” + +“Is the carpet to let, too?” + +“I don’t know. I dare say we could buy it. And mind you, Henrietta, the +kitchen is on the ground floor. That’s unusual, if you like, in an old +house. I made sure of that before I went any further.” + +“How far are you going?” + +“We’ll go everywhere to-morrow, even into the coal cellar. To-day I +just peeped.” + +“I can imagine you. But what do you want a house for, Charles?” + +“For you,” he said. “You say you don’t like spending the evenings +here—well, let’s spend them in the little house. We can’t go on being +engaged indefinitely.” + +“Certainly not,” she said firmly, “and I should adore a little house of +my own. I believe that’s just what I want.” + +“Then that’s settled.” + +“But not with you, Charles.” + +He said nothing for a time. She was sitting up, her hands clasped on +her lap, and as she looked at him she half regretted her last words. +This was how they would sit in the little house, by the fire, +surrounded by their own possessions, with everything clean and bright +and, as he had said, very cosy. She had never had a home. + +Suddenly she leaned towards him and put her head on his knee. His hand +fell on her hair. “This doesn’t mean anything,” she murmured; “but I +was just thinking. You’re tempting me again. First with the ring +because it was so pretty, and now with a house.” + +“How else am I to get you?” he cried out. “And you know you were +feeling lonely. That’s why I came.” + +“You thought it was your chance?” + +“Yes,” he said. “I don’t know the ordinary things, but I know the +others.” + +“I wonder how,” she said, and he answered with the one word, “Love,” in +a voice so deep and solemn that she laughed. + +“Do you know,” she said, “I have never had a home. I’ve lived in other +people’s houses, with their ugly furniture, their horrid sticky +curtains—” + +“I shall take that house to-morrow.” + +“But you can’t go on collecting things like this. Houses and rings—” + +“The ring’s in my pocket now.” + +“It must stay there, Charles. I ought not to keep my head on your knee; +but it’s comfortable and I have no conscience. None.” She sat up, +brushing his chin with her hair. “None!” she said emphatically. “And +here’s Aunt Rose coming to fetch me for Aunt Sophia. Mind, I’ve +promised nothing. Besides, you haven’t asked me to promise anything.” + +“Oh!” He blinked. “Well, there’s no time now. Good evening, Miss +Mallett.” He pulled himself out of his chair. + +“Good evening, Charles. I’m glad you’re here to keep Henrietta company. +The doctor has been, Henrietta—” + +“Oh, has he? I didn’t hear him.” + +“Sophia is settled for the night, and I’m going to her now.” + +“But she’ll want me!” Henrietta cried. + +“No, she asked me to stay with her. Good night. Good night, Charles.” + +“But did you say I wanted to be with her?” + +Rose, smiling but a little pitiful, said gently, “I gave her the choice +and she chose me.” + +She disappeared, and Henrietta turned to Charles. “You see, she gets +everything. She gets everything I ever wanted and she doesn’t try—” Her +hands dropped to her side. “She just gets it.” + +“But what have you wanted?” + +She turned away. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” + +“Is she going to marry Francis Sales?” + +“What makes you ask that?” she cried. + +“I don’t know. I just thought of it.” + +“Oh, your thoughts! Why, you suggested the same thing, for me! As if I +would look at him!” + +Charles blinked, his sign of agitation, but Henrietta did not see. +“He’s good to look at,” Charles muttered. “He knows how to wear his +clothes.” + +“That doesn’t matter.” + +Charles heaved a sigh. “One never knows what matters.” + +“And the Malletts don’t marry,” Henrietta said. “Aunt Caroline and Aunt +Sophia and Aunt Rose, and now me. There’s something in us that can’t be +satisfied. It was the same with my father, only it took him the other +way.” + +“I didn’t know he was married more than once. Nobody tells me things.” + +“Charles, dear, you’re very stupid. He was only married once in a +church.” + +“Oh, I see.” + +“And if I did marry, I should be like him.” She turned to him and put +her face close to his. “Unfaithful,” she pronounced clearly. + +“Oh, well, Henrietta, you would still be you.” + +She stepped backwards, shocked. “Charles, wouldn’t you mind?” + +“Not so much,” he said stolidly, “as doing without you altogether.” + +“And the other day you said you need never do that because”—she tapped +his waistcoat—“because I’m here!” + +He showed a face she had never seen before. “You seem to think I’m not +made of flesh and blood!” he cried. “You’re wanton, Henrietta, simply +wanton!” And he rushed out of the room. + +She heard the front door bang; she saw his hat and stick, lying where +he had put them; she smiled at them politely and then, sinking to the +floor beside the fender, she let out a little moan of despair and +delight. The fire chuckled and chattered and she leaned forward, her +face near the bars. + +“Stop talking for a minute! I want to tell you something. There’s +nobody else to tell. Listen! I’m in love with him now.” She nodded her +head. “Yes, with him. I know it’s ridiculous; but it’s true. Did you +hear? You can laugh if you like. I don’t care. I’m in love with him. +Oh, dear!” + +She circled her neck with her hands as though she must clasp something, +and it would have been too silly to fondle his ugly hat. And he would +remember he had forgotten it; he would come back. She dared not see +him. “I love him,” she cried out, “too much to want to see him!” She +paused, astonished. “I suppose that’s how he feels about me. How +wonderful!” She looked round at the furniture, so still and unmoved by +the happy bewilderment in which she found herself. The piano was mute; +the lamps burned steadily; the chair in which Charles had sat was +unconscious of its privilege; even the fire’s flames had subsided; and +she was intensely, madly, joyously alive. “It’s too much,” she said, +“too much!” And for the first time she was ashamed of her episode with +Francis Sales. “Playing at love,” she whispered. + +But Charles would be coming back and, tiptoeing as though he might hear +her from the street, she picked up his hat and stick and laid them +neatly on the step outside the front door. + +She slept with the profundity of her happiness and descended to +breakfast in a dream. Only the sight of Rose’s tired face reminded her +that Aunt Sophia was ill. She had had a bad night, but she was better. + +“She’s not going to die, too, is she?” Henrietta asked, and she had a +sad vision of Aunt Rose living all alone in Nelson Lodge. + +“She may live for a long time, but the doctor says she may die at any +moment.” + +“I don’t suppose she wants to live.” + +“What makes you think that?” + +“Because of Aunt Caroline—and—other people. But if she dies, whatever +will you do?” + +The question amused Rose. “Go and see the world at last,” she said. +“Perhaps you will come, too.” + +Henrietta laughed and flushed and became serious. “She mustn’t die.” + +For, after all, Aunt Sophia was not a true Mallett, according to Aunt +Caroline’s test; she believed in marriage, she would like to see +Henrietta in the little house; one of them would be able to call on the +other every day. It was wonderful of Charles to have known she would +like that house: she knew it well, with its red cap and its squinting +eyes; but, then, he was altogether wonderful. + +She supposed he would call for her that afternoon and they would +present the order to view together, but he did not come. With her hat +and gloves lying ready on the bed, she waited for his knock in vain. He +must have been kept by business; he would come later to explain. And +then, when still he did not come, she decided that he must be ill. If +so, her place was by his side, and she saw herself moving like an angel +about his bed; and yet the thought of Charles in bed was comic. + +At dinner she ate nothing and when Rose remarked on this, Henrietta +murmured that she had a headache; she thought she would go for a walk. + +“Then, if you are really going out, will you take a note to Mrs. Batty? +She sent some fruit and flowers to Sophia. I suppose Charles told her +she was ill.” + +Henrietta looked sharply at her aunt: she was suspicious of what seemed +like tact, but Rose wore an ordinary expression. + +“Is the note ready?” Henrietta asked. + +“Yes, I meant to post it, but I’d rather she had it to-night, and there +is the basket to return.” + +“Very well, I’ll take them both, and if I’m a little late, you’ll know +I have just gone for a walk or something.” + +“I shan’t worry about you,” Rose said. + +Henrietta walked up the yellow drive, trembling a little. She had +decided to ask for Mrs. Batty who was always pleased to see her, but +when the door was opened her ears were assailed by a blast of +triumphant sound. It was Charles, playing the piano; he was not ill, he +was not busy, he was merely playing the piano as though there were no +Henrietta in the world, and her trembling changed to the stiffness of +great anger. + +She handed in the basket and the note without a word or a smile for the +friendly parlourmaid. She walked home in the awful realization that she +had worn Charles out. He had called her wanton; he must have meant it. +It was that word which had really made her love him, yet it was also +the sign of his exhaustion. Life was tragic: no, it was comic, it was +playful. She had had happiness in her hands, and it had slipped through +them. She felt sick with disappointment under her rage; but she was not +without hope. It stirred in her gently. Charles would come back. But +would he? And she suddenly felt a terrible distrust of that love of +which he had boasted. It was too complete; he could do without her. He +would go on loving, but, she repeated it, she had worn him out, and she +could not love like that. She wanted tangible things. But he had said +that he, too, was flesh and blood, and that comforted her. He would +come back, but she could do nothing to invite him. + +This, she said firmly, was the real thing. It had been different with +Francis Sales: with him there had been no necessity for pride, but her +love for Charles must be wrapped round with reserve and kept holy; and +at once, with her unfailing dramatic sense, she saw herself moving +quietly through life, tending the sacred flame. And then, irritably, +she told herself she could not spend her days doing that: she did not +know what to do! She hated him; she would go away; yes, she would go +away with Aunt Rose. + +In the meantime she wept with a passion of disappointment, humiliation +and pain, but on each successive morning, for some weeks, she woke to +hope, for here was a new day with many possibilities in its hours; and +each evening she dropped on to her bed, disheartened. Nothing happened. +Aunt Sophia was better, Rose rode out every day, the little house on +The Green stood empty, squinting disconsolately, resignedly surprised +at its own loneliness. It was strange that nobody wanted a house like +that; it was neglected and so was she: nobody noticed the one or the +other. + +Every morning Henrietta took Aunt Sophia for a stately walk; every +afternoon she went to a tea- or tennis-party, for the summer +festivities were beginning once more; and often, as she returned, she +would meet Aunt Rose coming back from her ride, always cool in her +linen coat, however hot the day. Where did she go? How often did she +meet Francis Sales? Why should she be enjoying adventures while +Henrietta, at the only age worth having, was desperately fulfilling the +tedious round of her engagements? It was absurd, and Aunt Rose would +ask serenely, “Did you have a good game, Henrietta?” as though there +was nothing wrong. + +Henrietta did not care for games. It was the big sport of life itself +she craved for, and she could not get it. All these young men, handsome +and healthy in their flannels and ready to be pleasant, she found dull, +while the figure of the loose-jointed Charles, his vague gestures, his +unseeing eyes screening the activity of his brain, became heroic in +their difference. She never saw him; she did not visit Mrs. Batty; she +was afraid of falling tearfully on that homely, sympathetic breast, but +Mrs. Batty, as usual, issued invitations for a garden-party. + +“We shall have to go,” Sophia sighed. “Such an old and so kind a +friend! But without Caroline—for the first tune!” + +“There is no need for you to go,” Rose said at once. “Mrs. Batty will +understand, and Henrietta and I will represent the family.” + +“No, I must not give way. Caroline never gave way.” + +There was no excitement in dressing for this party. Without Caroline +things lost their zest, and they set out demurely, walking very slowly +for Sophia’s sake. + +It was a hot day and Mrs. Batty, standing at the garden door to greet +her guests, was obliged to wipe her face surreptitiously now and then, +while the statues in the hall, with their burdens of ferns and lamps, +showed their cool limbs beneath their scanty but still decent drapery. + +Mrs. Batty took Sophia to a seat under a tree and Henrietta stood for a +moment in the blazing sunlight alone. Where was Aunt Rose? Henrietta +looked round and had a glimpse of that slim black form moving among the +rose-trees with Francis Sales. He had simply carried her off! It was +disgraceful, and things seemed to repeat themselves for ever. Aunt +Rose, with her look of having lost everything, still succeeded in +possessing, while Henrietta was alone. She had no place in the world. +John’s affianced bride was busy among the guests, like a daughter of +the house, a slobbering bulldog at her heels; and Henrietta, isolated +on the lawn, was overcome by her own forlornness. It had been very +different at the ball. And how queer life was! It was just a succession +of days, that was all: little things happened and the days went on; big +things happened and seemed to change the world, but nothing was really +changed, and a whole life could be spent with a moment’s happiness or +despair for its only marks. + +Henrietta, rather impressed by the depths of her own thoughts, moved +through the garden. Where was Charles? She wanted to see him and get +their meeting over, but there was not a sign of him and, avoiding the +croquet players and that shady corner where elderly ladies were +clustered near the band, the same band which had played at the ball, +Henrietta found herself in the kitchen garden. She examined the +gooseberry bushes and strawberry beds with apparent interest, unwilling +to join the guests and still more unwilling to be found alone in this +deserted state. It was very hot. The open door of a little shed showed +her a dim and cool interior; she peeped in and stepped back with an +exclamation. Something had moved in there. It might be a rat or one of +John’s ferocious terriers, but a voice said quietly, “It’s only me.” + +She stepped forward. “What are you doing in there?” + +“Getting cool,” Charles said. “I thought nobody would find me. Won’t +you come in? It’s rather dirty in here, but it’s cool, and you can’t +hear the band. I’ve been sitting on the handle of the wheelbarrow, so +that’s clean, anyhow. I’ll wipe it with my handkerchief to make sure.” + +“But where are you going to sit?” + +“Oh, I don’t know.” + +“There’s room on the other handle.” + +Henrietta sat with her knees between the shafts, and he sat on the +other handle with his back to her. + +“We can’t stay here long,” she said. + +“No,” Charles agreed. + +The place smelt musty, but of heaven. It was draped with cobwebs like +celestial clouds; it was dark, but gradually the forms of rakes, hoes, +spades and a watering-pot cleared themselves from the gloom and +Charles’s head bloomed above his coat like a great pale flower. + +She put out her hand and drew it back again. She found nothing to say. +Outside the sun poured down its rays like fire. Henrietta’s head +drooped under her big hat. She was content to stay here for ever if +Charles would stay, too. Her body felt as though it were imponderable, +she had no feet, she could not feel the hard handle of the wheelbarrow; +she seemed to be floating blissfully, aware of nothing but that +floating, yet a threat of laughter began to tickle her. It was absurd +to sit like this, like strangers in an omnibus. The laughter rose to +her throat and escaped: she floated no longer, but she was no less +happy. + +“What’s the matter?” asked the voice of Charles. + +“So funny, sitting like this.” + +“What else can we do?” + +“You could turn round.” + +“There’s not room for all our knees.” + +She stood up with a little rustle and walked to the door. “No, it’s too +hot out there,” she said, and returned to face him. “Charles,” she said +in rather a high voice, “did you find your hat and stick that night?” + +“What? Oh, yes,” and then irrelevantly he added, “I’ve just been made a +partner.” + +“Really?” She was always interested in practical things. “In Mr. +Batty’s firm? How splendid! I didn’t know you were any good at +business.” + +“I’ve been improving, and you don’t know anything about me.” + +“I do, Charles,” she said earnestly. + +“No, nothing. You haven’t time to think of anybody but yourself. And +now I must go and look after all these people. You’d better come and +have an ice.” + +There was ice at her heart and she realized now that her past +unhappiness had been half false; she had been waiting for him all the +time and trusting to his next sight of her to put things right, but she +had failed with him, too. + +In that dim tool-house she had stood before him in her pretty dress, +smiling down at him, surely irresistible, and he had resisted. Well, +she could resist, too, and she walked calmly by his side, holding her +head very high, and when he parted from her with a grave bow, she felt +a great, an awed respect for him. + +She went to find her Aunt Sophia, who was still sitting under the tree, +surrounded by a chattering group. She looked tired, and, signalling for +Henrietta to approach, she said, “I’m afraid this is too much for me, +dear child. Can you find Rose and ask her to take me home? But I don’t +want to spoil your pleasure, Henrietta. There is no need for you to +come.” + +Henrietta’s lip twisted with dramatic bitterness. There was no pleasure +left for her. “I would rather go back with you, Aunt Sophia. Let us go +now.” + +“No, no. Find Rose.” + +There was another buffet in the face. It was Rose who was wanted and +Henrietta, walking swiftly, crossed the lawn again, casting quick +glances right and left. Rose was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, for their +ways had an odd habit of following the same path, she was in the +tool-house with Francis Sales, but as she turned to go there, the voice +of Mrs. Batty, husky with exhaustion and heat, said in her ear, “Is it +your Aunt Rose you are looking for, love? I think I saw her go into the +house, and I wish I could go myself. It’s so hot that I really feel I +may have a fit.” + +Henrietta went into the cool, shaded drawing-room on light feet, and +there, against the window, she saw her Aunt Rose in an attitude +startlingly unfamiliar. She was standing with her hands clasped before +her, and she gazed down at them lost in thought—or prayer. Her body, so +upright and strong, seemed limp and broken, and her face, which was +calm, yet had the look of having composed itself after pain. + +There was no one else in the room, but Henrietta had the strong +impression that someone had lately passed through the door. She was +afraid to disturb that moment in which an escaped soul seemed to be +fluttering back into its place, but Rose looked up and saw her and +Henrietta, advancing softly as though towards a person who was dead, +stopped within a foot of her. Then, without thought and obeying an +uncontrollable impulse, she stepped forward and laid her cheek against +her aunt’s. Rose’s hands dropped apart and, one arm encircling +Henrietta’s waist, she held her close, but only for a minute. It was +Henrietta who broke away, saying, “Aunt Sophia sent me to look for you. +She doesn’t feel well.” + + +§ 12 + +Mrs. Batty was cured of giving parties. It was after her ball that Miss +Caroline died, and it was after her garden-party that Miss Sophia +finally collapsed. The heat, the emotion of her memories and the effort +of disguising it had been too much for her. She died the following day +and Mrs. Batty felt that the largest and most expensive wreath +procurable could not approach the expression of her grief. It was no +good talking to Mr. Batty about it; he would only say he had been +against the ball and garden-party from the first, but Mrs. Batty found +Charles unexpectedly soothing. He was certainly much improved of late, +and when she heard that he was to go to Nelson Lodge on business +connected with the estate, she burdened him with a number of incoherent +messages for Rose. + +Perhaps he delivered them; he certainly stayed in the drawing-room for +some time, and Henrietta, sitting sorrowfully in her bedroom, could +hear his voice “rolling on monotonously. Then there was a laugh and +Henrietta was indignant. Nobody ought to laugh with Aunt Sophia lying +dead, and she did not know how to stay in her room while those two, +Aunt Rose and her Charles, talked and laughed together. She thought of +pretending not to know he was there and of entering the drawing-room in +a careless manner, but she could not allow Aunt Rose to witness +Charles’s indifference. All she could do was to steal on to the landing +and lean over the banisters to watch him depart. She had the painful +consolation of seeing the top of his head and of hearing him say, “The +day after to-morrow?” + +Rose answered, “Yes, it’s most important.” + +Henrietta waited until the front door had closed behind him and then, +seeing Rose at the foot of the stairs, she said, “What’s important, +Aunt Rose?” + +“Oh, are you there, Henrietta? What a pity you didn’t come down. That +was Charles Batty.” + +“I know. What’s important?” + +“There is a lot of complicated business to get through.” + +“You might let me help.” + +“I wish you would. When Charles comes again—his father isn’t very +well—you had better be present.” + +“No, not with Charles,” Henrietta said firmly. “Does he understand +wills and things?” + +“Perfectly, I think. He’s very clever and quite interesting.” + +“Oh!” Henrietta said. + +“I’m glad he’s coming again. And now, Henrietta,” she sighed, “we must +get ready for the cousins.” + +The female relatives returned in dingy cabs. They had not yet laid +aside their black and beads for Caroline, and, as though they thought +Sophia had been unfairly cheated of new mourning, they had adorned +themselves with a fresh black ribbon here and there, or a larger brooch +of jet, and these additions gave to the older garments a rusty look, a +sort of blush. + +Across these half-animated heaps of woe and dye, the glances of Rose +and Henrietta met in an understanding pleasing to both. This mourning +had a professional, almost a rapacious quality, and if these women had +no hope of material pickings, they were getting all possible +nourishment from emotional ones. Their eyes, very sharp, but veiled by +seemly gloom, criticized the slim, upright figures of these young women +who could wear black gracefully, sorrow with dignity, and who had, as +they insisted, so much the look of sisters. + +The air seemed freer for their departure, but the house was very empty, +and though Sophia had never made much noise the place was heavy with a +final silence. + +“I don’t know why we’re here!” Henrietta cried passionately across the +dinner-table when Susan had left the ladies to their dessert. + +“Why were we ever here?” Rose asked. “If one could answer that +question—” + +They faced each other in their old places. The curved ends of the +shining table were vacant, the Chippendale armchairs were pushed back +against the wall, yet the ghosts of Caroline and Sophia, gaily dressed, +with dangling earrings, the sparkle of jewels, the movements of their +beringed fingers, seemed to be in the room. + +“But we shall never forget them,” Henrietta said. “They were persons. +Aunt Rose, do you think you and I will go on as they did, until just +one of us is left?” + +“We could never be like them.” + +“No, they were happy.” + +“You will be happy again, Henrietta. We shall get used to this +silence.” + +“But I don’t think either of us is meant to be happy. No, we’re not +like them. We’re tragic. But all the same, we might get really fond of +one another, mightn’t we?” + +“I am fond of you.” + +“I don’t see how you can be”—Henrietta looked down at the fruit on her +plate—“considering what has happened,” she almost whispered. + +Rose made no answer. The steady, pale flames of the candles stood up +like golden fingers, the shadows behind the table seemed to listen. + +“But how fond are you?” Henrietta asked in a loud voice, and Rose, +peeling her apple delicately, said vaguely, “I don’t know how you +measure.” + +“By what you would do for a person.” + +“Ah, well, I think I have stood that test.” + +Henrietta leaned over the table, and a candle flame, as though startled +by her gesture, gave a leap, and the shadows behind were stirred. + +“Yes,” Henrietta said, “I hated you for a long time, but now I don’t. +You’ve been unhappy, too. And you were right about—that man. I didn’t +love him. How could I? How could I? How could anybody? If you hadn’t +come that day—” + +Rose closed her eyes for a moment and then said wearily, “It wouldn’t +have made any difference. I never made any difference. You didn’t love +him; but he never loved you either, child. You were quite safe.” + +Henrietta’s face flushed hotly. This might be true, but it was not for +Aunt Rose to say it. Once more she leaned across the table and said +clearly, “Then you’re still jealous.” + +Rose smiled. It seemed impossible to move her. “No, Henrietta. I left +jealousy behind years ago. We won’t discuss this any further. It +doesn’t bear discussion. It’s beyond it.” + +“I know it’s very unpleasant,” Henrietta said politely, “but if we are +to go on living together, we ought to clear things up.” + +“We are not going on living together,” Rose said. She left the table +and stood before the fire, one hand on the mantelshelf and one foot on +the fender. The long, soft lines of her dark dress were merged into the +shadows, and the white arm, the white face and neck seemed to be +disembodied. Henrietta, struck dumb by that announcement, and feeling +the situation wrested from the control of her young hands, stared at +the slight figure which had typified beauty for her since she first saw +it. + +“Then you don’t like me,” she faltered. + +Rose did not move, but she began to speak. “Henrietta, I have loved you +very dearly, almost as if you were my daughter, but you didn’t seem to +want my love. I couldn’t force it on you, but it has been here: it is +still here. I think you have the power of making people love you, yet +you do nothing for it except, perhaps, exist. One ought not to ask any +more; I don’t ask it, but you ought to learn to give. You’ll find it’s +the only thing worth doing. Taking—taking—one becomes atrophied. No, it +isn’t that I don’t care for you, it isn’t that. I am going to be +married.” + +Very carefully, Henrietta put her plate aside, and, supporting her face +in her hands, she pressed her elbows into the table; she pressed hard +until they hurt. So Aunt Rose was going to be married while Henrietta +was deserved. “Not to Francis Sales?” she whispered. + +“Yes, to Francis Sales.” + +She had a wild moment of anger, succeeded by horror for Aunt Rose. Was +she stupid? Was she insensible? And Henrietta said, “But you can’t, +Aunt Rose, you can’t.” Her distress and a kind of envy gave her +courage. “He isn’t good enough. He played with you and then with me and +you said there was some one else.” The figure by the mantelpiece was so +still that Henrietta became convinced of the potency of her own words, +and she went on: “You know everything about him and you can’t marry +him. How can you marry him?” + +A sound, like the faint and distant wailing of the wind, came out of +the shadows into which Rose had retreated: “Ah, how?” + +“And you’re going to leave me—for him!” + +“Yes—for him.” + +“Aunt Rose, you would be happier with me.” + +Again there came that faint sound. “Perhaps.” + +“I’d try to be kinder to you. I don’t understand you.” + +“No, you don’t understand me. Do you understand yourself?” She left her +place and put her hands on Henrietta’s shoulders. “Say no more,” she +said with unmistakable authority. “Say no more, neither to me nor to +anybody else. This is beyond you. And now come into the drawing-room. +Don’t cry, Henrietta. I’m not going to be married for some time.” + +“I wish I’d known you loved me,” Henrietta sobbed. + +“I tried to show you.” + +“If I’d known, everything might have been different.” + +Rose laughed. “But we don’t want it to be different.” + +“You won’t be happy,” Henrietta wailed. + +“You, at least,” Rose said sternly, “have done nothing to make me so.” + +Henrietta stilled her sobbing. It was quite true. She had taken +everything—Aunt Rose’s money, Aunt Rose’s love, her wonderful +forbearance and the love of Charles. + +“I don’t know what to do,” she cried. + +“Come into the drawing-room and we’ll talk about it.” + +But they did not talk. Rose played the piano in the candlelight for a +little while before she slipped out of the room. Henrietta sat on the +little stool without even the fire to keep her company. She was too +dazed to think. She did not understand why Aunt Rose should choose to +marry Francis Sales and she gave it up, but loneliness stretched before +her like a long, hard road. + +If only Charles would come! He always came when he was wanted. A memory +reached her weary mind. This was “the day after to-morrow,” and Aunt +Rose expected him. She leapt up and examined herself in the mirror. She +was one of those lucky people who can cry and leave no trace; colour +had sprung into her cheeks, but it faded quickly. She had waited for +him before and he had not come, and she was tired of waiting. She sank +into Aunt Caroline’s chair and shut her eyes; she almost slept. She was +on the verge of dreams when the bell jangled harshly. She did not move. +She sat in an agony of fear that this would not be Charles; but the +door opened and he entered. Susan pronounced his name, and he stood on +the threshold, thinking the room was empty. + +A very small voice pierced the stillness. “Charles, I’m here.” + +“I won’t come a step farther,” Charles said severely, “until you tell +me if you love me.” + +“I thought you’d come to see Aunt Rose.” + +“Henrietta—” + +“Yes, I love you, I love you,” she said hurriedly. “I’m nodding my head +hard. No, stay where you are, stay where you are. I’ve been loving you +for weeks and you’ve treated me shamefully. No, no, I’ve got to be +different, I’ve got to give. You didn’t treat me shamefully.” + +“No,” he said stolidly, “I didn’t. Here’s the ring, and I took that +house. I’ve been renting it ever since I knew we were going to live in +it. Here’s the ring.” He dropped it into her lap. + +She looked down at the stones, hard and bright like herself. “Aunt Rose +will be very much surprised,” she said, and she was too happy to wonder +why he laughed. + +Standing on the stair, Rose heard that laughter and went on very slowly +to her room. She had, at least, done something for Henrietta. She had +given Charles his chance, and now she was to go on doing things for +Francis Sales. She owed him something: she owed him the romance of her +youth, she owed him the care which was all she had left to give him. +Things had come to her too late, her eyes were too wide open, yet +perhaps it was better so. She had no illusions and she wanted to +justify her early faith and Christabel’s sufferings and her own. There +was nothing else to do. Besides, he needed her, and with him she would +not be more unhappy; he would be happier, he said. She had to protect +him against himself, yet even there she was frustrated, for he had, in +a measure, found himself, and now that she was ready and able to serve +him there would be less for her to do. But she had no choice: there was +the old debt, there were the old chains, and as she faced the future +she was stirred by hope. She could tell herself that something of her +dead love had waked to life, yet when she tried to get back the old +rapture, she knew it had gone for ever. + +She entered her room and did not turn on the light. There seemed to be +a strange weight in her body, pressing her down, but, as she looked +through her open window at the summer sky deepening to night and +letting out the stars, which seemed to be much amused, there was a +lightness in her mind and, smiling back at them, she was able to share +their appreciation of the joke. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSES MALLETT *** + +***** This file should be named 8131-0.txt or 8131-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/8/1/3/8131/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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H. Young</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'> +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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Misses Mallett</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: E. H. Young</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 17, 2003 [eBook #8131]<br /> +[Most recently updated: January 19, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Suzanne Shell, Anne Reshnyk, cam, Delphine Lettau, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSES MALLETT ***</div> + +<h1>The Misses Mallett</h1> + +<h3>(The Bridge Dividing)</h3> + +<h2 class="no-break">by E. H. Young</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">BOOK I ROSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">BOOK II HENRIETTA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">BOOK III ROSE AND HENRIETTA</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>Book I: <i>Rose</i></h2> + +<h3>§ 1</h3> + +<p> +On the high land overlooking the distant channel and the hills beyond it, the +spring day, set in azure, was laced with gold and green. Gorse bushes flaunted +their colour, larch trees hung out their tassels and celandines starred the +bright green grass in an air which seemed palpably blue. It made a mist among +the trees and poured itself into the ground as though to dye the earth from +which hyacinths would soon spring. Far away, the channel might have been a +still, blue lake, the hills wore soft blue veils and, like a giant reservoir, +the deeper blue of the sky promised unlimited supplies. There were sheep and +lambs bleating in the fields, birds sang with a piercing sweetness, and no +human being was in sight until, up on the broad grassy track which branched off +from the main road and had the larch wood on one side and, on the other, rough +descending fields, there appeared a woman on a horse. The bit jingled gaily, +the leather creaked, the horse, smelling the turf, gave a snort of delight, but +his rider restrained him lightly. On her right hand was the open country +sloping slowly to the water; on her left was the stealthiness of the larch +wood; over and about everything was the blue day. Straight ahead of her the +track dipped to a lane, and beyond that the ground rose again in fields +sprinkled with the drab and white of sheep and lambs and backed by the elm +trees of Sales Hall. She could see the chimneys of the house and the +rooks’ nests in the elm tops and, as though the sight reminded her of +something mildly amusing, the smoothness of her face was ruffled by a smile, +the stillness of her pose by a quick glance about her, but if she looked for +anyone she did not find him. There were small sounds from the larch wood, +little creakings and rustlings, but there was no human footstep, and the only +visible movements were made by the breeze in the trees and in the grass, the +flight of a bird and the distant gambolling of lambs. +</p> + +<p> +She rode on down the steep, stony slope into the lane, and after hesitating for +a moment she turned to the right where the lane was broadened by a border of +rich grass and a hedge-topped bank. Here primroses lay snugly in their clumps +of crinkled leaves and, wishing to feel the coolness of their slim, pale stalks +between her fingers, Rose Mallett dismounted, slipped the reins over her arm +and allowed her horse to feed while she stooped to the flowers. Then, in the +full sunshine, with the soft breeze trying to loosen her hair, with the flowers +in her bare hand, she straightened herself, consciously happy in the beauty of +the day, in the freedom and strength of her body, in the smell of the earth and +the sight of the country she had known and loved all her life. It was long +since she had ridden here without encountering Francis Sales, who was bound up +with her knowledge of the country, and who, quite evidently, wished to annex +some of the love she lavished on it. This was a ridiculous desire which made +her smile again, yet, while she was glad to be alone, she missed the attention +of his presence. He had developed a capacity, which was like another sense, for +finding her when she rode on his domains or in their neighbourhood, and she was +surprised to feel a slight annoyance at his absence, an annoyance which, +illogically, was increased by the sight of his black spaniel, the sure +forerunner of his master, making his way through the hedge. A moment later the +tall figure of Sales himself appeared above the budding twigs. +</p> + +<p> +He greeted her in the somewhat sulky manner to which she was accustomed. He was +a young man with a grievance, and he looked at her as though to-day it were +personified in her. +</p> + +<p> +She answered him cheerfully: “What a wonderful day!” +</p> + +<p> +“The day’s all right,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Holding the primroses to her nose, she looked round. Catkins were swaying +lightly on the willows, somewhere out of sight a tiny runnel of water gurgled, +the horse ate noisily, the grass had a vividness of green like the concentrated +thought of spring. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see how anything can be wrong this morning,” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you’re lucky to think so,” he answered, gazing at her +clear, pale profile. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she turned to ask patiently, “what is the matter with +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m worried.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has a cow died?” And ignoring his angry gesture, she went on: +“I don’t think you take enough care of your property. Whenever I +ride here I find you strolling about miserably, with a dog.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s your fault.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t quite see why,” she said pleasantly; “but no +doubt you are right. But has a cow died?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not. Why should it?” +</p> + +<p> +“They do, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the old man. He isn’t well, and he’s badgering me +to go away, to Canada, and learn more about farming.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you should.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you’d say so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or do you think you can’t?” +</p> + +<p> +He missed, or ignored, her point. “He’s ill. I don’t want to +leave him”; and in a louder voice he added, almost shouted, “I +don’t want to leave you!” +</p> + +<p> +Her grey eyes were watching the swinging catkins, her hand, lifting the +primroses, hid a smile. Again he had the benefit of her profile, the knot of +her dark, thick hair and the shadowy line of her eyelashes, but she made no +comment on his remark and after a moment of sombre staring he uttered the one +word, “Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ve told you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I think you ought to go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you don’t love me?” +</p> + +<p> +From under her raised eyebrows she looked at him steadily. “No, I +don’t love you,” she said slowly. There was no need to consider her +answer: she was sure of it. She was fond of him, but she could not romantically +love some one who looked and behaved like a spoilt boy. She glanced from his +handsome, frowning face in which the mouth was opening for protest to a scene +perfectly set for a love affair. There was not so much as a sheep in sight: +there was only the horse who, careless of these human beings, still ate +eagerly, chopping the good grass with his teeth, and the spaniel who panted +self-consciously and with a great affectation of exhaustion. The place was +beautiful and the sunlight had some quality of enchantment. Faint, delicious +smells were offered on the wind and withdrawn in caprice; the trees were all +tipped with green and interlaced with blue air and blue sky; she wished she +could say she loved him, and she repeated her denial half regretfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Rose,” he pleaded, “I’ve known you all my life!” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps that’s why. Perhaps I know you too well.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t. You don’t know how—how I love you. And I +should be different with you. I should be happy. I’ve never been happy +yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t,” she said slowly, “get happiness through a +person if you can’t get it through yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—if you are the person.” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.” +</p> + +<p> +He reproached her. “You’ve never thought about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, isn’t that the same thing? And,” she added, +“you’re so far away.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can get through the hedge,” he said practically. +</p> + +<p> +She smiled in the way that always puzzled, irritated and allured him. His words +set him still farther off; he did not even understand her speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it better now?” he asked, close to her. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no better.” She looked at his face, so deeply tanned that his +brown hair and moustache looked pale by contrast and his eyes extraordinarily +blue. His appearance always pleased her. It was almost a part of the landscape, +but the landscape was full of change, of mystery in spite of its familiarity, +and she found him dull, monotonous, with a sort of stupidity which was not +without attraction, but which would be wearying for a whole life. She had no +desire to be his wife and the mistress of Sales Hall, its fields and woods and +farms. The world was big, the possibilities in life were infinite, and she felt +she was fit, perhaps destined, to play a larger part than this he offered her, +and if she could, as she foresaw, only play a greater one through the agency of +some man, she must have that man colossal, for she was only twenty-three years +old. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said firmly, “we are not suited to each +other.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are to me.” His angry helplessness seemed to darken the +sunlight. “You are to me. No one else. I’ve known you all my life. +Rose, think about it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall—but I shan’t change. I don’t believe you +really love me, Francis, but you want some one you can growl at legitimately. I +don’t think you would find me satisfactory. Another woman might enjoy the +privilege.” +</p> + +<p> +He made a wild movement, startling to the horse. “You don’t +understand me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, that ought to settle it. And now I’m going.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “And look here, you might have +loosened your girths.” +</p> + +<p> +“I might, but I didn’t expect to be here so long. I didn’t +expect to be so pleasantly entertained.” She put out her hand for his +shoulder, and, bending unwillingly, he received her foot. +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t have said that,” he muttered, “about being +entertained.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re so ungracious, Francis.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help it when I care so much.” +</p> + +<p> +From her high seat she looked at him with a sort of envy. “It must be +rather nice to feel anything deeply enough to make you rude.” +</p> + +<p> +“You torture me,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She was hurt by the sight of his suffering, she wished she could give him what +he wanted, she felt as though she were injuring a child, yet her youth resented +his childishness: it claimed a passion capable of overwhelming her. She +hardened a little. “Good-bye,” she said, “and if I were you, +I should certainly go abroad.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall!” he threatened her. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, then,” she repeated amiably. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t go,” he begged in a low voice. “Rose, I +don’t believe you know what you are doing, and you’ve always loved +the country, you’ve always loved our place. You like our house. You told +me once you envied us our rookery.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I love the rookery,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“And you’d have your own stables and as many horses as you +wanted—” +</p> + +<p> +“And milk from our own cows! And home-laid eggs!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you’re laughing at me. You always do.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you see,” she said, bending a little towards him, “I +shouldn’t make a very good companion.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I could put up with it from you!” he cried. “I could put +up with anything from you.” +</p> + +<p> +She made a gesture. That was where he chiefly failed. The colossal gentleman of +her imagination was a tyrant. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +She rode home, up and along the track, on to the high road with its grass +borders and across the shadows of the elm branches which striped the road with +black. It was a long road accompanied on one side and for about two miles by a +tall, smooth wall, unscalable, guarding the privacy of a local magnate’s +park. It was a pitiless wall, without a chink, without a roughness that could +be seized by hands; it was higher than Rose Mallett as she sat on her big horse +and, but for the open fields on the other side where lambs jumped and bleated, +that road would have oppressed the spirit, for the wall was a solid witness to +the pride and the power of material possession. Rose Mallett hated it, not on +account of the pride and the power, but because it was ugly, monstrous, and so +inhospitably smooth that not a moss would grow on it. More vaguely, she +disliked it because it set so definite a limit to her path. She was always glad +when she could turn the corner and, leaving the wall to prolong the side of the +right angle it made at this point, she could take a side road, edging a wooded +slope. That slope made one side of the gorge through which the river ran, and, +looking down through the trees, she caught glimpses of water and a red scar of +rock on the other cliff. +</p> + +<p> +The sound of a steamer’s paddles threshing the water came to her clearly, +and the crying of the gulls was so familiar that she hardly noticed it. And all +the way she was thinking of Francis Sales, his absurdity, his good looks and +his distress; but in the permanence of his distress, even in its sincerity, she +did not much believe, for he had failed to touch anything but her pity, and +that failure seemed an argument against the vehemence of his love. Yet she +liked him, she had always liked him since, as a little girl, she had been taken +by her stepsisters to a haymaking party at Sales Hall. +</p> + +<p> +They had gone in a hired carriage, but one so smart and well-equipped that it +might have been their own, and she remembered the smell of the leather seats +warmed by the sun, the sound of the horse’s hoofs and the sight of +Caroline and Sophia, extremely gay in their summer muslins and shady hats, each +holding a lace parasol to protect the complexion already delicately touched up +with powder and rouge. She had been very proud of her stepsisters as she sat +facing them and she had decided to wear just such muslin dresses, just such +hats, when she grew up. Caroline was in pink with coral beads and a pink +feather drooping on her dark hair; and Sophia, very fair, with a freckle here +and there peeping, as though curious, through the powder, wore yellow with a +big-bowed sash. She was always very slim, and the only fair Mallett in the +family; but even in those days Caroline was inclined to stoutness. She carried +it well, however, with a great dignity, fortified by reassurances from Sophia, +and Rose’s recollections of the conversations of these two was of their +constant compliments to each other and the tireless discussion of clothes. +These conversations still went on. +</p> + +<p> +Fifteen years ago she had sat in that carriage in a white frock, with socks and +ankle-strapped black shoes, her long hair flowing down her back, and she had +heard then, as one highly privileged, the words she would hear again when she +arrived home for tea. Under their tilted parasols they had made their little +speeches. No one was more distinguished than Caroline; no girl of twenty had a +prettier figure than Sophia’s; how well the pink feather looked against +Caroline’s hair. Rose, listening intently, but not staring too hard lest +her gaze should attract their attention to herself, had looked at the fields +and at the high, smooth wall, and wondered whether she would rather reach Sales +Hall and enjoy the party, or drive on for ever in this delightful company, but +the carriage turned up the avenue of elms and Rose saw for the first time the +house which Francis Sales now offered as an attraction. It was a big, square +house with honest, square windows, and the drive, shadowed by the elms, ran +through the fields where the haymaking was in progress. Only immediately in +front of the house were there any flower-beds and there were no garden trees or +shrubs. The effect was of great freedom and spaciousness, of unaffected +homeliness; and even then the odd delightful mixture of hall and farm, the +grandeur of the elm avenue set in the simplicity of fields, gave pleasure to +Rose Mallett’s beauty-loving eyes. Anything might happen in a garden that +suddenly became a field, in a field that ended in a garden, and the house had +the same capacity for surprise. +</p> + +<p> +There was a matted hall sunk a foot below the threshold, and to Rose, +accustomed to the delicate order of Nelson Lodge with its slim, shining, old +furniture, its polished brass and gleaming silver, the comfortable carelessness +of this place, with a man’s cap on the hall table, a group of sticks and +a pair of slippers in a corner, and an opened newspaper on a chair, seemed the +very home of freedom. It was a masculine house in which Mrs. Sales, a gentle +lady with a fichu of lace round her soft neck, looked strangely out of place, +yet entirely happy in her strangeness. +</p> + +<p> +On the day of the party Rose had only a glimpse of the interior. The three Miss +Malletts, Caroline sweeping majestically ahead, were led into the hayfield +where Mrs. Sales sat serenely in a wicker chair. It was evident at once that +Mr. Sales, bluff and hearty, with gaitered legs, was fond of little girls. He +realized that this one with the black hair and the solemn grey eyes would +prefer eating strawberries from the beds to partaking of them with cream from a +plate; he knew without being told that she would not care for gambolling with +other children in the hay; he divined her desire to see the pigs and horses, +and it was near the pigsties that she met Francis Sales. He was tall for twelve +years old and Rose respected him for his age and size; but she wondered why he +was with the pigs instead of with his guests, to whom his father drove him off +with a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Says he can’t bear parties,” Mr. Sales remarked genially to +Rose. “What do you think of that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I like pigs, too,” Rose answered, to be surprised by his prolonged +chuckle. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sales, in the intervals of his familiar conversation with the pigs, wanted +to know why Rose had not brought her father with her. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he’s too old,” Rose said, rather shocked. Her father had +always seemed old to her, as indeed he was, for she was the child of his second +marriage, and her young mother had died when she was born. Her stepsisters, +devoted to the little girl, and perhaps not altogether sorry to be rid of a +stepmother younger than themselves, had tried to make up for that loss, but +they were much occupied with the social activities of Radstowe and they +belonged to an otherwise inactive generation, so that if Rose had a grievance +it was that they never played games with her, never ran, or played ball or +bowled hoops as she saw the mothers of other children doing. For such sporting +she had to rely upon her nurse who was of rather a solemn nature and liked +little girls to behave demurely out of doors. +</p> + +<p> +General Mallett saw to it that his youngest daughter early learnt to ride. Her +memories of him were of a big man on a big horse, not talkative, somewhat stern +and sad, becoming companionable only when they rode out together on the high +Downs crowning the old city, and then he was hardly recognizable as the father +who heard her prayers every night. These two duties of teaching her to ride and +of hearing her pray, and his insistence on her going, as Caroline and Sophia +had done, to a convent school in France, made up, as far as she could remember, +the sum of his interest in her, and when she returned home from school for the +last time, it was to attend his funeral. +</p> + +<p> +She was hardly sorry, she was certainly not glad; she envied the spontaneous +tears of her stepsisters, and she found the lugubriousness of the occasion much +alleviated by the presence of her stepbrother Reginald. She had hardly seen him +since her childhood. Sophia always spoke of him as she might have spoken of the +dead. Caroline sometimes referred to him in good round terms, sometimes with an +indulgent laugh; and for Rose he had the charm of mystery, the fascination of +the scapegrace. He was handsome, but good looks were a prerogative of the +Malletts; he was married to a wife he had never introduced to his family and he +had a little girl. What his profession was, Rose did not know. Perhaps his face +was his fortune, as certainly his sisters had been his victims. +</p> + +<p> +After the funeral he had several interviews with Caroline and Sophia, when Rose +could hear the mannish voice of Caroline growing gruff with indignation and the +high tones of Sophia rising to a squeak. He emerged from these encounters with +an angry face and a weak mouth stubbornly set; but for Rose he had always a gay +word or a pretty speech. She was a real Mallett, he told her; she was more his +sister than the others, and she liked to hear him say so because he had a kind +of grace and a caressing voice, yet the cool judgment which was never easily +upset assured her that a man with his mouth must be in the wrong. He was, in +fact, pursuing his old practice of extracting money from his sisters, and he +only returned, presumably, to his wife and child, when James Batty, the family +solicitor, had been called to the ladies’ aid. +</p> + +<p> +But they both cried when he went away. +</p> + +<p> +“He is so lovable,” Sophia sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear, he’s a rake,” Caroline replied, carefully dabbing +her cheeks. “All the Malletts are rakes—yes, even the General. Oh, +he took to religion in the end, I know, but that’s what they do.” +She chuckled. “When there’s nothing left! I’m afraid I shall +take to it myself some day. I’ve sown my wild oats, too. Oh, no, +I’m not going to tell Rose anything about them, Sophia. You needn’t +be afraid, but she’ll hear of them sooner or later from anybody who +remembers Caroline Mallett in her youth.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose had received this confession gravely, but she had not needed the +reassurance of Sophia; “It isn’t so, dear Rose—a flirt, yes, +but never wicked, never! My dear, of course not!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not,” Rose repeated. She had already realized that her +stepsisters must be humoured. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Riding slowly, Rose recalled that haymaking party and her gradual friendship, +as the years went by, with the unsociable young Sales, a friendship which had +been tacitly recognized by them both when, meeting her soon after his +mother’s death, he had laid his arms and head on the low stone wall by +which they were standing, and wept without restraint. It was a display she +could not have given herself and it shocked her in a young man, but it left her +in his debt. She felt she owed something to a person who had shown such +confidence in her and though at the time she had been dumb and, as it seemed to +her, far from helpful, she did not forget her liability. However, she could not +remember it to the extent of marrying him; she had always shown him more +kindness than she really felt and, in considering these things on her way home, +she decided that she was still doing as much as he could expect. +</p> + +<p> +She had by this time turned another corner and the high bridge, swung from one +side of the gorge to the other, was before her. At the toll-house was the +red-faced man who had not altered in the whiteness of a single hair since she +had been taken across the bridge by her nurse and allowed to peep fearfully +through the railings which had towered like a forest above her head. And the +view from the bridge was still for her a fairy vision. +</p> + +<p> +Seawards, the river, now full and hiding its muddy banks which, revealed, had +their own opalescent beauty, went its way between the cliffs, clothed on one +hand with trees, save for a big red and yellow gash where the stone was being +quarried, and on the other with bare rock, topped by the Downs spreading far +out of sight. Landwards the river was trapped into docks, spanned by low +bridges and made into the glistening part of a patchwork of water, brick and +iron. Red-roofed old houses, once the haunts of fashion, were clustered near +the water but divided from it now by tram-lines, companion anachronisms to the +steamers entering and leaving the docks, but by the farther shore, one small +strip of river was allowed to flow in its own way, and it skirted meadows +rising to the horizon and carrying with them more of those noble elms in which +the whole countryside was rich. +</p> + +<p> +Her horse’s hoofs sounding hollow on the bridge, Rose passed across, and +at the other toll-house door she saw the thin, pale man, with spectacles on the +end of his pointed nose, who had first touched his hat to her when she rode on +a tiny pony by the side of her father on his big horse. That man was part of +her life and she, presumably, was part of his. He had watched many Upper +Radstowe children from the perambulator stage, and to him she remarked on the +weather, as she had done to the red-faced man at the other end. It was a +beautiful day; they were having a wonderful spring; it would soon be summer, +she said, but on repetition these words sounded false and intensely dreary. It +would soon be summer, but what did that mean to her? Festivities suited to the +season would be resumed in Radstowe. There would be lawn tennis in the big +gardens, and young men in flannels and girls in white would stroll about the +roads and gay voices would be heard in the dusk. There would be garden-parties, +and Mrs. Batty, the wife of the lawyer, would be lavish with tennis for the +young, gossip for the middle-aged and unlimited strawberries and ices for all. +Rose would be one of the guests at this as at all the parties and, for the +first time, as though her refusal of Francis Sales had had some strange effect, +as though that rejected future had created a distaste for the one fronting her, +she was aghast at the prospect of perpetual chatter, tea and pretty dresses. +She was surely meant for something better, harder, demanding greater powers. +She had, by inheritance, good manners, a certain social gift, but she had here +nothing to conquer with these weapons. What was she to do? The idea of +qualifying for the business of earning her bread did not occur to her. No +female Mallett had ever done such a thing, and not all the male ones. Marriage +opened the only door, but not marriage with Francis Sales, not marriage with +anyone she knew in Radstowe, and her stepsisters had no inclination to leave +the home of their youth, the scene of their past successes, for her sake. +</p> + +<p> +Rose sat very straight on her horse, not frowning, for she never frowned, but +wearing rather a set expression, so that an acquaintance, passing unrecognized, +made the usual reflection on the youngest Miss Mallett’s pride, and the +pity that one so young should sometimes look so old. +</p> + +<p> +And Rose was wishing that the spring would last for ever, the spring with its +promise of excitement and adventure which would not be fulfilled, though one +was willingly deceived into believing that it would. Yet she had youth’s +happy faith in accident: something breathless and terrific would sweep her, as +on the winds of storm, out of this peaceful, gracious life, this place where +feudalism still survived, where men touched their hats to her as her due. And +it was her due! She raised her head and gave her pale profile to the houses on +one side, the trees and the open spaces of green on the other. And not because +she was a Mallett though it was a name honoured in Radstowe, but because she +was herself. Hats would always be touched to her, and it was the touchers who +would feel themselves complimented in the act. She knew that, but the knowledge +was not much to her; she wished she could offer homage for a change, and the +colossal figure of her imagination loomed up again; a rough man, perhaps; yes, +he might be rough if he were also great; rough and the scandal of her +stepsisters! +</p> + +<p> +As she rode under the flowering trees to the stable where she kept her horse, +she wondered whether she should tell her stepsisters of Francis Sales’s +proposal, but she knew she would not do so. She seldom told them anything they +did not know already. They would think it a reasonable match; they might urge +her acceptance; they were anxious for her to marry, but Caroline, at least, was +proud of the inherent Mallett distaste for the marriage state. +“We’re all flirts,” she would say for the thousandth time. +“We can’t settle down, not one of us,” and holding up a thumb +and forefinger and pinching them together, she would add, “We like to +hold men’s hearts like that—and let them go!” It was great +nonsense, Rose thought, but it had the necessary spice of truth. The Malletts +were not easily pleased, and they were not good givers of anything except gold, +the easiest thing to give. Rose wished she could give the difficult +things—love, devotion, and self-sacrifice; but she could not, or perhaps +she had no opportunity. She was fond of her stepsisters, but her most conscious +affection was the one she felt for her horse. +</p> + +<p> +She left him at the stable and, fastening up her riding-skirt, she walked +slowly home. She had not far to go. A steep street, where narrow-fronted old +houses informed the public that apartments were to be let within, brought her +to the broad space of grass and trees called The Green, which she had just +passed on her horse. Straight ahead of her was the wide street flanked by +houses of which her home was one—a low white building hemmed in on each +side by another and with a small walled garden in front of it; not a large +house, but one full of character and of quiet self-assurance. Malletts had +lived in it for several generations, long before the opposite houses were +built, long before the road had, lower down, degenerated into a region of +shops. These houses, all rechristened in a day of enthusiasm, Nelson Lodge, +with Trafalgar House, taller, bigger, but not so white, on one side of it, and +Hardy Cottage, somewhat smaller, on the other, had faced open meadows in +General Mallett’s boyhood. Round the corner, facing The Green, were a few +contemporaries, and they all had a slight look of disdain for the later comers, +yet no single house was flagrantly new. There was not a villa in sight and on +The Green two old stone monuments, to long-dead and long-forgotten warriors, +kept company with the old trees under which children were now playing, while +nurses wheeled perambulators on the bisecting paths. The Green itself sloped +upwards until it became a flat-topped hill, once a British or a Roman camp, and +thence the river could be seen between its rocky cliffs and the woods Rose had +lately skirted clothing the farther side in every shade of green. +</p> + +<p> +She lingered for a moment to watch the children playing, the nursemaids slowly +pushing, the elms opening their crumpled leaves like babies’ hands. She +had a momentary desire to stay, to wander round the hill and look with untired +eyes at the familiar scene; but she passed on under the tyranny of tea. The +Malletts were always in time for meals and the meals were exquisite, like the +polish on the old brass door-knocker, like the furniture in the white panelled +hall, like the beautiful old mahogany in the drawing-room, the old china, the +glass bowls full of flowers. +</p> + +<p> +Rose found Caroline and Sophia there on either side of a small wood fire, +while, facing the fire and spread in a chair not too low and not too narrow for +her bulk, sat Mrs. Batty, flushed, costumed for spring, her hat a flower +garden. +</p> + +<p> +“Just in time,” Caroline said. “Touch the bell, please, +Sophia.” +</p> + +<p> +“Susan saw me,” Rose said, and the elderly parlourmaid entered at +that moment with the teapot. +</p> + +<p> +“Rose insists on having a latchkey,” Sophia explained. “What +would the General have said?” +</p> + +<p> +“What, indeed!” Caroline echoed. “Young rakes are always old +prudes. Yes, the General was a rake, Sophia; you needn’t look so modest. +I think I understand men.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, Caroline, no one better, but we are told to honour our father +and mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I do honour him,” Caroline guffawed, “honour him all the +more.” She had a deep voice and a deep laugh; she ought, she always said, +to have been a man, but there was nothing masculine about her appearance. Her +dark hair, carefully tinted where greyness threatened, was piled in many puffs +above a curly fringe: on the bodice of her flounced silk frock there hung a +heavy golden chain and locket; ear-rings dangled from her large ears; there +were rings on her fingers, and powder and a hint of rouge on her face. +</p> + +<p> +She laughed again. “Mrs. Batty knows I’m right.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Batty’s tightly gloved hand made a movement. She was a little in awe +of the Miss Malletts. With them she was always conscious of her inferior +descent. No General had ever ornamented her family, and her marriage with James +Batty had been a giddy elevation for her, but she was by no means humble. She +had her place in local society: she had a fine house in that exclusive part of +Radstowe called The Slope, and her husband was a member of the oldest firm of +lawyers in the city. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very naughty, Miss Caroline,” she said, knowing that was +the remark looked for. She gave a little nod of her flower-covered head. +“And we’ve just got to put up with them, whatever they are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, poor dears,” Sophia murmured. “They’re +different, they can’t help it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense,” Caroline retorted, “they’re just the same, +there’s nothing to choose between me and Reginald—nothing except +discretion!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Caroline dear!” Sophia entreated. +</p> + +<p> +“Discretion!” Caroline repeated firmly, and Mrs. Batty, bending +forward stiffly because of her constricting clothes, and with a creak and +rustle, ventured to ask in low tones, “Have you any news of Mr. Mallett +lately?” The three elder ladies murmured together; Rose, indifferent, +concerned with her own thoughts, ate a creamy cake. This was one of the +conversations she had heard before and there was no need for her to listen. +</p> + +<p> +She was roused by the departure of Mrs. Batty. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor thing,” Caroline remarked as the door closed. +“It’s a pity she has no daughter with an eye for colour. The roses +in her hat were pale in comparison with her face. Why doesn’t she use a +little powder, though I suppose that would turn her purple, and after all, she +does very well considering what she is; but why, why did James Batty marry her? +And he was one of our own friends! You remember the sensation at the time, +Sophia?” +</p> + +<p> +Sophia remembered very well. “She was a pretty girl, Caroline, and +good-natured. She has lost her looks, but she still has a kind heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Personally I would rather keep my looks,” said Caroline, touching +her fringe before the mirror. “And I never had a kind heart to +cherish.” +</p> + +<p> +Tenderly Sophia shook her head. “It isn’t true,” she +whispered to Rose. “The kindest in the world. It’s just her +way.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose nodded understanding; then she stood up, tall and slim in her severe +clothes, her high boots. The gilt clock on the mantelpiece said it was only +five o’clock. There were five more hours before she could reasonably go +to bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you ride to-day, dear?” Sophia asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Over the bridge.” And to dissipate some of her boredom, she added, +“I met Francis Sales. He thinks of going abroad.” +</p> + +<p> +There was an immediate confusion of little exclamations and a chatter. +“Going abroad? Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“To learn farming.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear,” Sophia sighed, “and we thought—we +hoped—” +</p> + +<p> +“She must do as she likes,” Caroline said, and Rose smiled. +“The Malletts don’t care for marrying. Look at us, free as the air +and with plenty of amusing memories. In this world nobody gets more than that, +and we have been saved much trouble. Don’t marry, my dear Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re assuming a good deal,” Rose said. +</p> + +<p> +“But Rose is not like us,” Sophia protested. “We have each +other, but we shall die before she does and leave her lonely. She ought to +marry, Caroline; we ought to have more parties. We are not doing our +duty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Parties! No!” Rose said. “We have enough of them. If you +threaten me with more I shall go into a convent.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline laughed, and Sophia sighed again. “That would be +beautiful,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Sophia, how dare you?” +</p> + +<p> +Sophia persisted mildly: “So romantic—a young girl giving up all +for God;” and Caroline gave the ribald laugh on which she prided +herself— a shocking sound. “Rose Mallett,” Sophia went on, so +lost in her vision that the jarring laughter was not heard, “such a +pretty name—a nun! She would never be forgotten: people would tell their +children. Sister Rose!” She developed her idea. “Saint Rose! +It’s as pretty as Saint Cecilia—prettier!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sophia, you’re in your dotage,” Caroline cried. “A +Mallett and a nun! Well, she could pray for the rest of us, I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I would rather you were married, dear,” Sophia said serenely. +“And we have known the Sales all our lives. It would have been so +suitable.” +</p> + +<p> +“So dull!” Rose murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“And we need praying for,” Caroline said. “You’d be +dull either way, Rose. Have your fling, as I did. I’ve never regretted +it. I was the talk of Radstowe, wasn’t I, Sophia? There was never a ball +where I was not looked for, and when I entered the ballroom”—she +gave a display of how she did it—“there was a rush of black coats +and white shirts— a mob—I used just to wave them all +away—like that. Oh, yes, Sophia, you were a belle, too—” +</p> + +<p> +“But never as you were, Caroline.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were admired for yourself, Sophia, but with me it was curiosity. +They only wanted to hear what I should say next. I had a tongue like a lash! +They were afraid of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” Sophia said hastily, and she glanced at Rose, afraid of +meeting scepticism in her clear young eyes; but though Rose was smiling it was +not in mockery. She was thinking of her childhood when, like a happier +Cinderella, she had seen her stepsisters, in satins and laces, with pendant +fans and glittering jewels, excited, rustling, with little words of +commendation for each other, setting out for the evening parties of which they +never tired. They had always kissed her before they went, looking, she used to +think, as beautiful as princesses. +</p> + +<p> +“And men like what they fear,” Caroline added. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear,” Sophia said. A natural flush appeared round the +delicate dabs of rouge. She hoped she might be forgiven for her tender deceits. +Those young men in the white waistcoats had often laughed at Caroline rather +than at her wit; she was, as Sophia had shrinkingly divined, as often as not +their butt, and dear Caroline had never known it; she must never know it, never +know it. She drew half her happiness from the past, as, so differently, Sophia +did herself, and, drooping a little, her thoughts went farther back to the last +year of her teens when a pale and penniless young man had been her secret +suitor, had gone to America to make his fortune there—and died. She had +told no one; Caroline would have scorned him because he was shy and timid, and +he had not had time to earn enough to keep her; he had not had time. She had a +faded photograph of him pushed away at the back of a drawer of the walnut +bureau in the bedroom she shared with Caroline, a pale young man wearing a +collar too large for his thin neck, a young man with kind, honest eyes. It was +a grief to her that she could not wear that photograph in a locket near her +heart, but Caroline would have found out. They had slept in the same bed since +they were children, and nothing could be hidden from her except the love she +still cherished in her heart. Some day she meant to burn that photograph lest +unsympathetic hands should touch it when she died; but death still seemed far +off, and sometimes, even while she was talking to Caroline, she would pretend +to rummage in the drawer, and for a moment she would close her hand upon the +photograph to tell him she had not forgotten. She loved her little romance, and +the gaiety in which she had persisted, even on the day when she heard of his +death and which at first had seemed a necessary but cruel disloyalty, had +become in her mind the tenderest of concealments, as though she had wrapped her +secret in beauty, laughter, music and shining garments. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, dear Rose,” she said, lifting her head, “you must +be married.” +</p> + +<h3>§ 2</h3> + +<p> +The outward life of the Mallett household was elegant and ordered. Footsteps +fell quietly on the carpeted stairs and passages; doors were quietly opened and +closed. The cook and the parlourmaid were old and trusted servants; the house +and kitchen maids were respectable young women fitting themselves for +promotion, and their service was given with the thoroughness and deference to +which the Malletts were accustomed. In the whole house there was hardly an +object without beauty or tradition, the notable exception being the portrait of +General Mallett which hung above the Sheraton sideboard in the dining-room, a +gloomy daub, honoured for the General’s sake. +</p> + +<p> +From the white panelled hall, the staircase with its white banisters and smooth +mahogany rail led to a square landing which branched off narrowly on two sides, +and opening from the square were the bedroom occupied by Rose, the one shared +by her stepsisters and the one which had been Reginald’s. This room was +never used, but it was kept, like everything else in that house, in a state of +cleanliness and polish, ready for his arrival. He might come: if he needed +money badly enough he would come, and in spite of the already considerable +depletion of their capital, Caroline and Sophia lived in hope of hearing his +impatient assault of the door-knocker, the brass head of a lion holding a heavy +ring in his mouth. Rose, too, wished he would come, but that last interview +with the lawyer Batty had been more successful than anyone but the lawyer +himself had wished, and there was no knock, no letter, no news. +</p> + +<p> +The usual life of parties, calls and concerts continued without any excitement +but that felt by Caroline and Sophia in the getting of new clothes, the +refurbishing of old ones, the hearing of the latest gossip, the reading of the +latest novel. Sophia sometimes apologized for the paper-backed books lying +about the drawing-room by saying that she and dear Caroline liked to keep up +their French, but Caroline loudly proclaimed her taste for salacious +literature. She had a reputation to keep up and she liked to shock her friends; +but everything was forgiven to Miss Mallett, the more readily, perhaps, after +Sophia’s reassuring whisper, “They are really charming books, quite +beautiful, nothing anybody could disapprove of. Why, there is hardly an episode +to make one shrink, though, of course, the French are different,” and the +Radstowe ladies would nod over their tea and say, “Of course, quite +different!” +</p> + +<p> +But Caroline, suspecting that murmured explanation, had been known to call out +in her harsh voice, “It’s no good asking Sophia about them. She +simply doesn’t understand the best bits! She is <i>jeune fille</i> still, +she always will be!” Sophia, blushing a little, would feel herself richly +complimented, and the ladies laughed, Mrs. Batty uncertainly, having no +acquaintance with the French language. +</p> + +<p> +Rose read steadily through all the books in the house and gained a various +knowledge which left her curiously untouched. She studied music, and liked it +better than anything else because it roused emotions otherwise unobtainable, +yet she did not care much for the emotional kind. Perhaps her intensest feeling +was the desire to feel intensely, but being half ashamed of this desire she +rarely dwelt on it; she pursued her way, calm and aloof and proud. She was +beautiful and found pleasure in the contemplation of herself, and though she +did not discuss her appearance as her stepsisters discussed theirs, she spent a +good deal of time on it and much money on her plain but perfect clothes. All +three had more money than they needed, but Rose was richer than the others, +having inherited her mother’s little fortune as well as her share of what +the General had left. She was, as Caroline often told her with a hit at that +gentleman’s unnecessary impartiality, a very desirable match. “But +they’re afraid of you, my dear; they were afraid of me, but I amused +them, while you simply look as if they were not there. Of course, that’s +attractive in its way, and one must follow one’s own line, but it takes a +brave man to come up to the scratch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Caroline, what an expression!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I want a brave man,” Rose said, “if I want one at +all.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline turned on Sophia. “What’s language for except to express +oneself? You’re out of date, Sophia; you always were, and I’ve +always been ahead of my time. Now, Rose,”—these personalities were +dear to Caroline—“Rose belongs to no time at all. That frightens +them. They don’t understand. You can’t imagine a Radstowe young man +making love to the Sphinx. They were more daring when I was young. Look at +Reginald! Look at the General!” +</p> + +<p> +“It was his profession,” Rose remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I suppose that’s what he told himself when he married your +mother, a mere girl, no older than myself, but he was afraid of her and adored +her. I believe men always like their second wives best— they’re +flattered at succeeding in getting two. I know men. Our own mother was pious +and made him go to church, but with your mother he looked as if he were in a +temple all the time. Those big, stern men are always managed by their women; +it’s the thin men with weak legs who really go their own way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Caroline,” Sophia sighed, “I don’t know how you think +of such things. Is that an epigram?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” Caroline said, “but I shouldn’t +be surprised.” +</p> + +<p> +Smiling in her mysterious way, Rose left the room, and Sophia, slightly pink +with anxiety, murmured, “Caroline, there’s no one in Radstowe +really fit for her. Don’t you think we ought to go about, perhaps to +London, or abroad?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to budge,” Caroline said. “I love my +home and I don’t believe in matchmaking, I don’t believe in +marriage. It wouldn’t do her any good, but if you feel like that, why +don’t you exploit her yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—exploit! Certainly not! And you know I couldn’t leave +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then don’t talk nonsense,” Caroline said, and the life at +Nelson Lodge went on as before. +</p> + +<p> +Every day Rose rode out, sometimes early in the morning on the Downs when +nobody was about and she had them to herself, but oftener across the bridge +into the other county where the atmosphere and the look of things were +immediately different, softer, more subtle yet more exhilarating. She went +there now with no fear of meeting Francis Sales. He had gone to Canada without +another word, and his absence made him interesting for the first time. If she +had not been bored in a delicate way of her own which left no mark but an +expression of impassivity she would not have thought of him at all; but the +days went by and summer passed into autumn and autumn was threatened by winter, +with so little change beyond the coming and going of flowers and leaves and +birds, that her mind began to fix itself on a man who loved her to the point of +disgust and departure; and to her love of the country round about Sales Hall +was added a tender half-ironic sentiment. +</p> + +<p> +Once or twice she rode up to the Hall itself and paid a visit to Mr. Sales who, +crippled by rheumatism and half suffocated by asthma, was hardly recognizable +as the man who had shown her the pigs long ago. In the little room called the +study, where there was not a single book, or in the big clear drawing-room of +pale chintzes and faded, gilt-framed water-colours, he entertained her with the +ceremony due to a very beautiful and dignified young woman, producing the +latest letter from his son and reading extracts from it. Sometimes there was a +photograph of Francis on a horse, Francis with a dog, or Francis at a steam +plough or other agricultural machine, but these she only pretended to examine. +She had not the least desire to see how he looked, for in these last months she +had made a picture of her own and she would not have it overlaid by any other. +It was a game of pretence; she knew she was wasting her time; she had her youth +and strength and money and limitless opportunity for wide experience, but her +very youth, and the feeling that it would last for ever, made her careless of +it. There was plenty of time, she could afford to waste it, and gradually that +occupation became a habit, almost an absorption. She warned herself that she +must shake it off, but the effort would leave her very bare, it would rob her +of the fairy cloak which made her inner self invisible, and she clung to it, +secure in her ability to be rid of it if she chose. +</p> + +<p> +Her intellect made no mistake about Francis Sales, but her imagination, finding +occupation where it could, began to endow him with romance, and that scene +among the primroses, the startlingly green grass, the pervading blue of the +air, the horse so indifferent to the human drama, the dog trying to understand +it, became the salient event of her life because it had awakened her capacity +for dreaming. +</p> + +<p> +She did not love him, she could never love him, but he had loved her, angrily, +and, in retrospect, the absurd manner of his proposal had a charm. She would +have given much to know whether his feeling for her persisted. From the letters +read wheezily by Mr. Sales and sometimes handed to her to read for herself, she +learnt so little that she was the freer to create a great deal and, riding +home, she would break into astonished inward laughter. Rose Mallett playing a +game of sentiment! And, crossing the bridge and passing through the streets +where she was known to every second person, she had pleasure in the conviction +that no one could have guessed what absurdity went on behind the pale, +impassive face, what secret and unsuspected amusement she enjoyed; a little +comedy of her own! The unsuitability of Francis Sales for the part of hero +supplied most of the humour and saved her from loss of dignity. The thing was +obviously absurd; she had never cared for dolls, but in her young womanhood she +was finding amusement in the manipulation of a puppet. +</p> + +<p> +The death of Mr. Sales in the cold March of the next year shocked her from her +game. She was sorry he had gone, for she had always liked him, and he seemed to +have taken with him the little girl who was fond of pigs, and while Caroline +and Sophia mourned the loss of an old friend, Rose was faced with the certainty +of his son’s return. She would have to stop her ridiculous imaginings, +she must pretend she had never had them for, when she saw him as flesh and +blood, her game would be ruined and she would be shamed. The imminence of his +arrival reminded her of his dullness, his handsome, sullen face and, more +tenderly, of those tears which had put her so oddly in his debt. But she had no +difficulty in casting away the false image she had made. She was, she found, +glad to be rid of it; she liked to feel herself delivered of a weakness. +</p> + +<p> +But she need not have been in such a hurry, for it was some months before the +man who brought the milk from Sales Hall also brought the news that the master +was returning. This information was handed to Caroline and Sophia with their +early tea. +</p> + +<p> +Sitting up in bed and looking grotesquely terrible, they discussed the event. +Caroline, like Medusa, but with hair curlers instead of snakes sprouting from +her head, and Sophia with her heavy plait hanging over her shoulder and defying +with its luxuriance the yellowness of her skin, they sat side by side, propped +up with pillows, inured to the sight of each other in undress. +</p> + +<p> +“He has come back!” Sophia said ecstatically. “Perhaps after +all—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nonsense!” Caroline said as usual, “she’s meant +for better things. My dear, she was born for a great affair. She ought to be +the mistress of a king. Yes, something of that kind, with her looks, her +phlegm.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there are no kings in Radstowe,” Sophia said, “and I +don’t think you ought to say such things.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my way. You ought to know that. And I can’t control my +tongue any more than Reginald can control his body.” +</p> + +<p> +“Caroline!” +</p> + +<p> +“And I don’t want to. We’re all wrapped up in cotton-wool +nowadays. I ought to have lived in another century. I, too, would have adorned +a court, and kept it lively! There’s no wit left in the world, and +there’s no wickedness of the right kind. We might as well be +Nonconformists at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” Sophia said firmly. “Certainly not +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But as you so cleverly remind me, there are no kings in Radstowe. +There’s not even,” she added with a mocking smile which made her +face gay in a ghastly way, “not even a foreign Count who would turn out +an impostor. Rose would do very well there, too. An imitation foreign Count +with a black moustache and no money! She would be magnificent and tragic. +Imagine them at Monte Carlo, keeping it up! She would hate him, grandly; she +would hate herself for being deceived; she would never lose her dignity. You +can’t picture Rose with a droop or a tear. They’d trail about the +Continent and she would never come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“But we don’t want her to go away at all,” Sophia cried. +</p> + +<p> +“And when she came to the point of being afraid of murdering him, she +would leave him without any fuss and live alone and mysterious somewhere in the +South of France, or Italy, or Spain. Yes, Spain. There must be real Counts +there and she would get her love affair at last.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she would still be married.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course!” Caroline, looking roguish, was terrible. “That +is necessary for a love affair, <i>ma chère</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would much rather she married Francis Sales and came to see us every +week. Or any other nice young man in Radstowe. She would never marry beneath +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“On the contrary,” Caroline remarked, “she’s bound to +marry beneath her—not in class, Sophia, not in class, though in Radstowe +that’s possible, too. Look at the Battys! But certainly in brains and +manners.” +</p> + +<p> +Sophia, clinging to her own idea, repeated plaintively, “I would rather +it were Francis Sales, and he must be lonely in that big house.” +</p> + +<p> +It appeared, however, that he was not to be lonely, for Susan, entering with +hot water, let fall in her discreet, impersonal way, another piece of gossip. +“John Gibbs says they think Mr. Francis must be bringing home a wife, +Miss Caroline. He’s having some of the rooms done up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Caroline, and her plump elbow pressed Sophia’s. +“Which rooms, I wonder?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not inquire, Miss Caroline.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then kindly inquire this afternoon, and tell him the butter is +deteriorating, but inquire first or you’ll get nothing out of him.” +She turned with malicious triumph to Sophia. “So that dream’s +over!” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall have to break it to her gently,” Sophia said; “but +it may not be true.” +</p> + +<p> +In the dining-room over which the General’s portrait tried, and failed, +to preside, as he himself had done in life, and where he was conquered by an +earlier and a later generation, by the shining eloquence of the old furniture +and silver and the living flesh and blood of his children, Caroline gave Rose +the news without, Sophia thought, a spark of delicacy. +</p> + +<p> +“They say Francis Sales is bringing home a wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really?” Rose said, taking toast. +</p> + +<p> +“He has sent orders for part of the house to be done up.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose raised her eyes. “Ah, she’s hurt,” Sophia thought, but +Rose merely said, “If he touches the drawing-room or the study I shall +never forgive him”; and then, thoughtfully, she added, “but he +won’t touch the drawing-room.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m, he’ll do what his wife tells him, I imagine. No girl +will appreciate Mrs. Sales’s washy paintings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rose would,” Sophia sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do,” Rose said cheerfully. She was too cheerful for +Sophia’s romantic little theory, but an acuter audience would have found +her too cheerful for herself. She had overdone it by half a tone, but the +exaggeration was too fine for any ears but her own. She was, as a matter of +fact, in the grip of a violent anger. She was not the kind of woman to resent +the new affections of a rejected lover, but she had, through her own folly, +attached herself to Francis Sales, as, less unreasonably, his tears had once +attached him to her, and the immaterial nature of the bond composed its +strength. Consciously foolish as her thoughts had been, they became at that +breakfast table, with the water bubbling in the spirit kettle and the faint +crunch of Caroline eating toast, intensely real, and she was angry both with +herself and with his unfaithfulness. She did not love him—how could +she?—but he belonged to her; and now, if this piece of gossip turned out +to be true, she must share him with another. Jealousy, in its usual sense, she +had none as yet, but she had forged a chain she was to find herself unable to +break. It was her pride to consider herself a hard young person, without +spirituality, without sentiment, yet all her personal relationships were to be +of the fantastic kind she now experienced, all her obligations such as others +would have ignored. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall know more when John Gibbs brings the afternoon milk,” +Caroline said. +</p> + +<p> +Rose went upstairs and left her stepsisters to their repetitions. Her window +looked out on the little walled front garden and the broad street. +Tradesmen’s carts went by without hurry, ladies walked out with their +dogs, errand-boys loitered in the sun, and presently Caroline and Sophia went +down the garden path, Caroline sailing majestically like a full-rigged ship, +Sophia with her girlish, tripping gait. They put up their sunshades, and sailed +out on what was, in effect, a foraging expedition. They were going to collect +the news. +</p> + +<p> +Outside the gate, they were hidden by the wall, but for a little while Rose +could hear Caroline’s loud voice. Without doubt she was talking of +Francis Sales, unless she were asking Sophia if her hat, a large one with pink +roses, really became her. Rose knew it all so well, and she closed her eyes for +a moment in weariness. Suddenly she felt tired and old; the flame of her anger +had died down, and for that moment she allowed herself to droop. She found +little comfort in the fact that she alone knew of her folly, and calling it +folly no longer justified it. She, too, had been rejected, more cruelly than +had Francis Sales, for she had given him something of her spirit. And she had +liked to imagine him far away, thinking of her and of her beauty; she had +fancied him remembering the scene among the primroses and continuing to adore +her in his sulky, inarticulate way. Well, he would think of her no more, but +she was subtly bound to him, first by his need, and now, against all reason, by +her thoughts. She had already learnt that time, which sometimes seems so swift +and heartless, is also slow and kind. Her feelings would lose their intensity; +she only had to wait, and she waited with that outward impassivity which did +not spoil her beauty; it suited the firm modelling of her features, the creamy +whiteness of her skin, the clear grey eyes under the straight dark eyebrows, +and the lips bent into the promise of a smile. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline and Sophia waited differently, first for the afternoon milk and the +information they wanted and, during the next weeks, for the rumours which +slowly developed into acknowledged facts. The housekeeper at Sales Hall had +heard from the young master: he was married and returning immediately with his +wife. Caroline sniffed and hoped the woman was respectable; Sophia was +charitably certain she would be a charming girl; and Rose, knowing she +questioned one of the life occupations of her stepsisters, said coolly, +“Why speculate? We shall see her soon. We must go and call.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” Caroline said, and Sophia, with her fixed idea, which +was right in the wrong way, said gently, “If you’re sure you want +to go, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me?” asked Caroline. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, I was thinking of Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense!” Caroline said, “we’re all going”; and +Rose reassured Sophia with perfect truth, “I have been longing to see her +for weeks.” +</p> + +<h3>§ 3</h3> + +<p> +So it came about that the three sisters once more sat in a hired carriage and +drove to Sales Hall. On the box was the son of the man who had driven them +years ago, and though the carriage was a new one and the old horse had long +been metamorphosed into food for the wild animals in the Radstowe Zoo, this +expedition was in many ways a repetition of the other. Caroline and Sophia +faced the horses and Rose sat opposite her stepsisters, but now she did not +listen to their talk with ears stretched, not to miss a word, and she did not +think her companions as beautiful as princesses. It was she who might have been +a princess for another child, but she did not think of that. She looked with +amusement and with misplaced pity at the other two. It was a September +afternoon and they were very gaily dressed, and again Caroline had a feather +drooping over her hair, while Sophia, more girlish, wore a wide hat with a blue +bow, and both their parasols were tilted as before against the sun. It seemed +to Rose that even the cut of their garments had not changed with time. The two +had always the appearance of fashion plates of twenty years ago, but no doubt +of their correctness ever entered their minds; and so they managed to preserve +their elegance, as though their belief in themselves were strong enough to +impose it on those who saw them. Without this faith, the severity of +Rose’s black dress, filmy enough for the season but daringly plain, must +have rebuked them. The pearls in her ears and on her neck were her only +ornaments; her little hat, wreathed with a cream feather, shaded her brow. She +sat with the repose which was one of her gifts. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure we all look very nice,” Caroline said suddenly, the +very remark she had made when they went to the haymaking party, “though +you do look rather like a widow, Rose—a widow, getting over it very +comfortably, as they do—as they do!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad I look so interesting,” Rose murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, interesting, always. Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +They were jogging along the road bordered by the high smooth wall, despairingly +efficient, guarding treasures bought with gold; and the tall elm-trees looked +over it as though they wanted to escape. The murmuring in their branches seemed +to be of discontent, and the birds singing in them had a taunting note. The +road mounted a little and the wall went with it, backed by the imprisoned +trees. But at last, at the cross-roads, the wall turned and the road went on +without it. There were open fields now on either hand, the property of Francis +Sales, and another mile brought the carriage to the opening of the grassy track +where Rose liked to think she had left her youth, but the road went round on +the other side of the larch woods, and when these were passed Sales Hall came +into sight. +</p> + +<p> +“I always think,” Caroline said, “it’s a pity this +beautiful avenue hasn’t a better setting. Mere fields, and open to the +road! It’s undignified. It ought to have been a park.” +</p> + +<p> +“With a high wall all round it,” Rose suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” Caroline agreed. She was touching her fringe, giving +little pats and pulls to her dress, preparatory to descent, and Sophia +whispered, “Just see, Caroline, that wisp of hair near my ear—so +tiresome! I can never be sure of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a sign of it,” Caroline assured her. “Now I wonder what +we are going to find.” +</p> + +<p> +They found the drawing-room empty and untouched. On the pale walls the +water-colours were still hanging, the floral carpet still covered the floor, +the faded chintzes had not been removed, and the light came clearly through the +long windows with their pale primrose curtains. In the middle of the room was +the circular settee to seat four persons, back to back, with a little woolwork +stool set for each pair of feet. There were no flowers in the room, and they +were not needed, for the room itself was like some pale, scentless and +old-fashioned bloom. +</p> + +<p> +The three Miss Malletts sat down: Caroline gay and aggressive as a parrot, and +a parrot in a big gilded cage would not have been out of place; Sophia fitting +naturally into the gentle scheme of things; Rose startlingly modern in her +elegance. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” Caroline said, “she’s a long time. Changing her +dress, I expect,” and she sniffed. But Mrs. Francis Sales entered in a +pink cotton garment, her fair, curling hair a little untidy, for she had, she +said, been in the old walled garden behind the house. There was, in fact, a +rose hanging from her left hand. She was pretty, she seemed artless and +defenceless, but her big blue eyes had a wary look, and in spite of that look +spoiling an otherwise ingenuous countenance, Rose imagined herself noticeably +old and mature. She thought it was no wonder that Francis was attracted, but at +the same time she despised him for a failure in taste, as though, faced with +the choice between a Heppelwhite chair and an affair of wicker and cretonne, he +had chosen the inferior article, though she had to admit that, for a permanent +seat, it might be more comfortable and certainly more yielding. +</p> + +<p> +But as she watched Mrs. Sales presiding over the teacups, her scared eyes +moving swiftly from the parlourmaid, entering with cakes, to Caroline, and from +Caroline to Sophia, and then with added shyness to the woman nearest her own +age, Rose found her opinion changing. Mrs. Francis Sales was timid, but she was +not weak; the fair fluffiness of her exterior was deceptive; and while Rose +made this discovery and now and then dropped a quiet word into the chatter of +the others, she was listening for Francis. He had been with his wife in the +garden, but he was some time in following her, and Rose knew that Mrs. Sales +was listening, too. She wondered whose ear first caught the sound of his feet +on the matted passage; she felt an absurd inward tremor and, looking at Mrs. +Sales, she saw that her pretty pink colour had deepened and her blue eyes were +bright, like flowers. She was certainly charming in her simple frock, but her +unsuitable shoes with very high heels and sparkling buckles hurt Rose’s +eye as much as the voice, also high and slightly grating, hurt her ear, and +this voice sharpened nervously as it said, “Oh, here is Francis +coming.” +</p> + +<p> +No, he was not the person of Rose’s dreams, and she felt an immense +relief: she had expected to be disappointed, but she was glad to find the old +Francis, big, bronzed and handsome, smelling of the open air and tobacco and +tweed, and no dangerous, disturbing, heroic figure. +</p> + +<p> +For an instant he looked at Rose before he greeted the elder ladies, and then, +as Rose let her hand touch his and pleasantly said, “How are you?” +she experienced a faint, almost physical shock. He was different after all, and +now she did not know whether to be glad or sorry. Unchanged, she need not have +given him another thought; subtly altered, she was bound to probe into the how +and why. He sat beside her on the old-fashioned couch with a curled head, and +his thirteen stone descending heavily on the springs sent up her light weight +with a perceptible jerk. +</p> + +<p> +“Clumsy boy!” Mrs. Sales exclaimed playfully. +</p> + +<p> +Rose laughed. “It’s like the old see-saw. I was always in the air +and you on the ground. Is it there still—near the pigsties?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, still there.” But this threatened to become too exclusive a +conversation, and Rose tried to do her share in more general topics. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline, talking of the advantage of Radstowe, regretting the greater gaiety +of the past, when Sophia and she were belles, was adding gratuitous advice on +the management of husbands and some information on the ways of men. Mrs. Sales +laughed and glanced now and then at Francis, but whether he responded Rose +could not see, unless she turned her head. He ought certainly to have been +smiling at so pretty a person, wrinkling his eyes in the way he had and +straightening the mouth which was sullen in repose. Yet she was almost sure he +was doing the minimum demanded of politeness, almost sure he was thinking of +herself and was conscious of her nearness, just as she, for the first time, was +physically conscious of his. +</p> + +<p> +She rose, saying, “May I look out of the window? I always liked this view +of the garden.” And having gazed out and made the necessary remarks, she +sat down, separated from him by the width of the room and with her back to the +light, a strategical position she ought to have taken up before. But here she +was at the disadvantage of facing him and a scrutiny of which she had not +thought him capable. With his legs stretched out, his hands in his pockets, his +eyes apparently half shut but unquestionably fixed on her, he was really +behaving rather badly. She had never been stared at like this before and she +told herself that under the shelter of his marriage he had grown daring, if not +insolent; but at the same time she knew she was not telling herself the truth: +he was simply in the position of a thirsty man who has at last found a stream. +It appeared, then, that his wife did not sufficiently quench his thirst. +</p> + +<p> +Rose carefully did not look his way, but she experienced an altogether new +excitement, the very ancient one of desiring to taste forbidden fruit simply +because it was forbidden; this particular fruit, as such, had no special charm; +but she was born a Mallett and the half-sister of Reginald. She had, however, +as he had not, a substantial basis of personal pride and a love of beauty which +was at least as effectual as a moral principle and she had not Francis’s +excuse for his behaviour. She believed he did not know what he was doing; but +she was entirely clear-sighted as to herself and she refused to encourage the +silent intercourse which had established itself between them. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline was in the midst of a piece of gossip, Sophia was interjecting +exclamations of moderation and reproach, and Mrs. Sales was manifestly amused. +Her chromatic giggle was as punctual as Sophia’s reproof, and Rose drew +closer to the group made by the three, and said, “I’m missing +Caroline’s story. Which one is it?” And now it was Francis who +laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s finished,” Caroline said. “Don’t tell your +husband, at least till we have gone—and we ought to go at once.” +</p> + +<p> +But the coachman was not on the box. He had been invited to take tea in the +kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +“We won’t disturb him,” Sophia said. “No, Caroline, let +him have his tea. We ought to encourage teetotal drinking in his class. Perhaps +Mrs. Sales will let us go round the garden. I am so fond of flowers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come and look at the pigsties,” Francis said to Rose, but, +assuring him she had grown too old for pigs, she followed the rest. +</p> + +<p> +The walled garden had a beautiful disorder. A grey kitten and a white puppy sat +together on the grass, enjoying the sunshine and each other’s company and +pretending to be asleep; and though the kitten displayed no interest in the +visitors, holding its personality of more importance than anything else, the +puppy jumped up, barked, and rushed at each person in turn. Caroline, picking +up her skirts and showing the famous Mallett ankle, said, “Go away, +dog!” in a severe tone, and the puppy rolled on the grass to show that he +did not care and could not by any possibility be snubbed. Under an apple-tree +on which the fruit was ripening were two cane chairs, a table, a newspaper and +a work-basket. +</p> + +<p> +“This is my favourite place,” Mrs. Sales said to Rose. “I +hate that drawing-room, and Francis won’t have it touched. But I’ve +got a boudoir that’s lovely. He sent an order to the best shop and had it +ready for a surprise, so if I’m not out of doors I sit there. Would you +like to see it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should, very much,” Rose said. +</p> + +<p> +“Then come quickly while the others are eating those plums off the +wall.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose looked back. “I can’t think what Sophia will do with the +stone,” she murmured, smiling her faint smile. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sales was puzzled by this remark. “Oh, she’ll manage, +won’t she? You don’t want to help her, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t want to help her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come along, then.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose saw the boudoir, a little room half-way up the stairs. “It’s +Louis something,” said Mrs. Sales, “but all the same, I think +it’s sweet, and pink’s my favourite colour. Francis thought of +that. I was wearing pink when I first met him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” Rose said. “Was that long ago?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only three months. I think we both fell in love at the same minute, and +that’s nice, isn’t it? I know I’m going to be happy, but I do +hope I shan’t be dull. We’re a big family at home. I’m +English,” she added a little anxiously, “but my father settled +there.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think you should be dull,” Rose said. +“Everybody in Radstowe will call on you, and there are lots of parties. +And then there’s hunting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mrs. Sales. Her eyes left Rose’s face, to return +a little wider, a little warier. “Do you hunt too?” +</p> + +<p> +“As often as I can. I only have one horse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Francis says I am to have two.” +</p> + +<p> +“And they will be good ones. He likes hunting and horses better than +anything else, I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he mustn’t neglect the farm,” his wife said firmly, and +she added slowly, “I don’t know that I need two horses, really. I +haven’t ridden much, and there’s a lot to do in the house. I +don’t believe in people being out all day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you can’t hunt all the year round, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sales let out a sigh so faint that most people would have missed it. +“It will be beginning soon, won’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It feels a long way off in weather like this,” Rose said. +“But they are getting into the carriage. I must go.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sales lingered for an instant. “I do hope we’re going to be +friends.” This was more than a statement, it was a request, and Rose +shrank from it; but she said lightly, “We shall be meeting often. You +will see more of us than you will care for, I’m afraid. The Malletts are +rather ubiquitous in Radstowe. It’s fortunate for us, or Caroline would +die of boredom, but I don’t know how it appears to other people.” +</p> + +<p> +She was going down the shallow stairs and the voice of Mrs. Sales followed her +sadly: “He hasn’t told me anything about any of his friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“In three months? He hasn’t had time, with you to think +about!” A laugh, pleased and self-conscious, reached her ears. +“No, but it’s rather lonely in this old house. We’re a big +family at home—and so lively. There was always something going on. I +wished we lived nearer Radstowe.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I envy you here. It’s peaceful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it’s that,” Mrs. Sales agreed. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a good deal older than you, you see,” Rose elaborated. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just it,” said Mrs. Sales. +</p> + +<p> +Rose laughed, and Francis, standing at the door, turned at the sound in time to +catch the end of Rose’s smile. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you laughing at?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Sales’s candour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, was I rude?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Good-bye. I liked it.” Yet, as she settled herself in her +place, she was not more than half pleased. She liked her superior age only +because it marked a difference between her and the wife of Francis Sales. +</p> + +<p> +“H’m!” Caroline said when the carriage had turned into the +road and the figures in the doorway had disappeared. “Pretty, but +unformed.” +</p> + +<p> +“They seem very happy,” Sophia said, “but I do think she +ought to have been wearing black. Her father-in-law has only been dead six +months, and even Francis was not wearing a black tie.” +</p> + +<p> +But if Caroline condemned men in general, she supported them in particular. +“Quite right, too. Men don’t think of these things—and a +black tie with those tweeds! Sophia, don’t be silly and sentimental; but +you always were, you always will be.” +</p> + +<p> +“She might have had a white frock with a black ribbon,” Sophia +persisted. “Why, Rose looked more like our old friend’s +daughter-in-law.” +</p> + +<p> +“But hardly like a bride,” Rose said. “And you see, pink is +her colour.” +</p> + +<p> +“So it is, dear. One could see that. Pink and blue, just as they were +mine.” She corrected herself. “<i>Are</i> mine. Our complexions are +very much alike; in fact, she reminded me a little of myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, Sophia! If you had been like that I should have disowned you. +However, she will do well enough for Sales Hall.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose bent forward slightly. “I like her,” she said distinctly. +“And she’s lonely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my dear, she’ll soon have half a dozen children to keep her +lively.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, Caroline! The man will hear you.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline addressed Rose. “Sophia’s modesty is indecent. I’ve +done what I could for her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please listen to me,” Rose said. “You are not to belittle +Mrs. Sales to people, Caroline. You can be a powerful friend, if you choose, +and if you sing her praises there will be a mighty chorus.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true,” Caroline said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s true, dear Caroline,” Sophia echoed. “And +I think you’re taking this very sweetly, Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sweetly? Why?” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline pricked up her ears. “What’s this? I’m out of this. +Oh, that old rubbish! She will have it you and Francis should have married. My +dear Sophia, Rose could have married anybody if she’d wanted to. +You’ll admit that? Yes? Then can’t you see”—she tapped +Sophia’s knee—“then can’t you see that Rose +didn’t want him? That’s logic—and something you lack.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear,” Sophia said with the meekness of the unconvinced. +“And of course it’s wrong to think of it now that he’s +married to another.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline guffawed her loudest, and the astonished horse quickened his pace. The +driver cast a look over his shoulder to see that all was well, for he had a +sister who made strange noises in her fits; and Sophia, sitting in her drooping +fashion, as though her head with its great knob of fair hair, in which the +silver was just beginning to show, were too heavy for her body, had to listen +to the old gibes which had never made and never would make any impression on +her, though she would have felt forlorn without them. She was the only +puritanical Mallett in history, Caroline said. Oh, yes, the General had been +great at family prayers, but he was trying to make up for lost time. It was +difficult to believe that Sophia and Reginald were the same flesh and blood. +</p> + +<p> +Sophia interrupted. She was fond of Reginald, but she had no desire to be like +him, and Caroline knew he was a disgrace. They argued for some time, and Rose +closed her eyes until the talk, never really acrimonious, drifted into +reminiscences of their childhood and Reginald’s. +</p> + +<p> +It was strange that they should have chosen that day to speak so much of him, +for when they reached home they found a letter addressed in an unfamiliar hand. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this?” Caroline said. +</p> + +<p> +It was a thin, cheap envelope bearing a London postmark, and Caroline drew out +a flimsy sheet of paper. +</p> + +<p> +“I must get my glasses,” she said. Her voice was agitated. +“No, no, I can manage without them. The writing is immense, but faint. +It’s from that woman.” She looked up, showing a face drawn and +blotched with ugly colour. “It’s to say that Reginald is +dead.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Reginald Mallett had written the letter on the day of her husband’s +funeral, and Caroline’s tears for her brother were stemmed by her +indignation with his wife. She had purposely made it impossible for his +relatives to attend the ceremony. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Sophia said, “the poor thing was distressed. We +mustn’t blame her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And such a letter!” Caroline flicked it with a disdainful finger. +</p> + +<p> +Rose picked up the sheet. “I don’t see what else she could have +said. I think it’s dignified—a plain statement. Why should you +expect more? You have never taken any notice of her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not! And Reginald never suggested it. Of course he was +ashamed, poor boy. However, I am now going to write to her, asking if she is in +need, and enclosing a cheque. I feel some responsibility for the child. She is +half a Mallett, and the Malletts have always been loyal to the family.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear, we’ll send a cheque, and—shouldn’t +we?—a few kind words. She will value them.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll value the money more,” Caroline said grimly. +</p> + +<p> +Here she was wrong, for the cheque was immediately returned. Mrs. Mallett and +her daughter were able to support themselves without help. +</p> + +<p> +“Then we need think no more about them,” Caroline said, concealing +her annoyance, “and I shall be able to afford a new dinner dress. Black +sequins, I thought, Sophia—and we must give a dinner for the +Sales.” +</p> + +<p> +“Caroline, no, you forget. We mustn’t entertain for a little +while.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, I did forget. But it’s no use pretending. It really +isn’t quite like a death in the family, is it? Poor dear Reginald! I was +very fond of him, but half our friends believe he has been dead for years. I +shall wear black for three months, of course, but a little dinner to the Sales +would not be out of place. We have a duty to the living as well as to the +dead.” +</p> + +<p> +Leaving her stepsisters to argue this point, Rose went upstairs and looked into +Reginald’s old room. She had known very little of him, but she was sorry +he was dead, sorry there was no longer a chance of his presence in the house, +of meeting him on the stairs, very late for breakfast and quite oblivious of +the inconvenience he was causing, and on his lips some remark which no one else +would have made. +</p> + +<p> +His room had not been occupied for some time, but it seemed emptier than +before; the mirror gave back a reflection of polished furniture and vacancy; +the bed looked smooth and cold enough for a corpse. No personal possessions +were strewn about, and the room itself felt chilly. +</p> + +<p> +She was glad to enter her own, where beauty and luxury lived together. The +carpet was soft to her feet, a small wood fire burned in the grate, for the +evening promised to be cold, and the severe lines of the furniture were clean +and exquisite against the white walls. A pale soft dressing-gown hung across a +chair, a little handkerchief, as fine as lace, lay crumpled on a table, there +was a discreet gleam of silver and tortoiseshell. This, at least, was the room +of a living person. Yet, as she stood before the cheval-glass, studying herself +after the habit of the Malletts, she thought perhaps she was less truly living +than Reginald in his grave. He left a memory of animation, of sin, of charm; he +had injured other people all his life, but they regretted him and, presumably, +he had had his pleasure out of their pain. And what was she, standing there? A +negatively virtuous young woman, without enough desire of any kind to impel her +to trample over feelings, creeds and codes. If she died that moment, it would +be said of her that she was beautiful, and that was all. Reginald, with his +greed, his heartlessness, his indifference to all that did not serve him, would +not be forgotten: people would sigh and smile at the mention of his name, hate +him and wish him back. She envied him; she wished she could feel in swift, +passionate gusts as he had done, with the force and the forgetfulness of a +passing wind. His life, flecked with disgrace, must also have been rich with +temporary but memorable beauty. The exterior of her own was all beauty, of +person and surroundings, but within there seemed to be only a cold waste. +</p> + +<p> +She had been tempted the other afternoon, and she had resisted with what seemed +to her a despicable ease: she had not really cared, and she felt that the +necessity to struggle, even the collapse of her resistance, would have argued +better for her than her self-possession. And for a moment she wished she had +married Francis Sales. She would at least have had some definite work in the +world; she could have kept him to his farming, as Mrs. Sales had set herself to +do; she would have had a home to see to and daily interviews with the cook! She +laughed at this decline in her ambition; she no longer expected the advent of +the colossal figure of her young dreams; and she knew this was the hour when +she ought to strike out a new way for herself, to leave this place which +offered her nothing but ease and a continuous, foredoomed effort after +enjoyment; but she also knew that she would not go. She had not the energy nor +the desire. She would drift on, never submerged by any passion, keeping her +head calmly above water, looking coldly at the interminable sea. This was her +conviction, but she was not without a secret hope that she might at last be +carried to some unknown island, odorous, surprising and her own, where she +would, for the first time, experience some kind of excess. +</p> + +<h3>§ 4</h3> + +<p> +The little dinner was duly given to the Sales. The Sales returned the +compliment; and Mrs. Batty, not to be outdone, offered what could only +adequately be described as a banquet in honour of the bride; there was a +general revival of hospitality, and the Malletts were at every function. This +was Caroline’s reward for her instructed enthusiasm for Christabel Sales, +and before long the black sequin dress gave way to a grey brocade and a purple +satin, and the period of mourning was at an end. For Rose, these entertainments +were only interesting because the Sales were there, and she hardly knew at what +moment annoyance began to mingle definitely with her pity for the little lady +with the wary eyes, or when the annoyance almost overcame the pity. +</p> + +<p> +It might have been at a dinner-party when Christabel, seated at the right hand +of a particularly facetious host, let out her high chromatic laughter +incessantly, and the hostess, leaning towards Francis, told him with the +tenderness of an elderly woman whose own romance lies far behind her, that it +was a pleasure to see Mrs. Sales so happy. He murmured something in response +and, as he looked up and met the gaze of Rose, she smiled at him and saw his +eyes darken with feeling, or with thought. +</p> + +<p> +After dinner he sought her out. She had known that would happen: she had been +avoiding it for weeks, but it was useless to play at hide-and-seek with the +inevitable, and she calmly watched him approach. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you laugh?” he asked at once, in his old, angry fashion. +“You were laughing at me.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I smiled.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you’re not so free with your smiles that they have no +meaning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not, but I don’t know what the meaning was.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you’ve been laughing at me ever since I came +back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, I haven’t. Why should I?” +</p> + +<p> +“God knows,” he answered with a shrug; “I never do understand +what people laugh at.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re too self-conscious, Francis.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only with you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Somebody is going to sing,” she warned him as a gaunt girl went +towards the piano; and sinking on to a convenient and sheltered couch, they +resigned themselves to listen—or to endure. From that corner Rose had a +view of the long room, mediocre in its decoration, mediocre in its occupants. +She could see her host standing before the fire, swinging his eyeglasses on a +cord and gazing at the cornice as the song proceeded. She could see +Christabel’s neck and shoulders and the back of her fair head. Beside her +a plump matron had her face suitably composed; three bored young men were +leaning against a wall. +</p> + +<p> +The music jangled, the voice shrieked a false emotion, and Rose’s +eyebrows rose with the voice. It was dull, it was dreary, it was a waste of +time, yet what else, Rose questioned, could she do with time, of which there +was so much? She could not find an answer, and there rose at that moment a +chorus of thanks and a gentle clapping of hands. The gaunt girl had finished +her song and, poking her chin, returned to her seat. The room buzzed with +chatter; it seemed that only Francis and Rose were silent. She turned to look +at him. +</p> + +<p> +“This is awful,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“No worse than usual.” +</p> + +<p> +“When do you think we shall have exhausted Radstowe hospitality? And the +worst of it is we have to give dinners ourselves, and the same things happen +every time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I find it soporific,” said Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather be soporific in an arm-chair with a pipe.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is one of the penalties of marriage,” Rose said lightly. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, I’m giving Christabel another jumping lesson to-morrow. +I’ve put some hurdles up. Will you come? She’s getting on very +well. I’ll take her hunting before long.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does she like it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, rather! My word, it would have been a catastrophe if she +hadn’t taken to it.” He paused, considering the terrible situation +from which he had been saved. “Can’t imagine what I should have +done. But she’s never satisfied. She’s beginning to jeer at the old +brown horse. I’ve seen a grey mare that might do for her,” and he +went on to enumerate the animal’s points. +</p> + +<p> +Rose said, “Why don’t you let her have her first season with the +old horse? He knows his business. He’ll take care of her.” +</p> + +<p> +“She wouldn’t approve of that. I tell you, she’s ambitious. +I’ll go and fetch her and you’ll hear for yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +She watched him bending over his wife, and saw Christabel rise and slip a hand +under his arm. The action was a little like that of a young woman taking a walk +with her young man, but it betokened a confidence which roused a slight feeling +of envy and sadness in Rose’s heart. +</p> + +<p> +“We have been talking about hunting,” she began at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” Christabel said. She looked warily from one to the +other. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m recommending you to stick to the old brown horse, but Francis +says you laugh at him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you ride him yourself?” Christabel asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Not if I could get something better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then—” Christabel’s tone was final. +</p> + +<p> +But Rose persisted, saying, “But, you see, this isn’t my first +season. Stick to the old horse for a little while.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Christabel said firmly. “If Francis thinks I can ride +the mare, I should like to have her.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose laughed, but she felt uneasy, and Francis said, “I told you so. She +has any amount of pluck. You come and watch.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I can’t come to-morrow. I think I’ll see her first in +all her glory on the grey mare.” +</p> + +<p> +“All the same,” Christabel added, “if she’s very +expensive, I don’t want her. Francis is extravagant over horses, and we +have to be careful.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll economize somewhere else,” he said. “The mare is +yours.” +</p> + +<p> +She suppressed a sigh. Rose was sure of it, and in after days she was to ask +herself many times if she had been to blame in not interpreting that sigh to +Francis. But she had to give Christabel, and Christabel especially, the loyalty +of one woman to another. She would not wrench from her in a few words the pride +Francis took in her, to which she sacrificed her fears. Rose had the astuteness +of a jealousy she would not own, of a sense of possession she could not +discard, and she had known, from the first moment, that Christabel was afraid +of horses and dreaded the very name of hunting. And Rose divined, too, that if +she herself had not been a horsewoman of some repute, Christabel would have +been less ambitious; she would have been contented with the old brown horse; +but Christabel, too, had an astuteness. No, she could not have interfered; yet +when she first saw Christabel on the mare she was alarmed to the point of +saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure she’s all right? You’d better keep beside her, +Francis.” +</p> + +<p> +The mare was fidgety and hot-headed. Christabel’s hands were unsteady, +her face was pale, her lips were tight; but she was gay, and Francis was proud +to have her and her mount admired. +</p> + +<p> +Rose looked round in despair. Could no one else see what was so plain to her? +She was tempted to go home. She felt she could not bear the strain of watching +that little figure perched on the grey beast that looked like a wraith, like a +warning. But she did not go, and she learnt to be glad to have shared with +Francis the horror of the moment when the mare, out of control and mad with +excitement, tried a fence topping a bank, failed, and fell with Christabel +beneath her. +</p> + +<p> +On the ground there was a flurry of white and black, and then stillness, while +over the fields the hounds and the foremost riders went like things seen in a +dream, with the same callousness, the same speed. +</p> + +<p> +Rose saw men dismount and run towards the queer, ugly muddle on the grass. She +dismounted, too, and gave her horse to somebody to hold, but she did nothing. +Other, more capable people were before her, and it struck her at that moment, +while a bird in a bare hedge set up a short chirrup of surprise, how little +used she was to action. She seemed to be standing alone in the big field: the +rest was a picture with which she had nothing to do. There was a busy group +near the fence, some men came running with a door, and then the sound of a shot +broke through her numbness. The mare had been put out of her pain; but what of +Christabel? +</p> + +<p> +She hurried forward; she heard some one say, “Ah, here’s Miss +Mallett,” and she answered vaguely, “Men are gentler.” But as +they lifted Christabel, Rose held one of her hands. It felt lifeless; she +looked small and broken; she made no sound. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s not conscious,” a man said, and at that she opened her +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“My God, she’s got some pluck!” Francis said. “My +God—” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled at him, and he dropped behind with a gesture of despair. +</p> + +<p> +“You were right,” he said to Rose, “she wasn’t equal to +that brute.” He turned angrily. “Why didn’t you make me +see?” +</p> + +<p> +She made no answer then, or afterwards, to him, but over and over again, with +the awful reiteration of the conscience-smitten, she set out her reasons for +her silence. She might have told him that of these he was the chief. If he had +looked at her less persistently on her visits to Sales Hall, if he had married +another kind of woman, she would not have been afraid to speak, but she had +tried not to extinguish what little flame of love still flickered in his heart +for Christabel and she had succeeded in almost extinguishing her life, in +reducing her to permanent helplessness. +</p> + +<p> +This was Rose’s first experience of how evil comes out of good. What +would happen to that love, Rose did not know. For a time it burned more +brightly, fanned by Christabel’s heroism and Francis’s remorse, but +heroism can become monotonous to the spectator and poignant remorse cannot be +endured for ever. Christabel’s plight was pitiful, but Rose was sorrier +for Francis. He had, as it were, engaged her compassion years ago, he had a +prior claim, and as time went on, her pity for Christabel changed at moments to +annoyance. It was cruel, but Rose had no fund of patience. She disliked illness +as she did deformity, and though Christabel never complained of her constant +pain, she developed the exactions of an invalid, and the suspicions. In those +blue eyes, bluer, and more than ever wary, Rose saw the questions which were +never asked. +</p> + +<p> +In the bedroom which, with the boudoir, had been furnished and decorated by the +best shop in Radstowe, for a surprise, Christabel lay on a couch near the +window, with a nurse in attendance, the puppy and the kitten, both growing +staid, for company. It tired her to use her hands, she had never cared for +reading and she lay there with little for consolation but her pride in +stoically bearing pain. +</p> + +<p> +Often, and with many interruptions, she made Rose repeat the details of the +accident. +</p> + +<p> +“I was riding well, wasn’t I?” she would ask. “Francis +was pleased with me. He said so. It wasn’t my fault, was it? And then, +when they were carrying me home did you hear what he said? Tell me what he +said.” +</p> + +<p> +And Rose told her: “He said, ‘My God, she has got pluck!’ Oh, +Christabel, don’t talk about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like to,” she replied, but the day came when she insisted on +this subject for the last time. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me what you thought when you saw me on the mare,” she said, +and Rose, careless for once, answered immediately, “I thought she +wasn’t fit for you to ride.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” Christabel said slowly, “did you? Did you? But you +didn’t say anything. That was—queer.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose said nothing. She was frozen dumb and there was no possible reply to such +an implication; but she rose and drew on her gloves. She looked tall and +straight in her habit, and formidable. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going? But you must have tea with Francis. He’s expecting +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t stay to-day,” Rose said. She was shaking with the +anger she suppressed. +</p> + +<p> +“But if you don’t,” Christabel cried, “he’ll want +to know why. He’ll ask me!” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help that,” Rose said. +</p> + +<p> +Tears came into Christabel’s eyes. “You might at least do that for +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Because you ask me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’ll come again soon?” +</p> + +<p> +The sternness of Rose’s face was broken by an ironic smile. “Of +course! If you are sure you want me!” +</p> + +<p> +She went downstairs and, as usual, Francis was waiting for her in the matted +hall. He did not greet her with a word or a smile. He watched her descend the +shallow flight, and together they went down the passage to the clear +drawing-room, where the faded water-colours looked unreal and innocent and +ignorant of tragedy. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing.” She looked into the oval mirror which had so often +reflected his mother’s placid face. “My hat’s a little +crooked,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He laughed without mirth. “Never in its life. Has Christabel been +worrying you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Worrying me? Poor child—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it’s damnable, but she does worry one—and you look +odd.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m getting old,” she murmured, not seeking reassurance but +stating a fact plain to her. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re exactly the same!” he said. “Exactly the +same!” He swept his face with his hands, and at that sight a new +sensation seized her delicately, delightfully, as though a firm hand held her +for an instant above the earth, high in the air, free from care, from +restrictions, from the necessity for thought—but only for an instant. She +was set down again, inwardly swaying, apparently unmoved, but conscious of the +carpet under her feet, the chairs with twisted legs, the primrose curtains, the +spring afternoon outside. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us have tea,” she said. She handled the pretty flowered cups +and under her astonished eyes the painted flowers were like a little garden, +gay and sweet and gilded. She seemed to smell them and the hiss of the kettle +was like a song. Then, as she handed him his cup and looked into his wretched +face and remembered the bitter reality of things, she still could not lose all +sense of sweetness. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t say any more!” she said quickly. “Don’t +say another word.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t, if you’re sure you know everything. Do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every single thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you care?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” She drew a breath. “I care—beyond speaking of +it. Francis, not a word!” +</p> + +<p> +It was extraordinary, it was inexplicable, but it was true and happily beyond +the region of regrets, for if she had married him years ago she would never +have loved him in this miraculous, sudden way, with this passion of tenderness, +this desire to make him happy, this terrible conviction that she could not do +it, this promise of suffering for herself. And the wonder of it was that he had +no likeness to that absurd Francis of whom she had dreamed and whom she had not +loved; no likeness, either, to the colossal tyrant. The man she loved was in +some ways weak, he was petulant, he was a baby, but he needed her and, for a +romantic and sentimental moment, she saw herself as his refuge, his strength. +She could not, must not communicate those thoughts. She began to talk happily +and serenely about ordinary things until she remembered that she had lingered +past her usual hour and that upstairs Christabel must be listening for the +sound of her horse’s hoofs. She started up. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you fetch Peter for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you will tell me when you are coming again.” +</p> + +<p> +“One day next week.” +</p> + +<p> +He kissed her hand, and held it. +</p> + +<p> +“Francis, don’t. You mustn’t spoil things.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t said a word.” +</p> + +<p> +“Silence is good,” she said. +</p> + +<h3>§ 5</h3> + +<p> +And she knew she could be silent for ever. Restraint and a love of danger lived +together in her nature and these two qualities were fed by the position in +which she found herself, nor would she have had the position changed. It +supplied her with the emotion she had wanted. She had the privilege of feeling +deeply and dangerously and yet of preserving her pride. +</p> + +<p> +There was irony in the fact that Christabel, hinting at suspicions for which, +in Rose’s mind, there was at first no cause, had at last actually brought +about what she feared, and if Rose had looked for justification, she might have +found it there. But she did not look for it any more than Reginald would have +done; she was like him there, but where she differed was in loyalty to an idea. +She saw love as something noble and inspiring, worthy of sacrifice and, more +concretely, she was determined not to increase the disaster which had befallen +Christabel. Sooner or later, in normal conditions, her marriage must have been +recognized as a failure, but in these abnormal ones it had to be sustained as a +success, and it seemed to Rose that civilized beings could love, and live in +the knowledge of their love, without injuring some one already cruelly +unfortunate. +</p> + +<p> +But, as the months went by, she found she had to reckon with two difficult +people, or rather with two people, ordinary in themselves, cast by fate into a +difficult situation. There was Christabel, with her countless idle hours in +which to formulate theories, to lay traps, to realize that the devotion of +Francis became less obvious; and there was Francis, breaking the spirit of +their contract with his looks, and sometimes the letter, with his complaints +and pleadings. +</p> + +<p> +He could not go on like this for ever, he said. He saw her once a week for a +few minutes, if he was lucky: how could she expect him to be satisfied with +that? It was little enough, she owned, but more than it might have been. She +could never make him admit, perhaps because he did not feel, how greatly they +were blessed; but she saw herself as the guardian of a temple: she stood in the +doorway forbidding him to enter less the place should be defiled, yet +forbidding him in such a way that he should not love her less. Yet constantly +saying “No,” constantly shaking the head and smiling propitiatingly +the while is not to appease; and those short hours of companionship in which +they had once managed to be happy became times of strain, of disappointment, of +barely kept control. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I could stop loving you,” he broke out one day, “but +I can’t. You’re the kind one doesn’t forget. I thought +I’d done it once, for a few months, but you came back—you, came +back.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled, seeming aloof and full of some wisdom unknown to him. She knew he +could not do without her, still more she knew he must not do without her, and +these certainties became the main fabric of her love. She had to keep him, less +for her own sake than for that of her idea, but gradually the severe rules she +had made became relaxed. +</p> + +<p> +They were not to meet except on that one day a week demanded by Christabel, who +also had to keep Francis happy and who would have welcomed the powers of +darkness to relieve the monotony of her own life; but Rose could hardly take a +ride without meeting Francis, also riding; or he would appear, on foot, out of +a wood, out of a side road, and waylay her. He seemed to have an uncanny +knowledge of her presence, and they would have a few minutes of conversation, +or of a silence which was no longer beautiful, but terrible with effort, with +possibilities and with dread. +</p> + +<p> +She ought, she knew, to have kept to her own side of the bridge, to have ridden +on the high Downs inviting to a rider, but she loved the farther country where +the air was blue and soft, where little orchards broke oddly into great fields, +where brooks ran across the lanes and pink-washed cottages were fronted by +little gardens full of homely flowers and clothes drying on the bushes. There +was a smell of fruit and wood fires and damp earth; there was a veil of magic +over the whole landscape and, far off, the shining line of the channel seemed +to be washing the feet of the blue hills. The country had the charm of home +with the allurement of the unknown and, within sound of the steamers hooting in +the river, almost within sight of the city lying, red-roofed and smoky with +factories, round the docks and mounting in terraces to the heights of Upper +Radstowe, there was an expectation of mystery, of secrets kept for countless +centuries by the earth which was rich and fecund and alive. She could not deny +herself the sight of this country. It had become dearer to her since her +awakened feelings had brought with them the complexities of new thoughts. It +soothed her though it solved nothing. It did not wish to solve anything. It lay +before her with its fields, its woods, its patches of heathy land, its bones of +grey limestone showing where the flesh of the red earth had fallen away, its +dips and hollows, its steep lanes, like the wide eye of a being too full of +understanding to attempt elucidations; it would not explain; it knew but it +would not impart the knowledge which must be gained through the experience of +years, of storms, of sunshine, of calamity and joy. +</p> + +<p> +And sometimes the presence of Francis with his personal claims and his +complaints was an intrusion, almost an anachronism. He was of his own time, and +the end of that was almost within sight, while the earth, immensely old, had a +youth of its own, something which Francis would never have again. But perhaps, +because he was essentially simple, he would have fitted in well enough if he +had been less ready to voice his grievances and ruffle the calm which she so +carefully preserved, which he called coldness and for which he reproached her +often. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no peace,” he grumbled. +</p> + +<p> +“You would get it if you would accept things as they are. You have to, in +the end, so why not now?” +</p> + +<p> +She longed to give peace to him, but her tenderness was sane and she found a +strange pleasure in the pain of knowing him to be irritable and childish. It +made of her love a better thing, without the hope of any reward but the +continuance of service. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s easier for you,” he said, and she answered, “Is +it?” in the way that angered him and yet held him, and she thought, +without bitterness, that he had never suffered anything without physical or +mental tears. “Yes, you have peace at home, but I go back to +misery.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s her misery.” +</p> + +<p> +“That doesn’t make it any better,” he retorted justly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know.” She touched his sleeve and, feeling his arm stiffen, +removed her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“And I feel a brute because I can’t care enough. If it were you +now—” +</p> + +<p> +Almost imperceptibly Rose shook her head. She had no illusions, but she said, +“Then why not pretend it’s me. Tell her all you do. Ask her +advice—you needn’t take it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And it’s all a lie,” he growled. +</p> + +<p> +She said serenely, “It has to be, but there are good lies.” +</p> + +<p> +She wished, with an intensity she rarely allowed herself, that he would be +quiet and controlled. Though half her occupation would be gone, she would feel +for him a respect which would rebound on her and make her admirable to herself, +but she knew that life cannot be too lavish of its gifts or death would always +have the victory. This was not what she had looked for, but it was good enough; +she was necessary to him and always would be; she was sure of that, yet she +constantly repeated it; moreover, she loved his bigness and his physical +strength and the way the lines round his eyes wrinkled when he smiled; she knew +how to make him smile and now and then they had happy interludes when they +talked about crops and horses, profit and loss, the buying and selling of +stock, and felt their friendship for each other like a mantle shared. +</p> + +<p> +At the worst, she consoled herself, after a time of strain, it was like riding +a restive horse. There was danger which she loved: there was need of skill and +a light hand, of sympathy and tact, and she never regretted the superman who +was to have ruled her with a fatiguing rod of iron. Here there was give and +take; she had to let him have his head and pull him up at the right moment and +reward docility with kindness; she even found a kind of pleasure, streaked with +disgust, in dealing with Christabel’s suspicions, half expressed, but +present like shadowy people in her room. +</p> + +<p> +Of these she never spoke to Francis, but she had a malicious affection for +them; they had, as it were, done her a good turn, and though they hid like +secret enemies in the corners, she recognized them as allies. And they looked +so much worse than they were. She imagined them showing very ugly faces to +Christabel, who could only judge them by their looks, and though it was cruel +that she should be frightened by them, it was impossible to drive them away. +Rose could only sit calmly in their presence and try to create an atmosphere of +safety. She knew she ought to feel hypocritical in this attendance on her +lover’s wife, but it was not of her choosing. She did not like +Christabel, she would have been glad never to see her again and, terrible as +her situation was, it appealed to Rose less then it would have done if she had +not herself come of people whose tradition was one of stoicism in trouble, of +pride which refused to reveal its distress. Physically, Christabel had those +qualities, but mentally she lacked them; it was chiefly to Rose that she +betrayed herself, and at each farewell she exacted the promise of another visit +soon. Was she fascinated by the sight of the woman Francis loved? And when had +that love been discovered? And was she sure of it even now? She certainly had +her sole excitement in her search for evidence. +</p> + +<p> +In that bedroom, gaily decorated for a bride, she lay heroically bearing pain, +lacking the devotion she should have had, finding her reward in the memory of +her husband’s appreciation of her courage, and her occupation, perhaps +her pleasure, in a refinement of self-torture. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as Rose entered the room she was aware of the scrutiny of those wary +eyes, very wide open, as blue as flowers, and she knew that her own face was +like a mask. The little dog wagged his tail, the cat made no sign, the nurse, +after a cheerful greeting, went out of the room and Rose took her accustomed +place beside the window. It had a view of the garden, the avenue of elms in +which the rooks cawed continuously, the hedge separating the fields from the +high-road where two-wheeled carts, laden with farm produce, jogged into +Radstowe, driven by an old man or a stout woman, and returned some hours later +with the day’s shopping—kitchen utensils inadequately wrapped up +and glistening in the sunshine, a flimsy parcel of drapery, a box of groceries. +The old man smoked his pipe, the stout woman shook the reins on the +pony’s back; the pony, regardless, went at his own pace. Heavy farm carts +creaked past, motor-cars whizzed by, the Sales Hall dairy cows were driven in +for milking, and then for a whole half hour there might be nothing on the road. +The country slept in the sunshine or patiently endured the rain. +</p> + +<p> +For a member of a large and lively family this prospect, seen from a permanent +couch, was not exhilarating, but Christabel did not complain: she took +advantage of every incident and made the most of it, but she never expressed a +desire for more. She had, for so frail and shattered a body, an amazing +capacity for endurance, as though she were upheld by some spiritual force. It +might have been religion or love, or the desire to perpetuate Francis’s +admiration, but Rose believed, and hated herself for believing, that it was +partly antagonism and a feverish curiosity. She had been cheated of her youth +and strength, and here, with a beautiful, impassive face, was the woman who +might have saved her, a woman with a body strongly slim in her dark habit, and +firm white hands skilled in managing a horse. She had read the grey +mare’s mind, and now Christabel, delicately blue and pink and white, in a +wrapper of silk and lace, her hands fidgeting each other as they had fidgeted +the mare’s mouth, thought she was reading the mind of Rose. She stared at +her, fascinated but not afraid. There were things she must find out. +</p> + +<p> +She asked one day, and it was nearly two years since the accident, “Did +they kill the mare?” And Rose, aware that Christabel had known all the +time, answered, “Yes, at once. Her leg was broken.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a pity!” +</p> + +<p> +Waiting for what would come next, Rose smiled and looked out of the window at +the swaying elm tops. +</p> + +<p> +“Such a useful animal!” Christabel said. +</p> + +<p> +“Very dangerous,” Rose remarked, slipping deliberately into the +trap. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I mean. But not quite dangerous enough. Poor Francis! +He didn’t know. He doesn’t know now, does he? But of course +not.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose had a great horror of a debt and she owed something to Christabel, but now +she felt she had paid it off, with interest. She breathed deeply, without a +sound. Her tone was light. +</p> + +<p> +“He knows all that is good for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean that is good for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose stood up, pulled on her washleather gloves, sat down again. The hands on +the silk coverlet were shaking. +</p> + +<p> +“You are making yourself ill,” Rose said. She was tempted to take +those poor fluttering hands into her own and steady them, but her flesh shrank +from the contact. She was tempted, too, to tell Christabel the truth, but pride +forbade her, and in a moment the impulse was gone, and with its departure came +the belief that the truth would be annihilating. It would rob her of her +glorious uncertainty, she would be destroyed by the knowledge that Rose had +seen her fear, seen and tried to strengthen the slender hold she had on her +husband’s love. It was better to play the part of the wicked woman, the +murderess, the stealer of hearts: and perhaps she was wicked; she had not +thought of that before; the Malletts did not criticize their actions or analyse +their minds and she had no intention of breaking their habits. She stood up +again and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I call the nurse?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not going yet? You’ve only been here a few +minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Long enough,” Rose said cheerfully. +</p> + +<p> +Tears came into Christabel’s eyes. “And Francis is out. If he +doesn’t see you he’ll be angry, he’ll ask me why.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can tell him.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” the tone changed, “perhaps you’ll see him on +your way home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and then I can tell him instead.” +</p> + +<p> +The tears overflowed, she was helplessly angry, she sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +“Be quiet,” Rose said sternly. “I shall tell him nothing. You +know that. You are quite safe, whatever you choose to say to me. Perfectly +safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. I can’t help it. I lie here and think. What would you do +in my place?” +</p> + +<p> +“The same thing, I suppose,” Rose said. +</p> + +<p> +“And you won’t go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’m going. You can tell Francis I was obliged to get home +early.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’ll come again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, I’ll come again.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t want to.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t want to.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re always riding over here, aren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nearly every day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, then—” The words lingered meaningly until Rose reached +the door and then Christabel said, “I wish you’d ask your sisters +to come and see me. They would tell me all the news.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose went downstairs laughing at Christabel’s capacity for mingling +tragedy with the commonplace and sordid accusations with social desires, but +though she laughed she was strangely tired and, stretching before her, she saw +more weariness, more struggling, more effort without result. +</p> + +<p> +She stood in the masculine, matted hall, with the usual worn pair of slippers +in the corner, a stick lying across a chair, a collection of coats and hats on +the pegs, and she felt she would be glad if she were never to see all this +again, and for the first time she thought seriously of desertion. She wished +she could go to some unfamiliar country where the people would all have new +faces, where the language would be strange, the sights different, the smells +unlike those which were wafted through the open door. She wanted a fresh body +and a new world, but she knew that she would not get them, for leaving Francis +would be like leaving a child. So she told herself, but at the back of her mind +was the certainty that if she went he would soon attach himself to +another’s strength—or weakness: yes, to another’s weakness, +and she found she could not contemplate that event, less because she clung to +him than because her pride could not tolerate a substitution which would be an +admission of her likeness to other women. Yet in that very lack of toleration +her pride was lowered, and if she was not clinging to him for her own sake, she +was holding on to her place, her uniqueness, refusing the possibility that +another woman could serve him, as she had served him with pain, with suffering. +She was like a queen who does not love her throne supremely but will not +abdicate, who would rather fail in her appointed place than see another succeed +in it. +</p> + +<p> +For a minute Rose Mallett sat down on the edge of the chair already occupied by +the stick and she pressed both hands against her forehead, driving back her +thoughts. Thinking was dangerous and a folly: it was a concession to +circumstances, and she would concede nothing. She stood up, looked round for a +mirror, remembered there was not one in the hall, and with little, meticulous +touches to her hat, her hair and the white stock round her neck, she left the +house. +</p> + +<p> +She returned to a drawing-room occupied by Caroline and Sophia, yet strangely +silent. There was not a sound but what came from the birds in the garden. +Caroline’s spectacles were on her nose and, though she was not reading +the letter on her knee, she had forgotten to take them off, an ominous sign. +Sophia’s face was flushed with agitation, her head drooped more than +usual, but she lifted it with a sigh of relief at Rose’s entrance. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re in such trouble, dear,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Trouble! Nonsense! No trouble at all! Look here, Rose, that woman has +died now.” She shook the letter threateningly. “Read this! +Reginald’s wife! I suppose she was his wife. I dare say he had +dozens.” +</p> + +<p> +“Caroline!” Sophia remonstrated. +</p> + +<p> +Rose took the letter and read what Mrs. Reginald Mallett, believing herself +about to die, had written in her big, sprawling hand. The letter was only to be +posted after her death and she made no apology for asking the Malletts to see +that her daughter had the chance of earning her living suitably. “She is +a good girl,” she wrote, “but when I am gone her only friend will +be the landlady of this house and there are young men about the place who are +not the right kind. I am telling my dear girl that I wish her to accept any +offer of help she gets from you, and she will do what I ask.” +</p> + +<p> +“So, you see,” Caroline said as Rose looked up, “we’re +not done with Reginald yet, and what I propose is that we send Susan for the +girl to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, to-morrow,” Sophia echoed. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I go?” Rose asked. Sophia murmured gratitude, Caroline +snorted doubt, and Rose added, “No, I think not. She wouldn’t like +it. Susan would be better—but not to-morrow. You must write to the +child— what’s her name? Henrietta—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Henrietta, after our grandmother—the idea! I don’t know +how Reginald dared.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she a sacred character?” Rose asked dryly. “Write to her, +Caroline, and say Susan will come on the day that suits her best. You +can’t drag her away without warning. Let’s treat her courteously, +please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Rose, dear, I think we are always courteous,” Sophia +protested. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline merely said, “Bah!” and added, “And what are we +going to do with her when we get her? She’ll giggle, she’ll have a +dreadful accent, Sophia will blush for her. I shan’t. I never blush for +anybody, even myself, but I shall be bored. That’s worse, and if you +think I’m going to edit my stories for her benefit, Sophia, you’re +mistaken. I never managed to do that, even for the General, and I’m too +old to begin.” She removed her spectacles hastily. “Too old for +that, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose smiled. She thought that probably the child of Reginald Mallett, living +from hand to mouth in boarding houses, the sharer of his sinking fortunes, the +witness of his passions and despairs and infidelities, would find +Caroline’s stories innocent enough. Her hope was that Henrietta would not +try to cap them, but the chances were that she would be a terrible young +person, that she would find herself adrift in the respectability of Radstowe +where she was unlikely to meet those young men, not of the right kind, to whom +she was accustomed. +</p> + +<p> +“She must have her father’s room,” Sophia said. She was +trying to conceal her excitement. “We must put some flowers there. I +think I’ll just go upstairs and see if there’s any little +improvement we could make.” +</p> + +<p> +They all went upstairs and stood in that room devoted to the memory of the +scapegrace, but they made no alterations, Sophia expressing the belief that +Henrietta would prefer it as it was; and Caroline, as she wiped away two slow +tears, saying that Reginald was a wretch and she could not see why they should +put themselves to any trouble for his daughter. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>Book II: <i>Henrietta</i></h2> + +<h3>§ 1</h3> + +<p> +After luncheon Henrietta went to her room to unpack the brown tin trunk which +contained all her possessions, and as she ascended the stairs with her hand on +the polished mahogany rail, she heard Sophia saying, “She’s a true +Mallett. She has the Mallett ankle. Did you notice it, Caroline?” And +Caroline answered harshly, “Yes, the Mallett ankle, but not the foot. Her +foot is square, like a block of wood. What could you expect?” Then the +drawing-room door was closed softly on this indiscretion. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta continued steadily up the stairs and across the landing to her +father’s room, and before the long mirror on the wall she halted to +survey her reflected feet. Aunt Caroline had but exaggerated the truth; they +were square, but they were small, and she controlled her trembling lips. +</p> + +<p> +She pushed back from her forehead the black, curling hair. She was tired; the +luncheon had been a strain, and the carelessly loud words of Caroline reminded +her that she was undergoing an examination which, veiled by courtesy, would be +severe. Already they were blaming her mother for her feet; and all three of +them, the blunt Caroline, the tender Sophia, the mysteriously silent Rose, were +on the watch for the maternal traits. +</p> + +<p> +Well, she was not ashamed of them. Her mother had been good, brave, honest, +loving, patient, and her father had been none of these things; but no doubt +these aunts of hers put manners before morals, as he had done; and she +remembered how, when she was quite a little girl, and the witness of one of the +unpleasant domestic scenes which happened often in those days, before Reginald +Mallett’s wife had learnt forbearance, she had noticed her father’s +face twitch as though in pain. Glad of a diversion, she had asked him with +eager sympathy, “Is it toothache?” and he had answered acidly, +“No, child, only the mutilation of our language.” She remembered +the words, and later she understood their meaning and the flushing of her +mother’s face, the compression of her lips, and she was indignant for her +sake. +</p> + +<p> +Yet she could feel for her father, in spite of the fact that whatever her +accent or grammatical mistakes, her mother’s conduct was always right and +her father, with his charming air, a little blurred by what he called +misfortune, his clear speech to which Henrietta loved to listen, was +fundamentally unsound. He could not be trusted. That was understood between the +mother and daughter: it was one of the facts on which their existence rested, +it entered into all their calculations, it was the text of all her +mother’s little homilies. Henrietta must always pay her debts, she must +tell the truth, she must do nothing of which she was ashamed, and so far +Henrietta had succeeded in obeying these commands. +</p> + +<p> +When Reginald Mallett died in the shabby boarding-house kept by Mrs. Banks, he +left his family without a penny but with a feeling of extraordinary peace. They +were destitute, but they were no longer overshadowed by the fear of disgrace, +the misery of subterfuge, the bewildering oscillations between pity for the man +who could not have what he wanted and shame for his ceaseless striving after +pleasure, his shifts to get it, his reproaches and complaints. +</p> + +<p> +In the gloomy back bedroom on the third story of the boarding-house he lay on a +bed hung with dingy curtains, but in the dignity which was one of his +inheritances. Under the dark, close-cut moustache, his lips seemed to smile +faintly, perhaps in amusement at the folly of his life, perhaps in surprise at +finding himself so still; the narrow beard of a foreign cut was slightly tilted +towards the dirty ceiling, his beautiful hands were folded as though in a +mockery of prayer. He was, as Mrs. Banks remarked when she was allowed to see +him, a lovely corpse. But to Henrietta and her mother, standing on either side +of the bed, guarding him now, as they had always tried to do, he had subtly +become the husband and father he should have been. +</p> + +<p> +“We must remember him like this,” Mrs. Mallett said, raising her +soft blue eyes, and Henrietta saw that the small sharp lines which Reginald +Mallett had helped to carve in her face seemed to have disappeared. It was +extraordinary how placid her face became after his death, but as the days +passed it was also noticeable that much of her vitality had gone too. She left +herself in Henrietta’s young hands and she, casting about for a way of +earning her living, found good fortune in the terrible basement kitchen where +Mrs. Banks moved mournfully and had her disconsolate being. The gas was always +lighted in that cavernous kitchen, but it remained dark, mercifully leaving the +dirt half unseen. A joint of mutton, cold and mangled, was discernible, +however, when Henrietta descended to put her impecunious case before the +landlady and, gazing at it, the girl saw also her opportunity. Mrs. Banks had +no culinary imagination, but Henrietta found it rising in herself to an +inspired degree and there and then she offered herself as cook in return for +board and lodging for her mother and herself. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure I’ll be glad to keep you,” Mrs. Banks said: +“you give the place a tone, you do really, you and your dear Ma sitting +in the drawing-room sewing of an evening; but it isn’t only the cooking, +though I do get to hate the sight of food. I get a regular grudge against it. +But it’s that butcher! Ready money or no meat’s his motto, and how +to make this mutton last—” She picked it up by the bone and cast it +down again. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I can manage butchers,” Henrietta said. “Besides, +we’ll pay our way. You’ll see. Leave the cooking to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will, gladly,” Mrs. Banks said, wiping away a tear. “Ever +since Banks took it into his head to jump into the river, it seems like as if I +hadn’t any spirit, and that Jenkins turns up his ugly nose every time I +put the mutton on the table—when he doesn’t begin talking to it +like an old friend. I can’t bear Jenkins, but he does pay regular, and +that’s something. Well, I’ll get on with the upstairs and leave you +to it.” +</p> + +<p> +And so Henrietta began the work which kept her amazingly happy, fed and +sheltered her mother, who sat all day slowly making beautiful baby linen for +one of the big shops, and cemented Henrietta’s friendship with the +lachrymose Mrs. Banks. To be faced with a mutton bone and a few vegetables, to +have to wrest from these poor materials an appetizing meal, was like an +exciting game, and she played it with zest and with success. She had the +dubious pleasure of hearing Mr. Jenkins smack his lips and seeing him distend +his nostrils with anticipation; the unalloyed one of watching the pale face of +little Miss Stubb, the typist, grow delicately pink and less dangerously thin, +under the stimulus of good food; the amusement of congratulating Mrs. Banks, in +public, on her new cook, and seeing Mrs. Banks, at the head of the supper +table, nod her head with important secrecy. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve made out,” she told Henrietta, “that I’ve a +daily girl, without a character, that’s how I can afford her, in the +basement, but I must say it’s made that Jenkins mighty keen on fetching +his own boots of a morning, but no lodgers below-stairs is my rule. You look +out for Jenkins, my dear. He’s no good. I know his sort.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I can manage Mr. Jenkins, too,” Henrietta said, and indeed she +made a point of bringing him to the hardly manageable state for the amusement +of proving her capacity. She despised him, but not for nothing was she Reginald +Mallett’s daughter; and Mr. Jenkins and the butcher and a gloomy old +gentleman who emerged from his bedroom to eat, and locked himself up between +meals, were the only men she knew. No doubt Mrs. Mallett, placidly sewing, was +alive to the attentions and frustrations of Mr. Jenkins and had planned her +letter to her sisters-in-law some time before she wrote it, but the idea of +parting from her mother never occurred to Henrietta until Miss Stubb alarmed +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Your mother,” she said poetically, “makes me think of snow +melting before the sun. In fact, I can’t look at her without thinking of +snow and snowdrops and—and graves. Last spring I said to Mrs. Banks, +‘She won’t see the leaves fall,’ I said, and Mrs. Banks +agreed. She has been spared, but take care of her in these cold winds, Miss +Henrietta, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“She has a cold, only a cold,” Henrietta said in a dead voice, and +she went upstairs. Her mother was in bed, and Henrietta looked down at the +thin, pretty face. “How ill are you?” she asked in a threatening +manner. “Tell me how ill you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve only got a cold, Henry dear. I shall be up to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Promise you won’t be really ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should I be?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Miss Stubb—saying things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Women chatter,” Mrs. Mallett said. “If it’s not +scandal, it’s an illness. You ought to know that.” +</p> + +<p> +“They might leave you alone, anyway.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I wish they would,” Mrs. Mallett said faintly, and dropped +back on her pillow. +</p> + +<p> +Now, sitting in her father’s room, with her mother only a few weeks dead, +she reproached herself for her readiness to be deceived, for her preoccupation +with her own affairs and the odious Mr. Jenkins, for the exuberance of life +which hid from her the dwindling of her mother’s, and the fact, now so +plain, that when Reginald Mallett died his wife’s capacity for struggling +was at an end. She had suffered bitterly from the sight of his deterioration +and from her failure to prevent it. In his sulky, torturing presence she had +desired his absence, but this permanent absence was more than she could bear. +And all Henrietta could do was to obey her mother’s injunction to accept +help from her aunts, but she had refused the offer of an escort to Radstowe and +Nelson Lodge; she would have no highly respectable servant sniffing at the +boarding-house—and she would have been bound to sniff in that permanently +scented atmosphere—which was, after all, her home. She left with genuine +regret, with tears. +</p> + +<p> +“You mustn’t cry, dearie,” Mrs. Banks said, holding Henrietta +to the bosom of her greasy dress. “It’s a lucky thing for +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” Henrietta said, “but I’d rather be with you, +and I can’t bear to think of the cooking going to pieces. I’ll send +you some recipes for nice dishes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too many eggs,” Mrs. Banks said prophetically. +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say, but you can manage if you think about it. And remember, if +Miss Stubb has too much cold mutton, she’ll lose her job, and then +you’ll lose her money. It will pay you to feed her. You haven’t had +a debt since I began to help you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know, I know; but I’ll have them now, for certain. I’ve +told you before that Banks took all my ideas with him when he dropped into the +river,” Mrs. Banks said hopelessly, and on Henrietta’s journey to +Radstowe it was of Mrs. Banks that she chiefly thought. It seemed as though she +were deserting a friend. +</p> + +<p> +She was surprised by the smallness of Nelson Lodge as she walked up the garden +path; she had pictured something more imposing than this low white building, +walled off from the wide street; but within she discovered an inconsistent +spaciousness. The hall was panelled in white wood, the drawing-room, sparsely +but beautifully furnished, was white too, and she immediately felt, as indeed +she looked, thoroughly out of harmony with her surroundings. She waited there, +in her cheap black clothes, like some little servant seeking a situation; but +her welcome, when it came, after a rustling of silken skirts on the stairs, +assured her that she was acknowledged as a member of the family. Sophia took +her tenderly to her heart and murmured, “Oh, my dear, how like your +father!” Caroline patted her cheek and said, “Yes, yes, +Reginald’s daughter, so she is!” And a moment later, Rose entered, +faintly smiling, extending a cool hand. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta’s acutely feminine eye saw immediately that her Aunt Rose was +supremely well-dressed, and all her past ideas of grandeur, of plumed hats and +feather boas and ornamental walking shoes, left her for ever. She knew, too, +that clothes like these were very costly, beyond her dreams, but she decided, +in a moment, to rearrange and subdue the black trimming of her hat. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, the appearance of the elder aunts almost shocked her. At the +first glance they seemed bedizened and indecent in their mixture of rouge and +more than middle age; but at the second and the third they became attractive, +oddly distinguished. She felt sure of them, of their sympathy, of her ability +to please them. It was Aunt Rose who made her feel ill at ease, and it was Aunt +Rose of whom she thought as she sat by her bedroom window and looked down at +the back garden, bright with the flowers of spring. +</p> + +<p> +Yet it was Aunt Caroline who had been unkind about her feet. They were like +that, these grand people; they had beautiful manners but nothing superficial +escaped them; they made no allowances, they went in for no deceptions, and +though it was Caroline who had actually condemned the small, strong feet which +now rested, slipperless, on the soft carpet, Henrietta was sure that Rose had +seen them too. She had seen everything, though apparently she saw nothing, and +Henrietta had to acknowledge her fear of Rose’s criticism. It was +formidable, for it would be unflinching in its standards. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” Henrietta thought, “I can only be myself, and if +I’m common— but I’m not really common—it’s better +than pretending; and of course I am rather upset by the house and the servants +and all the forks and spoons. I hope there won’t be anything funny to eat +for dinner. I wish—” To her own amazement, she burst into a brief +storm of tears. “I wish I had stayed with Mrs. Banks.” +</p> + +<p> +She had her place in the boarding-house, she was a power there, and she missed +already her subtle, unrecognized belief in her superiority over Mrs. Banks and +Miss Stubb and Mr. Jenkins and the rest. She was also honestly troubled about +the welfare of the landlady, who was her only friend. It was strange to sit in +her father’s room and look at a portrait of him as a youth hanging on the +wall, and remember that Mrs. Banks, who made him shudder, was her only friend. +</p> + +<p> +She left her seat by the window to look more closely at that portrait, and +after a brief examination she turned to the dressing-table to see in the mirror +a feminine replica of the face on the wall. She had never noticed the likeness +before. She had only to push back her hair and she saw her father. Where his +nose was straight, hers was slightly tilted, but there was the same darkness of +hair and eyes, the same modelling of the forehead, the same incipient petulance +of the lips. +</p> + +<p> +She was astonished, she was unreasonably pleased, and with the energy of her +inspiration she swept back the curls of which her mother had been so proud, and +pinned them into obscurity. The resemblance was extraordinary: even the low +white collar of her blouse, fastened with a black bow, repeated the somewhat +Byronic appearance of the young man; and as there came a knock at the door, she +turned, a little shame-faced, but excited in the certainty of her success. +</p> + +<p> +But it was only Susan, who gave no sign of astonishment at the change. She had +come to see if she could help Miss Henrietta to unpack, but Henrietta had +already laid away her meagre outfit in the walnut tallboy with the curved legs. +Susan, however, would remove the trunk, and if Miss Henrietta would tell her +what dress she wished to wear this evening, Susan would be able to lay out her +things. The tin trunk clanked noisily though Susan lifted it with tactful care, +and Henrietta blushed for it, but the aged portmanteau, bearing the initials +<i>R. M.</i>, became in the discreet presence of Susan a priceless possession. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s full of books,” Henrietta said; “I won’t +unpack them. I thought my aunts would let me keep them somewhere. They are my +father’s books.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s an old bookcase belonging to Mr. Reginald in the +box-room,” Susan said; “I’ll speak to Miss Caroline about +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you know my father?” Henrietta asked at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Miss Henrietta,” Susan said. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think I’m like him?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a striking likeness, Miss Henrietta,” and warming a +little, Susan added, “I was just saying so to Cook.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did Cook know him, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, Miss Henrietta. Cook and I have been with the family for years. +If you’ll tell me which dress you wish to wear—” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s only one in the wardrobe,” Henrietta said serenely, +for suddenly her shabbiness and poverty mattered no longer. She was stamped +with the impress of Reginald Mallett, whom she had despised yet of whom she was +proud, and that impress was like a guarantee, a sort of passport. She had a +great lightness of heart; she was glad she had left Mrs. Banks, glad she was in +her father’s home, and learning from Susan that the ladies rested in +their own rooms after luncheon, she decided to go out and look on the scenes of +her father’s youth. +</p> + +<h3>§ 2</h3> + +<p> +This was not, she told herself, disloyalty to her mother, for had not that +mother, whom she loved and painfully missed, sent her to this place? Her mother +was generous and sweet; she would grudge no late-found allegiance to Reginald +Mallett. Had she not said they must remember him at his best, and would she not +be glad if Henrietta could find bits of that best in this old house, in the +streets where he had walked, in the sights which had fed his eyes? +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta started out, gently closing the front door behind her. The wide +street was almost empty; a milkcart bearing the legend, “Sales Hall +Dairy,” was being drawn at an easy pace by a demure pony, his harness +adorned with jingling bells. The milkman whistled and, as the cart stopped here +and there, she missed the London milkman’s harsh cry, and missed it +pleasurably. This man was in no hurry, there was no impatience in his knock; +the whole place seemed to be half asleep, except where children played on The +Green under the old trees. This comparatively small space, mounting in the +distance to a little hill backed by the sky, was more wonderful to Henrietta +than Hyde Park when the flowers were at their best. There were no flowers here; +she saw grass, two old stone monuments, tall trees, a miniature cliff of grey +rock, and sky. On three sides of The Green there were old houses and there were +seats on the grass, but houses and seats had the air of being mere accidents to +which the rest had grown accustomed, and it seemed to Henrietta that here, in +spite of bricks, she was in the country. The trees, the grass, the rocks and +sky were in possession. +</p> + +<p> +She followed one of the small paths round the hill and found herself in a place +so wonderful, so unexpected, that she caught back her breath and let it out +again in low exclamations of delight. She was now on the other side of the hill +and, though she did not know it, she was on the site of an ancient camp. The +hill was flat-topped; there were still signs of the ramparts, but it was not on +these she gazed. Far below her was the river, flowing sluggishly in a deep +ravine, formed on her right hand and as far as she could see by high grey +cliffs. These for the most part were bare and sheer, but they gave way now and +then to a gentler slope with a rich burden of trees, while, on the other side +of the river, it was the rocks that seemed to encroach on the trees, for the +wall of the gorge, almost to the water’s edge, was thick with woods. Here +and there, on either cliff, a sudden red splash of rock showed like an unhealed +wound, amid the healthier grey. And all around her there seemed to be limitless +sky, huge fluffy clouds and gulls as white. +</p> + +<p> +At the edge of the cliff where she stood, gorse bushes bloomed and, looking to +the left, she saw the slender line of a bridge swung high across the abyss. +Beyond it the cliffs lessened into banks, then into meadows studded with big +elms and, on the city side, there were houses red and grey, as though the rocks +had simply changed their shapes. The houses were clustered close to the water, +they rose in terraces and trees mingled with their chimneys. Below there were +intricate waterways, little bridges, warehouses and ships and, high up, the +fairy bridge, delicate and poised, was like a barrier between that place of +business and activity and this, where Henrietta stood with the trees, the +cliffs, the swooping gulls. It was low tide and the river was bordered by banks +of mud, grey too, yet opalescent. It almost reflected the startling white of +the gulls’ wings and, as she looked at it, she saw that its colour was +made up of many; there was pink in it and blue and, as a big cloud passed over +the sun, it became subtly purple; it was a palette of subdued and tender +shades. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta heaved a sigh. This was too much. She could look at it but she could +not see it all. Yet this marvellous place belonged to her, and she knew now +whence had come the glamour in the stories her father had told her when she was +a child. It had come from here, where an aged city had tried to conquer the +country and had failed, for the spirit of woods and open spaces, of water and +trees and wind, survived among the very roofs. The conventions of the +centuries, the convention of puritanism, of worldliness, of impiety, of +materialism and of charity had all assailed and all fallen back before the +strength of the apparently peaceful country in which the city stood. The air +was soft with a peculiar, undermining softness; it carried with it a smell of +flowers and fruit and earth, and if all the many miles on the farther side of +the bridge should be ravished by men’s hands, covered with buildings and +strewn with the ugly luxuries they thought they needed, the spirit would remain +in the tainted air and the imprisoned earth. It would whisper at night at the +windows, it would smile invisibly under the sun, it would steal into +men’s minds and work its will upon them. And already Henrietta felt its +power. She was in a new world, dull but magical, torpid yet alert. +</p> + +<p> +She turned away and, walking down another little path threaded through the +rocks, she stood at the entrance to the bridge and watched people on foot, +people on bicycles, people in carts coming and going over it. She could not +cross herself for she had not a penny in her pocket, but she stood there gazing +and sometimes looking down at the road two hundred feet below. This made her +slightly giddy and the people down there had too much the appearance of pigmies +with legs growing from their necks, going about perfectly unimportant business +with a great deal of fuss. It was pleasanter to see these country people in +their carts, school-girls with plaits down their backs, rosy children in +perambulators and an exceedingly handsome man on a fine black horse, a fair +man, bronzed like a soldier, riding as though he had done it all his life. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him with admiration for his looks and envy for his possessions, +for that horse, that somewhat sulky ease. And it was quite possible that he was +an acquaintance of her aunts! She laughed away her awed astonishment. Why, her +own father had been such as he, though she had never seen him on a horse. She +had, after all, to adjust her views a little, to remember that she was a +Mallett, a member of an honoured Radstowe family, the granddaughter of a +General, the daughter of a gentleman, though a scamp. She was ashamed of the +something approaching reverence with which she had looked at the man on the +horse, but she was also ashamed of her shame; in fact, to be ashamed at all +was, she felt, a degradation, and she cast the feeling from her. +</p> + +<p> +Here was not only a new world but a new life, a new starting point; she must be +equal to the place, the opportunity and the occasion; she was, she told +herself, equal to them all. +</p> + +<p> +In this self-confident mood she returned to Nelson Lodge and found Caroline, in +a different frock, seated behind the tea-table and in the act of putting the +tea into the pot. +</p> + +<p> +“Just in time,” she remarked, and added with intense interest, +“You have brushed back your hair. Excellent! Look, Sophia, what an +improvement! And more like Reginald than ever. Take off your hat, child, and +let us see. My dear, I was going to tell you, when I knew you better, that +those curls made you look like an organ-grinder. Don’t hush me, Sophia; I +always say what I think.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta was hurt; this, though Caroline did not know it, was a rebuff to the +mother who loved the curls; but the daughter would not betray her sensibility, +and as Rose was not present she dared to say, “An organ-grinder with +square feet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you heard that, did you? Sophia said you would. Well, you must be +careful about your shoes. Men always look at a woman’s feet.” She +displayed her own, elegantly arched, in lustrous stockings and very high-heeled +slippers. “Sophia and I—Sophia’s are nearly, but not quite as +good as mine—are they Sophia?—Sophia and I have always been +particular about our feet. I remember a ball, when I was a girl, where one of +my partners—he ended by marrying a ridiculously fat woman with feet like +cannon balls—insisted on calling me Cinderella because he said nobody +else could have worn my shoes. Delightful creature! Do you remember, +Sophia?” +</p> + +<p> +Sophia remembered very well. He had called her Cinderella, too, for the same +reason, but as Caroline had been the first to report the remark, Sophia had +never cared to spoil her pleasure in it. And now Caroline did not wait for a +reply, Rose entering at that moment, and her attention having to be called to +the change in Henrietta’s method of doing her hair. Henrietta stiffened +at once, but Rose threw, as it were, a smile in her direction, and said, +“Yes, charming,” and helped herself to cake. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” said Caroline, settling herself for the most interesting +subject in the world, “your clothes, Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t any,” Henrietta said at once; “but I think +they’ll do until I go away. I thought I should like to be a nurse, Aunt +Caroline.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nurse! Nonsense! What kind? Babies? Rubbish! You’re going to stay +here if you like us well enough, and we’ve made a little +plan”—she nodded vigorously—“a little plan for +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“We ought to say at once,” Sophia interrupted with painful honesty, +“that it was Rose’s idea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rose? Was it? I don’t know. Anyhow, we’re all agreed. You +are to have a sum of money, child; yes, for your father’s sake, and +perhaps for your own too, a sum of money to bring you in a little income for +your clothes and pleasures, so that you shall be independent like the rest of +us. Yes, it’s settled. I’ve written to our lawyer, James Batty. Did +your father ever mention James Batty? But, of course, he wouldn’t. He +married a fat woman, too, but a good soul, with a high colour, poor thing. +Don’t say a word, child. You must be independent. Nursing! Bah! And if we +don’t take care we shall have you marrying for a home.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is your home,” Sophia said gently. +</p> + +<p> +“No sentiment, Sophia, please. You’re making the child cry. The +Malletts don’t marry, Henrietta. Look at us, as happy as the day is long, +with all the fun and none of the trouble. We’ve been terrible flirts, +Sophia and I. Rose is different, but at least she hasn’t married. The +three Miss Malletts of Nelson Lodge! Now there are four of us, and you must +keep up our reputation.” +</p> + +<p> +Overwhelmed by this generosity, by this kindness, Henrietta did not know what +to say. She murmured something about her mother’s wish that she should +earn her living, but Caroline scouted the idea, and Sophia, putting her white +hand on one of Henrietta’s, assured her that her dear mother would be +glad for her child to have the comforts of a home. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not used to them,” Henrietta said. “I’ve +always taken care of people. I shan’t know what to do.” +</p> + +<p> +They would find plenty for her to do; there were many gaieties in Radstowe and +she would be welcomed everywhere. “And now about your clothes,” +Caroline repeated. “You are wearing black, of course. Well, black can be +very pretty, very French. Look at Rose. She rarely wears anything else, but +when Sophia and I were about your age, she used to wear blue and I wore pink, +or the other way round.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do so still,” Rose remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“A pink muslin,” Caroline went on in a sort of ecstasy, “a +Leghorn hat wreathed with pink roses—when was I wearing that, +Sophia?” +</p> + +<p> +“Last summer,” Rose said dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“So I was,” Caroline agreed in a matter-of-fact voice. “Now, +Henrietta. Get a piece of paper and a pencil, Sophia, and we’ll make a +list.” +</p> + +<p> +The discussion went on endlessly, long after Henrietta herself had tired of it. +It was lengthened by the insertion of anecdotes of Caroline’s and +Sophia’s youth, and hardly a colour or a material was mentioned which did +not recall an incident which Henrietta found more interesting than her own +sartorial affairs. +</p> + +<p> +Rose had disappeared, and the dressing-bell was rung before the subject +languished. It would never be exhausted, for Caroline, and even Sophia, less +vivid than her sister in all but her affections, grew pink and bright-eyed in +considering Henrietta’s points. And all the time Henrietta had her own +opinions, her own plans. She intended as far as possible to preserve her +likeness to her father, which was, as it were, her stock-in-trade. She pictured +herself, youthfully slim, gravely petulant, her round neck rising from a +Byronic collar fastened with a broad, loose bow, and she fancied the society of +Radstowe exclaiming with one voice, “That must be Reginald +Mallett’s daughter!” +</p> + +<p> +She was to learn, however, that in Radstowe the memories of Reginald Mallett +were somewhat dim, and where they were clear they were neglected. It was +generally assumed that his daughter would not care to have him mentioned, while +praises of her aunts were constant and enthusiastic and people were kind to +Henrietta, she discovered, for their sakes. +</p> + +<p> +The stout and highly-coloured Mrs. Batty was an early caller. She arrived, +rather wheezy, compressed by her tailor into an expensive gown, a basket of +spring flowers on her head. She and Henrietta took to each other, as Mrs. Batty +said, at once. Here was a motherly person, and Henrietta knew that if she could +have Mrs. Batty to herself she would be able to talk more freely than she had +done since her arrival in Radstowe. There would be no criticism from her, but +unlimited good nature, a readiness to listen and to confide and a love for the +details of operations and illnesses in which she had a kinship with Mrs. Banks. +Indeed, though Mrs. Batty was fat where Mrs. Banks was thin, cheerful where she +was gloomy, and in possession of a flourishing husband where Mrs. Banks +irritably mourned the loss of a suicide, they had characteristics in common and +the chief of these was the way in which they took to Henrietta. +</p> + +<p> +“You must come to tea on Sunday,” Mrs. Batty said. “We are +always at home on Sunday afternoons after four o’clock. I have two big +boys,” she sighed, “and all their friends are welcome then.” +She lowered her voice. “We don’t allow tennis—the neighbours, +you know, and James has clients looking out of every window—but +there’s no harm, as the boys say, in knocking the billiard balls about. I +must say the click carries a good way, so I tell the parlourmaid to shut the +windows. And music—my boy Charles,” she sighed again, “is mad +on music. I like a tune myself, but he never plays any. You’ll hear for +yourself if you come on Sunday. Now you will come, won’t you, Miss +Henrietta?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she’ll come,” Caroline said. “Do her good to meet +young people. We’re getting old in this house, Mrs. Batty,” and she +guffawed in anticipation of the usual denial, but for once Mrs. Batty failed. +Her thoughts were at home, at Prospect House, that commodious family mansion +situate in its own grounds, and in one of the most favourable positions in +Upper Radstowe. So the advertisement had read before Mr. Batty bought the +property, and it was all true. +</p> + +<p> +“John,” Mrs. Batty went on, “is more for sport, though +he’s in the sugar business, with an uncle. Not my brother—Mr. +Batty’s.” She was anxious to give her husband all the credit. +“They are both good boys,” she added, “but +Charles—well, you’ll see on Sunday. You promise to come.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta promised, and with Mrs. Batty’s departure Caroline spoke her +mind. She was convinced that the lawyer and his wife were determined to secure +Henrietta as a daughter-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +“He knows all our affairs, my dear, and James Batty never misses a chance +of improving his position. Good as it is, it would be all the better for an +alliance with our family, but I shall disown you at once if you marry one of +those hobbledehoys. The Batty’s, indeed! Why, Mrs. Batty +herself—” +</p> + +<p> +“Caroline, don’t!” Sophia pleaded. “And I’m sure +the young men are very nice young men, and if Henrietta should fall in +love—” +</p> + +<p> +“She won’t get any of my money!” Caroline said. +</p> + +<p> +“But Henrietta won’t be in a hurry,” Sophia announced; and +so, over her head, the two discussed her possible marriage as they had +discussed her clothes, but with less interest and at less length and, as +before, Henrietta had her own ideas. A rich man, a handsome one, a gay life; no +more basement kitchens, no more mutton bones! Already the influence of Nelson +Lodge was making itself felt. +</p> + +<h3>§ 3</h3> + +<p> +It was at dinner that the charm of the house was most apparent To Henrietta. +Even on these spring evenings the curtains were Drawn and the candles lighted, +for Caroline said she could not Dine comfortably in daylight. The pale flames +were repeated in The mahogany of the table; the tall candlesticks, the silver +appointments, were reflected also in a blur, like a grey mist; the furniture +against the walls became merged into the shadows and Susan, hovering there, was +no more than an attentive spirit. +</p> + +<p> +There was little talking at this meal, for Caroline and Sophia loved good food +and it was very good. Occasionally Caroline murmured, “Too much +pepper,” or “One more pinch of salt and this would have been +perfect,” and bending over her plate, the diamonds in her ears sparkled +to her movements, the rings on her fingers glittered; and opposite to her +Sophia drooped, her pale hair looking almost white, the big sapphire cross on +her breast gleaming richly, her resigned attitude oddly at variance with the +busy handling of her knife and fork. +</p> + +<p> +The gold frame round General Mallett’s portrait dimly shone, the flowers +on the table seemed to give out their beauty and their scent with conscious +desire to please, to add their offerings, and for Henrietta the grotesqueness +of the elder aunts, their gay attire, their rouge and wrinkles, gave a touch of +fantasy to what would otherwise have been too orderly and too respectable a +scene. +</p> + +<p> +In this room of beautiful inherited things, where tradition had built strong +walls about the Malletts, the sight of Caroline was like a gate leading into +the wide, uncertain world and the sight of Rose, all cream and black, was like +a secret portal leading to a winding stair. At this hour, romance was in the +house, beckoning Henrietta to follow through that gate or down that stair, but +chiefly hovering about the figure of Rose who sat so straight and kept so +silent, her white hands moving slowly, the pearls glistening on her neck, her +face a pale oval against the darkness. She was never more mysterious or more +remote; with her even the common acts of eating and drinking seemed, to +Henrietta, to be made poetical; she was different from everybody else, but the +girl felt vaguely that the wildness of which Caroline made a boast and which +never developed into more than that, the wildness which had ruined her +father’s life, lay numbed and checked somewhere behind the amazing +stillness and control of Rose. And she was like a woman who had suffered a +great sorrow or who kept a profound secret. +</p> + +<p> +It was at this hour, when Henrietta was half awed, half soothed, yet very much +alive, feeling that tremendous excitements lay in wait for her just outside, +when she was wrapped in beauty, fed by delicate food, sensitive to the slim old +silver under her hands, that she sometimes felt herself actually carried back +to the boarding-house, and she saw the grimy tablecloth, the flaring gas jets, +the tired worn faces, the dusty hair of Mrs. Banks and the rubber collar of Mr. +Jenkins, and she heard little Miss Stubb uttering platitudes in her attempt to +raise the mental atmosphere. There was a great clatter of knives and forks, a +confusion of voices and, in a pause, the sound of the exclusive old gentleman +masticating his food. +</p> + +<p> +Then Henrietta would close her eyes and, after an instant, she would open them +on this candle-lighted room, the lovely figure of Aunt Rose, the silks and +laces and ornaments of Aunt Caroline and Aunt Sophia; and between the courses +one of these two would repeat the gossip of a caller or criticize the cut of +her dress. +</p> + +<p> +No, the conversation was not much better than that of the boarding- house, but +the accents were different. Caroline would throw out a French phrase, and +Henrietta, loving the present, wondering how she had borne the past, could yet +feel fiercely that life was not fair. She herself was not fair: she was giving +her allegiance to the outside of things and finding in them more pleasure than +in heroism, endurance and compassion, and she said to herself, “Yes, +I’m just like my father. I see too much with my eyes.” A little +fear, which had its own delight, took hold of her. How far would that likeness +carry her? What dangerous qualities had he passed on to her with his looks? +</p> + +<p> +She sat there, vividly conscious of herself, and sometimes she saw the whole +room as a picture and she was part of it; sometimes she saw only those three +whose lives, she felt, were practically over, for even Aunt Rose was +comparatively old. She pitied them because their romance was past, while hers +waited for her outside; she wondered at their happiness, their interest in +their appearance, their pleasure in parties; but she felt most sorry for Aunt +Rose, midway between what should have been the resignation of her stepsisters +and the glowing anticipation of her niece. Yet Aunt Rose hardly invited +sympathy of any kind and the smile always lurking near her lips gave Henrietta +a feeling of discomfort, a suspicion that Aunt Rose was not only ironically +aware of what Henrietta wished to conceal, but endowed with a fund of wisdom +and a supply of worldly knowledge. +</p> + +<p> +She continued to feel uncertain about Aunt Rose. She was always charming to +Henrietta, but it was impossible to be quite at ease with a being who seemed to +make an art of being delicately reserved; and because Henrietta liked to +establish relationships in which she was sure of herself and her power to +please, she was conscious of a faint feeling of antagonism towards this person +who made her doubt herself. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Caroline and Aunt Sophia were evidently delighted with their niece’s +presence in the house. They liked the sound of her laughter and her gay voice +and though Sophia once gently reproached her for her habit of whistling, which +was not that of a young lady, Caroline scoffed at her old-fashioned sister. +</p> + +<p> +“Let the girl whistle, if she wants to,” she said. +“It’s better than having a canary in a cage.” +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t do it too much, Henrietta, dear,” Sophia +compromised. “You mustn’t get wrinkles round your mouth.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” This was a consideration which appealed to Caroline. +“No, child, you mustn’t do that.” +</p> + +<p> +They admitted her to a familiarity which they would not have allowed her, and +which she never attempted, to exceed, but she was Reginald’s daughter, +she was a member of the family, and her offence in being also the daughter of +her mother was forgotten. Caroline and Sophia were deeply interested in +Henrietta. Henrietta was grateful and affectionate. The three were naturally +congenial, and the happiness and sympathy of the trio accentuated the pleasant +aloofness of Rose. Aunt Rose did not care for her, Henrietta told herself; +there was something odd about Aunt Rose, yet she remembered that it was Aunt +Rose who had thought of giving her the money. +</p> + +<p> +Three thousand pounds! It was a fortune, and on that Sunday when Henrietta was +to pay her first visit to Mrs. Batty, Aunt Caroline, turning the girl about to +see that nothing was amiss, said warningly, “You are walking into the +lion’s den, Henrietta. Don’t let one of those young cubs gobble you +up. I know James Batty, an attractive man, but he loves money, and he knows our +affairs. He married his own wife because she was a butcher’s +daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +“A wholesale butcher,” Sophia murmured in extenuation, “and I +am sure he loved her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And butchers,” Caroline went on, “always amass money. It +positively inclines one to vegetarianism, though I’m sure nuts are bad +for the complexion.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t intend to be eaten yet,” Henrietta said gaily. She +was very much excited and she hardly heeded Sophia’s whisper at the door: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not true, dear—the kindest people in the world, but +Caroline has such a sense of humour.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta found that the Batty lions were luxuriously housed. The bright yellow +gravel crunched under her feet as she walked up the drive; the porch was bright +with flowering plants arranged in tiers; a parlourmaid opened the door as +though she conferred a privilege and, as Henrietta passed through the hall, she +had glimpses of a statue holding a large fern and another bearing a lamp aloft. +</p> + +<p> +She was impressed by this magnificence; she wished she could pause to examine +this decently draped and useful statuary but she was ushered into a large +drawing-room, somewhat over-heated, scented with hot-house flowers, softly +carpeted, much-becushioned, and she immediately found herself in the embrace of +Mrs. Batty, who smelt of eau-de-cologne. Mrs. Batty felt soft, too, and if she +were a lioness there were no signs of claws or fangs; and her husband, a tall, +spare man with grey hair and a clean-shaven face, bowed over Henrietta’s +hand in a courtly manner, hardly to be expected of the best-trained of wild +beasts. +</p> + +<p> +But for these two the room seemed to be empty, until Mrs. Batty said +“Charles!” in a tone of timid authority and Henrietta discovered +that a fair young man, already showing a tendency to baldness, was sitting at +the piano, apparently studying a sheet of music. This, then, was one of the +cubs, and Henrietta, feeling herself marvellously at ease in this house, +awaited his approach with some amusement and a little irritation at his obvious +lack of interest. Aunt Caroline need have no fear. He was a plain young man +with pale, vague eyes, and he did not know whether to offer one of his nervous +hands at the end of over-long arms, or to make shift with an awkward bow. She +settled the matter for him, feeling very much a woman of the world. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, where’s John?” Mrs. Batty asked, and Charles answered, +“Ratting, in the stable.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Batty clucked with vexation. “It’s the first Sunday for weeks +that I haven’t had the room full of people. Now you won’t want to +come again. Very dull for a young girl, I’m sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, you can have a chat with Miss Henrietta,” Mr. Batty +said, “and afterwards perhaps she would like to see my flowers.” He +disappeared with extraordinary skill, with the strange effect of not having +left the room, yet Mrs. Batty sighed. Charles had wandered back to the piano, +and his mother, after compressing her lips and whispering, “It’s a +mania,” drew Henrietta into the depths of a settee. +</p> + +<p> +“Will he play to us?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” Mrs. Batty answered hastily. “He’s so +particular. Why, if I asked you to have another cup of tea, he’d shut the +piano, and that makes things very uncomfortable indeed. You can imagine. And +John has this new dog—really I don’t think it’s right on a +Sunday. It’s all dogs and cricket with him. Well, cricket’s better +than football, for really, on a Saturday in the winter I never know whether I +shall see him dead or alive. I do wish I’d had a girl.” She took +Henrietta’s hand. “And you, poor dear child, without a +mother—what was it she died of, my dear? Ah you’ll miss her, +you’ll miss her! My own dear mother died the day after I was married, and +I said to Mr. Batty, ‘This can bode no good.’ We had to come +straight back from Bournemouth, where we’d gone For our honeymoon, and by +the time I was out of black my trousseau was out of fashion. I must say Mr. +Batty was very good about it. It was her heart, what with excitement and all +that. She was a stout woman. All my side runs to stoutness, but Mr. +Batty’s family are like hop-poles. Well, I believe it’s healthier, +and I must say the boys take after him. Now I fancy you’re rather like +Miss Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“They say I am just like my father.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Batty said “Ah!” with meaning, and Henrietta tried to sit +straighter on the seductive settee. She could not allow Mrs. Batty to utter +insinuating ejaculations and, raising her voice, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Batty, do play something.” +</p> + +<p> +Charles Batty gazed at her over the shining surface of the grand piano and +looked remarkably like an owl, an owl that had lost its feathers. +</p> + +<p> +“Something? What?” +</p> + +<p> +“Charles!” exclaimed Mrs. Batty. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know,” Henrietta murmured. She could think of +nothing but a pictorial piece of music her mother had sometimes played on the +lodging-house piano, with the growling of thunder-storms, the twittering of +birds after rain and a suggestion of church bells, but she was determined not +to betray herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Whatever you like.” +</p> + +<p> +He broke into a popular waltz, playing it derisively, yet with passion, so that +Mrs. Batty’s ponderous head began to sway and Henrietta’s feet to +tap. He played as though his heart were in the dance, and to Henrietta there +came delightful visions, thrilling sensations, unaccountable yearnings. It was +like the music she had heard at the theatre, but more beautiful. Her eyes +widened, but she kept them lowered, her mouth softened and she caught her lip. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I call that lovely,” Mrs. Batty said, with the last chord. His +look questioned Henrietta and she, cautious, simply smiled at him, with a tilt +of the lips, a little raising of the eyebrows, meant to assure him that she +felt as he did. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’d play a pretty tune like that now and then, people would +be glad to listen,” Mrs. Batty went on. “I’m sure I quite +enjoyed it.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta’s suspicions were confirmed by these eulogies: she knew already +that what Mrs. Batty appreciated, her son would despise, and she kept her +little smile, saying tactfully, “It certainly made one want to +dance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you sing?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, a little.” She became timid. “I’m going to +learn.” With those vague eyes staring at her, she felt the need of +justification. “Aunt Caroline says every girl ought to sing. She and Aunt +Sophia used to sing duets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens!” The exclamation came from the depths of Charles +Batty’s being. “They don’t do it now, do they?” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta’s pretty laughter rang out. “No, not now.” But +though she laughed there came to her a rather charming picture of her aunts in +full skirts and bustles, their white shoulders bare, with sashes round their +waists and a sheet of music shared, their mouths open, their eyes cast upwards. +</p> + +<p> +“Every girl ought to sing,” Charles quoted, and suddenly darted at +Henrietta the word, “Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well—” It was ridiculous to be discomposed by this young +man, to whom, she was sure, she was naturally superior; but sitting behind that +piano as though it were a pulpit, he had an air of authority and she was +anxious to propitiate him. “Well—” Henrietta repeated, +hanging on the word. +</p> + +<p> +“For your own glorification, that’s all,” Charles told her. +“That’s all.” He caught his head in his hands. “It +drives me mad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Charles!” Mrs. Batty said again. That word seemed to be the whole +extent of her intercourse with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mad! Music—divine! And people get up and squeak. How they dare! A +violation of the temple!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear me!” Mrs. Batty groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“You play the piano yourself,” Henrietta said. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I can. I’d show you if you cared about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I would rather go and see Mr. Batty’s flowers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear, do. Charles, take her to your father.” Mrs. Batty was +very hot; it would be a relief to her to heave and sigh alone. +</p> + +<p> +Charles rose and advanced, stooping a little, carrying his arms as though they +did not belong to him and, in the hall, beside one of the gleaming statues, he +paused. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve offended you,” he said miserably. “I make +mistakes—somehow. Nobody explains. I shall do it again.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were rather rude,” Henrietta said. “Why should you +assume that I squeak?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure to,” Charles said hopelessly, “or gurgle. Look here, +I’ll teach you myself, if you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t be bullied.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ll never learn anything. Women are funny,” he said; +“but then everybody is. Do you know, I haven’t a single friend in +the world?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t get on.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it comes to that, I haven’t a friend of my own age, either. And +you have a brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ratting!” Charles said eloquently. “You’ll hear the +noise.” He handed her over to his father’s care. +</p> + +<p> +She was more than satisfied with her afternoon. She did not see John Batty but +she heard the noise; she was aware that Mr. Batty considered her a delightful +young person; she had sufficiently admired his flowers and he presented her +with a bunch of orchids. For Mrs. Batty she felt an amused affection; she was +interested in the unfortunate Charles. She felt her life widening pleasantly +and, as she crunched again down the gravel drive, the orchids in her hand, she +felt a disinclination to go home. She wanted to walk under the great trees +which, spread with brilliant green, made a long avenue on the other side of the +road; to wander beyond them, where a belt of grass led to a wild shrubbery +overlooking the gorge at its lowest point. +</p> + +<p> +Here there were unexpected little paths running out to promontories of the +cliff and, at a sudden turn, she would find herself in what looked almost like +danger. Below her the rock was at an angle to harbour hawthorn trees all in +bud, blazing gorse bushes, bracken stiffly uncurling itself and many kinds of +grasses, but there were nearly two hundred feet between her and the river, now +at flood, and she felt that this was something of an adventure. She followed +each little path in turn, half fearfully, for she was used to a policeman at +every corner; but she met no tramp, saw no suspicious-looking character and, +finding a seat under a hawthorn tree at a little distance from the +cliff’s edge, she sat down and put the orchids beside her. +</p> + +<p> +It was part of the strange change in her fortune that she should actually be +handling such rare flowers. She had seen them in florists’ windows +insolently putting out their tongues at people like herself who rudely stared, +and now she was touching them and they looked quite polite, and she thought, +with the bitterness which, bred of her experiences, constantly rose up in the +midst of pleasures, “It’s because they know I have three thousand +pounds and six pairs of silk stockings.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she noticed that one of the flowers was missing, a little one of a fairy +pink and shape, and almost immediately she heard footsteps on the grass and saw +a man approaching with the orchid in his hand. She recognized the man she had +seen riding the black horse on the day she arrived in Radstowe and her heart +fluttered. This was romance, this, she had time to think excitedly, must be +preordained. But when he handed her the flower with a polite, “I think +you dropped this,” she wished he had chosen to keep the trophy. If she +had had the happiness of seeing him conceal it! +</p> + +<p> +She said nervously, “Oh, yes, thank you very much. I’d just missed +it,” and as he turned away she had at least the minor joy of seeing a +look of arrested interest in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +She sat there holding the frail and almost sacred branch. She supposed she was +in love; there was no other explanation of her feelings; and what a marvellous +sequence of events! If Mr. Batty had not given her the orchids this romantic +episode could not have happened. And she was glad that the eyes of the stranger +had not rested on her that first day when she was wearing her shabby, her +atrociously cut clothes. Fate had been kind in allowing him to see her thus, in +a black dress with a broad white collar, a carefully careless bow, silk +stockings covering her matchless ankles and—she glanced down—shoes +that did their best to conceal the squareness of her feet. +</p> + +<p> +She recognized her own absurdity, but she liked it: she Had leisure in which to +be absurd, she had nothing else to do, And romance, which had seemed to be +waiting for her outside Nelson Lodge, had now met her in the open! She was not +going to pass it by. This was, she knew, no more than a precious secret, a +little game she could play all by herself, but it had suddenly coloured vividly +a life which was already opening wider; and she would have been astonished and +perhaps disgusted, to learn that Aunt Rose had once occupied herself with +similar dreamings. But She was spared that knowledge and she was tempted to +wait in her place on the chance that the stranger would return, but, deciding +that it was hardly what a Mallett would do, she rose reluctantly, carrying the +pink orchid in one hand, the less favoured ones in the other. +</p> + +<p> +The evening was exquisite: she saw a pale-blue sky fretted with green leaves, +striped with tree trunks astonishingly black; she heard steamers threshing +through the water and giving out warning whistles, sounds to stir the heart +with the thoughts of voyage, of danger, and of unknown lands; and as she walked +up the long avenue of elms she found that all the people strolling out after +tea for an evening walk had happy, pleasant faces. +</p> + +<p> +She met fathers and mothers in loitering advance of children, shy lovers with +no words for each other, an old lady in a bath chair propelled by a man as old, +young men in check caps, with flowers in their coats, earnest people carrying +prayer-books and umbrellas, girls with linked arms and shrill laughter; and she +envied none of them: not the children, finding interest in everything they saw; +not the parents, proud in possession; not the old lady whose work was done, not +the young men and women eyeing each other and letting out their enticing +laughter; she envied no one in the world. She had found an occupation, and that +night, sitting at the dinner-table, she was conscious of the difference in +herself and of a new kinship with these women, the two who could look back on +adventures, rosy and poetic, the one who seemed shrouded in some delicate +mystery. It was as though she, too, had been initiated; she was surer of +herself, even in the presence of Aunt Rose, with her beauty like that of a +white flower, the faint irony of her smile. +</p> + +<h3>§ 4</h3> + +<p> +A few days later Rose said, “I want to take you to see a friend of mine, +a Mrs. Sales.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do the milkcarts belong to them?” Henrietta asked at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” Rose was amused. “Mrs. Sales is an invalid and she +would like to see you. Shall we go on Saturday?” She added as she left +the room, “Mrs. Sales was hurt in a hunting accident, but you need not +avoid the subject. She likes to talk about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a good thing,” Henrietta said, practically. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Rose was dressed for walking and Henrietta was afraid of being asked to go +with her, but Aunt Rose made no such suggestion. Since Sunday Henrietta had +been exploring Radstowe and its suburbs with an enthusiasm surprising to the +elder aunts, who did not care for exercise; but Henrietta was as much inspired +by the hope of seeing that man again as by interest in the old streets, the +unexpected alleys, the flights of worn steps leading from Upper to Lower +Radstowe, the slums, cheek by jowl with the garden of some old house, the big +houses deteriorated into tenements. All these had their own charm and the added +one of having been familiar to her father, but she never forgot to watch for +the hero on the horse, the restorer of her orchid. If she met him, should she +bow to him, or pretend not to see him? She had practised various expressions +before the glass, and had almost decided to look up as he passed and flash a +glance of puzzled recognition from her eyes. She thought she could do it +satisfactorily and to-day she meant to cross the bridge for the first time. He +had been riding over the bridge that afternoon and what had happened once might +happen again. Moreover, she had a feeling that across the water there was +something waiting for her. Certainly behind the trees clothing the gorge there +was the real country, with cows and sheep and horses in the meadows, with the +possibility of rabbits in the lanes, and she had never yet seen a rabbit +running wild. There were innumerable possibilities on that farther side. +</p> + +<p> +She crossed the bridge, stood to look up and down the river, to watch the +gulls, white against the green, to consider the ant-like hurrying of the people +on the road below and the clustered houses on the city side, a medley of shapes +and colours, rising in terraces, the whole like some immense castle guarding +the entrance to the town. And as before, carriages and carts went and came +over, schoolgirls on bicycles, babies in perambulators, but this time there was +no man on a horse. She knew that this mattered very little; her stimulated +excitement was hardly more than salt and pepper to a dish already appetizing +enough, and now and then as she went along the road on a level with the +tree-tops in the gorge and had glimpses of water and of rock, she had to remind +herself of her preoccupation. +</p> + +<p> +She passed big houses with their flowery gardens and then, suddenly timorous, +she decided not to go too far afield. She might get lost, she might meet nasty +people or horned beasts. A little path on her right hand had an inviting look; +it might lead her down through the trees to the water’s edge. It was all +strewn and richly brown with last autumn’s leaves and on a tree a few +yards ahead she saw a brilliant object—tiny, long-tailed, extraordinarily +swift. It was out of sight before she had time to tell herself that this was a +squirrel; and again she had a consciousness of development. She had seen a +squirrel in its native haunts! This was wonderful, and she approached the tree. +The squirrel had vanished, but these woods, within sound of a city, yet +harbouring squirrels, seemed to have become one of her possessions. She was +enriched, she was a different person, and she, whose familiar fauna had been +stray cats and the black beetles in Mrs. Banks’ kitchen, was actually in +touch with nature. She now felt equal to meeting unattended cows, but the woods +offered enough excitement for to-day. +</p> + +<p> +She found that her path did not immediately descend. It led her levelly to an +almost circular green space; then it became enclosed again and soft to the feet +with grass; and just ahead of her, blocking her way, she saw two figures, those +of a woman and a man. Their backs were towards her, but there was no mistaking +Aunt Rose’s back. It was straight without being stiff, her dress fell +with a unique perfection and the little hat and grey floating veil were hers +alone. +</p> + +<p> +For an instant Henrietta stood still, and the man, turning to look at his +companion, showed the profile of her stranger. At the same moment he touched +Aunt Rose’s hand and before Henrietta swerved and sped back whence she +had come, she saw that hand removed gently, as though reluctantly, and the +head, mistily veiled, shaken slowly. +</p> + +<p> +Her first desire was for flight and, safely on the road again, she found her +heart beating to suffocation; she was filled with an indignation that almost +brought her to tears; it was as though Aunt Rose had deliberately robbed her of +treasure—Aunt Rose, who was almost middle-aged! For a moment she despised +that fair, handsome man whose image had filled her mind for what seemed a long, +long time; then she felt pity for him who had no eyes for youth, yet she +remembered his look of arrested interest. +</p> + +<p> +But steadying her thoughts and enjoying her dramatic bitterness, she laughed. +He had merely surprised her likeness to Aunt Rose and that was all. Her dream +was over. She had known it was a dream, but the awakening was cruel; it was +also intensely exciting. She did not regret it; she had at least discovered +something about Aunt Rose. She had a lover. That look of his, that pleading +movement of his hand, were unmistakable; he was a lover, and perhaps she, +Henrietta Mallett, alone knew the truth. She had suspected a secret, now she +knew it; and she had a sense of power, she had a weapon. She imagined herself +standing over Aunt Rose, armed with knowledge, no longer afraid; she was +involved in a romantic, perhaps a shameful, situation. Aunt Rose was meeting a +lover clandestinely in the woods while Aunt Caroline and Aunt Sophia sat +innocently at home, marvelling at Rose’s indifference to men, yet +rejoicing in her spinsterhood; and Henrietta felt that Rose had wronged her +stepsisters almost as much as she had wronged her niece. She was deceitful; +that, in plain terms, accounted for what had seemed a mysterious and conquered +sorrow. It was Henrietta who was to suffer, through the shattering of a dream. +</p> + +<p> +She went home, walking quickly, but feeling that she groped in a fog, broken +here and there by lurid lights, the lights of knowledge and determination. She +was younger than Aunt Rose, she was as pretty, and she was the daughter of +Reginald Mallett who, though she did not know it, had always wanted the things +desired by other people. She could continue to love her stranger and at the +back of her mind was the unacknowledged conviction that Aunt Rose’s +choice must be well worth loving. And again how strangely events seemed to +serve her: first the dropping of an orchid and now the leaping of a squirrel! +She felt herself in the hands of higher powers. +</p> + +<p> +She had a feverish longing to see Rose again, to see her plainly for the first +time and dressing for dinner was like preparing for a great event. Yet when +dinner-time came everything was surprisingly the same. The deceived Caroline +and Sophia ate with the usual appetite, Susan hovered with the same quiet +attention, and Rose showed no sign of a recent interview with a lover. Across +the candlelight she looked at Henrietta kindly and Henrietta remembered the +three thousand pounds. She did not want to remember them. They constituted an +obligation towards this woman who did not sufficiently appreciate her, who met +that man secretly, in a wood, who was beautiful with a far-off kind of beauty, +like that of the stars. And while these angry thoughts passed through +Henrietta’s mind, Rose’s tender expression had developed into a +smile, and she asked, “Did you have a nice walk?” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta gulped. She looked steadily at Rose, and on her lips certain words +began to form themselves, but she did not utter them, and instead of saying as +she intended, “Yes, I went across the bridge and into those woods on the +other side,” she merely said, “Yes, yes, thank you,” and +smiled back. It had been impossible not to smile and she was angry with Aunt +Rose for making her a hypocrite. Perhaps she had smiled like that in the wood +and she did not look so very old. Even the flames of the candles, throwing her +face into strong relief as she leaned forward, did not reveal any lines. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t walk too much, child,” Caroline said. “It +enlarges the feet. Girls nowadays can wear their brothers’ shoes and men +don’t like that. Have I ever told you”—Caroline was given to +repetition of her stories—“how one of my partners, ridiculous +creature, insisted on calling me Cinderella for a whole evening? Do you +remember, Sophia?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear,” Sophia said, and she determined that some day, when +she was alone with Henrietta, she would tell her that she, too, had been called +Cinderella that night. It was hard, but, since she loved her sister, not so +very hard, to ignore her own little triumphs, yet she would like Henrietta to +know of them. “Dear child,” she murmured vaguely. +</p> + +<p> +“We have our shoes made for us,” Caroline went on. +“It’s necessary.” She snorted scorn for a large-footed +generation. +</p> + +<p> +Rose laughed. She said, “Walk as much as you like, Henrietta. Health is +better than tiny feet.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta had no response for this remark. For the first time she felt out of +sympathy with her surroundings, and her resentment against Rose spread to her +other aunts. They were foolish in their talk of men and little feet; they knew, +for all their worldliness, nothing about life. They had never known what it was +to be insufficiently fed or clothed; they had never battled with black beetles +and mutton bones, their white hands had never been soiled by greasy water and +potato skins and she felt a bitterness against them all. “Nonsense, +Rose, what do you know about it?” Caroline asked. “You’re a +nun, that’s what you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, lovely!” Sophia sighed, but Henrietta, thinking of that man in +the wood, raised her dark eyebrows sceptically. +</p> + +<p> +“Lovely! Rubbish! A nun, and the first in the family. All our +women,” Caroline turned to Henrietta, “have broken hearts. They +can’t help it. It’s in the blood. You’ll do it yourself. All +except Rose. And our men—” she guffawed; “yes, even the +General—but if I tell you about our men Sophia will be shocked.” +</p> + +<p> +“The men!” Henrietta straightened herself and looked round the +table. Her dark eyes shone, and the anger she was powerless to display against +Aunt Rose, the remembrance of her own and her mother’s struggles, found +an outlet. “You can’t tell me anything I don’t know. I +don’t think it is funny. Haven’t I suffered through one of them? My +father, he wasn’t anything to boast about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Henrietta,” Sophia said gently, and Caroline uttered a stern, +“What are you saying?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care,” Henrietta said. “Perhaps you’re +proud of all the harm he did, but my mother and I had to bear it. He was weak +and selfish; we nearly starved, but he didn’t. Oh, no, he +didn’t!” With her hands clasped tightly on her knee she bent over +the table and her head was lowered with the effect of some small animal +prepared for a spring. “Do you know,” she said, “he wore silk +shirts? Silk shirts! and I had only one set of underclothing in the world! I +had to wash them overnight. That was my father—a Mallett! Were they all +like that?” +</p> + +<p> +There was silence until Caroline, peeling an apple with trembling fingers, said +severely, “I don’t think we need continue this conversation.” +Her indignation was beyond mere words; she was outraged; her brother had been +insulted by this child who owed his sisters gratitude; the family had been held +up to scorn, and Henrietta, aware of what she had done and of her obligations, +was overwhelmed with regret, with confusion, with the sense that, after all, it +was she who really loved and understood her father. +</p> + +<p> +“We will excuse you, Henrietta, if you have finished your dessert,” +Caroline said. She had a great dignity. +</p> + +<p> +This was a dismissal and Henrietta stood up. She could not take back her words, +for they were true: she did not know how to apologize for their manner; she +felt she would have to leave the house to-morrow and she had a sudden pride in +Aunt Caroline and in her own name. But there was nothing she could do. +</p> + +<p> +Most unexpectedly, Rose intervened. “You must forgive Henrietta’s +bitterness,” she said quietly. “It is natural.” +</p> + +<p> +“But her own father!” Sophia remonstrated tearfully, and added +tenderly, “Ah, poor child!” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta dropped into her chair. She wept without concealment. “It +isn’t that I didn’t love him,” she sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, yes, you loved him,” Sophia said. “So did we.” She +dabbed her face with her lace handkerchief. “It is Rose who knows nothing +about him,” she said, with something approaching anger. +“Nothing!” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps that is why I understand,” Rose said. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, you don’t!” Henrietta cried. She could not admit +that. She would not allow Aunt Rose to make such a claim. She looked from +Caroline to Sophia. “It’s we who know,” she said. Yes, it was +they three who were banded together in love for Reginald Mallett, in their +sympathy for each other, in the greater nearness of their relationship to the +person in dispute. She looked up, and she saw through her tears a slight quiver +pass over the face of Rose and she knew she had hurt her and she was glad of +it. “You must forgive me,” she said to Caroline. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well; he was a wretch—a great wretch—a great dear. Let +us say no more about it.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Rose, now, who was in disgrace, and it was Henrietta, Caroline and +Sophia who passed an evening of excessive amiability in the drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta felt heroically that she had thrown down her glove and it was +annoying, the next morning, to find Rose would not pick it up. She remained +charming; she was inimitably calm: she seemed to have forgotten her offence of +the night before and Henrietta delighted in the thought that, though Rose did +not know it, she and Henrietta were rivals in love, and she told herself that +her own time would come. +</p> + +<p> +She had only to wait. She was a great believer in her own luck, and had not +Aunt Caroline assured her that all the Mallett women were born to break +hearts—all but Aunt Rose? Some day she was bound to meet that man again +and, looking in the glass after the Mallett manner, she was pleased with what +she saw there. She was her father’s daughter. Her father had never denied +himself anything he wanted, and since her outbreak against him she felt closer +to him; she was prepared to condone his sins, even to emulate them and find in +him her excuse. She looked at the portrait on the wall, she kissed her hand to +it. Somehow he seemed to be helping her. +</p> + +<p> +But with all her carefully nurtured enmity, she could not deny her admiration +for Aunt Rose. She was proud to sit beside her in the carriage which took them +to Sales Hall, and on that occasion Rose talked more than usual, telling +Henrietta little stories of the people living in the houses they passed and +little anecdotes of her own childhood connected with the fields and lanes. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta sighed suddenly. “It must be nice,” she said, “to +be part of a place. You can’t be part of London, in lodging-houses, with +no friends. I should love to have had a tree for a friend, all my life. It +sounds silly, but it would make me feel different.” She was angry with +herself for saying this to Aunt Rose, but again she could not help it. She saw +too much with her eyes and Aunt Rose pleased them and she assured herself that +though these softened her heart and loosened her tongue, she could resume her +reserve at her leisure. “There was a tree, a cherry, in one of the +gardens once, but we didn’t stay there long. We had to go.” She +added quickly, “It was too expensive for us. I suppose they charged for +the tree, but I did long to see it blossom; and this spring,” she waved a +hand, “I’ve seen hundreds—I’ve seen a +squirrel—” She stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear little things,” Rose said. They were jogging alongside the +high, bare wall she hated, and the big trees, casting their high, wide branches +far above and beyond it, seemed to be stretching out to the sea and the hills. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you seen one lately?” Henrietta asked. +</p> + +<p> +“What? A squirrel? No, not lately. They’re shy. One doesn’t +see them often.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, then I was lucky,” Henrietta said. “I saw one in those +woods we’ve just passed, the other day.” She looked at her Aunt +Rose’s creamy cheek. There was no flush on it, her profile was serene, +the dark lashes did not stir. +</p> + +<p> +“Soon,” Rose said, “you will see hills and the +channel.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when shall we come to Mrs. Sales’ house? Is she an old +lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think you would call her very old. She is younger than I +am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s not old,” Henrietta said kindly. “Has she +any children?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, there’s a cat and a dog—especially a cat.” +</p> + +<p> +“And a husband, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, a husband. Do you like cats, Henrietta?” +</p> + +<p> +“They catch mice,” Henrietta said informatively. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think this one has ever caught a mouse, but it lies in +wait— for something. Cats are horrible; they listen.” And she +added, as though to herself, “They frighten me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m more afraid of dogs,” Henrietta said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but you mustn’t be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” Henrietta dared, “you’re afraid of cats.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know, but dogs, they seem to be part of one’s +inheritance—dogs and horses.” +</p> + +<p> +“All the horses I’ve known,” Henrietta said with her odd +bitterness, “have been in cabs, and even then I never knew them +well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Francis Sales must show you his,” Rose said. “There are the +hills. Now we turn to the left, but down that track and across the fields is +the short cut to Sales Hall. One can ride that way.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to see the dairy,” Henrietta remarked, “or do +they pretend they haven’t one?” +</p> + +<p> +Rose smiled. “No, they’re very proud of it. It’s a model +dairy. I’ve no doubt Francis will be glad to show you that, too. And here +we are.” +</p> + +<p> +The masculine hall, with its smell of tobacco, leather and tweed, the low +winding staircase covered with matting, its walls adorned with sporting prints, +was a strange introduction to the room in which Henrietta found herself. She +had an impression of richness and colour; the carpet was very soft, the +hangings were of silk, a fire burned in the grate though the day was warm and +before the fire lay the cat. The dog was on the window-sill looking out at the +glorious world, full of smells and rabbits which he loved and which he denied +himself for the greater part of each day because he loved his mistress more, +but he jumped down to greet Rose with a great wagging of his tail. +</p> + +<p> +She stooped to him, saying, “Here is Henrietta, Christabel. Henrietta, +this is Mrs. Sales.” +</p> + +<p> +The woman on the couch looked to Henrietta like a doll animated by some +diabolically clever mechanism, she was so pink and blue and fair. She was, in +fact, a child’s idea of feminine beauty and Henrietta felt a rush of +sorrow that she should have to lie there, day after day, watching the seasons +come and go. It was marvellous that she had courage enough to smile, and she +said at once, “Rose Mallett is always trying to give me pleasure,” +and her tone, her glance at Rose, startled Henrietta as much as if the little +thin hand outside the coverlet had suddenly produced a glittering toy which had +its uses as a dagger. She, too, looked at Rose, but Rose was talking to the dog +and it was then that Henrietta became really aware of the cat. It was certainly +listening; it had stretched out its fore-paws and revealed shining, nail-like +claws, and those polished instruments seemed to match the words which still +floated on the warm air of the room. +</p> + +<p> +“And now she has brought you,” Christabel went on. “It was +kind of you to come. Do sit here beside me. Tell me what you think of Rose. +Tell me what you think,” she laughed, “of your aunt. She’s +beautiful, isn’t she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, very,” Henrietta said, and she spoke coldly, because she, +too, was a Mallett, and she suspected this praise uttered in Rose’s +hearing and still with that sharpness as of knives. She had never been in a +room in which she felt less at ease: perhaps she had been prejudiced by Aunt +Rose’s words about the cat, but that seemed absurd and she was confused +by her vague feelings of anger and pity and suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +However, she did her best to be a pleasant guest. She had somehow to break the +tenseness in the room and she called on her reserve of anecdote. She told the +story of Mr. Jenkins trying to fetch his boots and catch a glimpse of Mrs. +Banks’s daily help who could cook but had no character; she described the +stickiness of his collar; and because she was always readily responsive to her +surroundings, she found it natural to be humorous in a somewhat spiteful way; +and at a casual mention of the Battys, she became amusing at the expense of +Charles and felt a slight regret when she had roused Christabel’s +laughter. It seemed unkind; he had confided in her; she had betrayed him; and +Rose completed her discomfiture by saying, “Ah, don’t laugh at poor +Charles. He feels too much.” +</p> + +<p> +Christabel nodded her head. “Your aunt is very sympathetic. She +understands men.” She added quickly, “Have you met my +husband?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Henrietta said, “I’ve only seen your +carts.” +</p> + +<p> +The two women laughed and it was strange to hear them united in that mirth. +Henrietta looked puzzled. “Well,” she explained, “it was one +of the first things I noticed. It stuck in my head.” Naturally the +impressions of that day had been unusually vivid and she saw with painful +clearness the figure of the man on the horse, as enduring as though it had been +executed in bronze yet animated by ardent life. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” Christabel said, “you are to have tea with the owner +of the carts. Rose has tea with him every time she comes. It’s part of +the ceremony.” She sighed wearily; the cat moved an ear; the nurse +entered as a signal that the visitors must depart. “You’ll come +again, won’t you?” Christabel asked, holding Henrietta’s hand +and, as Rose said a few words to the nurse, she whispered, “Come +alone”; and surprisingly, from the hearthrug, there was a loud purring +from the cat. +</p> + +<p> +It was like release to be in the matted corridor again and it was in silence +that Rose led the way downstairs. Henrietta followed slowly, looking at the +pictures of hounds in full cry, top-hatted ladies taking fences airily, +red-coated gentlemen immersed in brooks, but at the turn of the stairs she +stood stock-still. She had the physical sensation of her heart leaving its +place and lodging in her throat. Her stranger was standing in the hall; he was +looking at Aunt Rose, and she knew now what expression he was wearing in the +wood; he was looking at her half-angrily and as though he were suffering from +hunger. She could not see her aunt’s face, but when Henrietta stood +beside her, Rose turned, saying, “Henrietta, let me introduce Mr. +Sales.” +</p> + +<p> +He said, “How do you do?” and then she saw again that look of +interest with which she seemed to have been familiar for so long. “I +think I have seen you before,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“It was you who picked up my orchid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course.” He looked from her to Rose. “I couldn’t +think who you reminded me of, but now I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think we are very much alike,” Henrietta said. +</p> + +<p> +Rose laughed. “Oh, don’t say that. I have been glad to think we +are.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might be sisters,” said Francis Sales. +</p> + +<p> +This little scene, being played so easily and lightly by this man and woman, +had a nightmare quality for Henrietta. It had the confusion, the exaggerated +horror of an evil dream, without the far-away consciousness of its unreality. +Here she was, in the presence of the man she loved and it was wicked to love +him. She had longed to meet him and now she wished she might have kept his +memory only, the figure on the horse, the man with the pink orchid in his hand. +She had suspected her Aunt Rose of a secret love affair, she had now discovered +her guilty of sin. The evidence was slight, but Henrietta’s conviction +was tremendous. She was horrified, but she was also elated. This was drama, +this was life. She was herself a romantic figure; she was robbed of her +happiness, her youth was blighted; the woman upstairs was wronged and Henrietta +understood why there were knives on her tongue: she understood the watchfulness +of the cat. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, as they sat in the cool drawing-room with its pale flowery chintz, its +primrose curtains, the faded water-colours on the walls and Aunt Rose pouring +tea into the flowered cups, she might, if she had wished, have been persuaded +that she was wrong. Perhaps she had mistaken that angry, starving look in the +man’s eyes; it had gone; nothing could have been more ordinary than his +expression and his conversation. But she knew she was not wrong and she sat +there, on the alert, losing not a glance, not a tone. Her limbs were trembling, +she could not eat and she was astonished that Aunt Rose could nibble biscuits +with such nonchalance, that Francis Sales could eat plum cake. +</p> + +<p> +He was, without doubt, the most attractive man she had ever seen; his long +brown fingers fascinated her. And again she wondered at the odd sequence of +events. She had seen his name on the carts, she had seen him on the horse, he +had picked up her pink orchid, she had been led by Fate and a squirrel into the +wood and now she found him here. It was like a play and it would be still more +like a play if she snatched him from Aunt Rose. In that idea there was the +prompting of her father, but her mother’s part in her was a reminder that +she must not snatch him for herself. No, only out of danger; men were helpless, +they were like babies in the hands of women, and hands could differ; they could +hurt or soothe, and she imagined her own performing the latter task. She saw it +as her mission, and on the way home she told herself that her silence was not +that of anger but of dedication. +</p> + +<h3>§ 5</h3> + +<p> +She thought Aunt Rose looked at her rather curiously, though there was no +expression so definite in that glance. Her aunts did not ask questions, they +never interfered, and if Henrietta chose to be silent it was her own affair. +She was, as a matter of fact, swimming in a warm bath of emotion and she +experienced the usual chill when she descended from the carriage and felt the +pavement under her feet. She had dedicated herself to a high purpose, but for +the moment it was impossible to get on with the noble work. The mere business +of life had to be proceeded with, and though the situation was absorbing it +receded now and then until, looking at her Aunt Rose, she was reminded of it +with a shock. +</p> + +<p> +She looked often at her aunt, finding her more than ever fascinating. She tried +to see her with the eyes of Francis Sales, she tried to imagine how +Rose’s clear grey eyes, so dark sometimes that they seemed black, +answered the appeal of his, yet, as the days passed, Henrietta found it +difficult to remember her resignation and her wrongs in this new life of luxury +and pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +She woke each morning to the thought of gaiety and to the realization of +comfort and the blessed absence of anxiety. Her occupation was the getting of +enjoyment and she took it all eagerly yet without greed, and as she was +enriched she became generous with her own offerings of laughter, sympathy and +affection. She liked and looked for the brightening of Caroline and Sophia at +her approach, she became pleasantly aware of her own ability to charm and she +rejoiced in an exterior world no longer limited to streets. Each morning she +went to her window and looked over and beyond the roofs, so beautiful and +varied in themselves, to the trees screening the open country across the river +and if the sight reminded her to sigh for her own sorrows and to think bitterly +of Aunt Rose, she had not time to linger on her emotions. Summer was gay in +Upper Radstowe. There were tea-parties and picnics, she paid calls with her +aunts and learnt to play lawn tennis with her contemporaries. Her friendship +with the Battys ripened. +</p> + +<p> +She was always sure of her welcome at Prospect House, and though she often +assured herself that she could love no one but Francis Sales, that was no +reason why others should not love her. From that point of view John Batty was a +failure. He took her to a cricket match, but finding that she did not know the +alphabet of the game, and was more interested in the spectators than in the +players, he gave her up. He admired her appearance, but it did not make amends +for ignorance of such a grossness; and, equally displeased with him, she +returned home alone while he watched out the match. +</p> + +<p> +The next day when she paid her usual Sunday visit, she ignored him pointedly +and mentally crossed him off her list. Charles, ugly and odd, was infinitely +more responsive, though he greeted her on this occasion with reproach. +</p> + +<p> +“You went to a cricket match yesterday with John.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was very boring and I got a headache. I shall never go again.” +</p> + +<p> +“He said he wouldn’t take you.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta smiled subtly, implying a good deal. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t have thought,” Charles went on mournfully, +“of suggesting such a thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“My aunts were rather shocked. I went on the top of a tramcar with +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if you can go out with him, why shouldn’t you go out with +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“But where?” Henrietta questioned practically. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, to a concert.” +</p> + +<p> +“When?” +</p> + +<p> +“When there is one. I don’t know. They won’t have one in this +God-forsaken place until the autumn.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a long time ahead.” +</p> + +<p> +He spread his hands. “You see, I never have any luck. I just want you to +promise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ll promise,” Henrietta said. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be the first time I’ve been anywhere with a girl,” +he said. “I don’t get on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you wanted to?” +</p> + +<p> +He sighed. “Yes, but not much.” Her laughter, which was so pretty, +startled him; it also delighted him with its music, and his sad eyes grew wider +and more vague. He had an inspiration. “I’ll take you home +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going home. I’ve promised to go to Sales +Hall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sales Hall—oh, yes, he’s the man who talks at +concerts—when he goes. I know him. Have you ever wanted to murder anyone? +I’ve wanted to murder him. I might some day. You’d better warn +him.” +</p> + +<p> +Was this another strand in the web of her drama, she wondered. Was Aunt Rose +involved in this too? She breathed quickly. “Why, what has he done to +you?” +</p> + +<p> +He ground his teeth, looking terrible but ineffectual. “Stolen beauty. +That’s what his sort does. He kills lovely things that fly and run, for +sport, and he steals beauty, spoils it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“That man Sales.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no. Who has he stolen and spoilt?” +</p> + +<p> +“Heavenly music—and my happiness. I lost a bar—a whole bar, I +tell you. I’ll never forgive him. I can’t get it back.” +</p> + +<p> +“If that’s all—” Henrietta gestured. +</p> + +<p> +“And there are others,” Charles went on. “I never forget +them. I meet them in the streets and they look horrible—like +beetles.” “I believe you’re mad,” Henrietta said +earnestly. “It’s not sense.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is sense?” Henrietta could not tell him. She looked at him, a +little afraid, but excited by this proximity to danger. And I thought you would +understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I do.” She could not bear to let go of anything which +might do her credit. “I do. But you exaggerate. And Mr. +Sales—” She hesitated, and in doing so she remembered to be angry +with Charles Batty for maligning him. “How can you judge Mr. +Sales?” she asked with scorn. “He is a man.” “And what +am I?” Charles demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re—queer,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes”—his face twisted curiously—“I suppose if I +shot things and chased them, you’d like me better. But I +can’t—not even for that, but perhaps, some day—” He +seemed to lose himself in the vagueness of his thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +She finished his sentence gaily, for after all, it was absurd to quarrel with +him. “Some day we’ll go to a concert.” +</p> + +<p> +He recovered himself. “More than that,” he said. He nodded his head +with unexpected vigour. “You’ll see.” +</p> + +<p> +She gazed at him. It was wonderful to think of all the things that might happen +to a person who was only twenty-one, but she hastily corrected her thoughts. +What could happen to her? In a few short days events had rushed together and +exhausted themselves at their source! There was nothing left. She said good-bye +to Charles and thought him foolish not to offer to accompany her. She said, +“It’s a very long way to Sales Hall,” and he answered, +“Oh, you’ll meet that man somewhere, potting at rabbits.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think so? I hope he won’t shoot me.” And she saw +herself stretched on the ground, wounded, dying, with just enough force to +utter words he could never forget—words that would change his whole life. +She was willing to sacrifice herself and she said good-bye to Charles again, +and sorrowfully, as though she were already dead. She tried to plan her dying +words, but as she could not hit on satisfactory ones, she contented herself +with deciding that whether she were wounded or not, she would try to introduce +the subject of Aunt Rose; and as she went she looked out hopefully for a tall +figure with a gun under its arm. +</p> + +<p> +She met it, but without a gun, on the track where, on one side, the trees stood +in fresh green, like banners, and on the other the meadows sloped roughly to +the distant water. He had been watching for her, he said, and suddenly over her +assurance there swept a wave of embarrassment, of shyness. She was alone with +him and he was not like Charles Batty. He looked down at her with amusement in +his blue, thick-lashed eyes, and it was difficult to believe that here was the +hero, or the villain, of the piece. She felt the sensation she had known when +he handed her the orchid, and she blushed absurdly when he actually said, as +though he read her thoughts, “No orchids to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” She laughed up at him. “That was a special treat. I +didn’t see Mr. Batty this afternoon, and he couldn’t afford to give +them away every Sunday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you go there every Sunday?” “Yes; they’re very +kind.” +</p> + +<p> +“They would be.” +</p> + +<p> +This reminded her a little of Mr. Jenkins, though she cast the idea from her +quickly. Mr. Jenkins was not worthy of sharing a moment’s thought with +Francis Sales; his collar was made of rubber, his accent was grotesque; but the +influence of the boarding-house was still on her when she asked very +innocently, “Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I needn’t tell you that.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Mr. Jenkins again, but in a voice that was soft, almost caressing. Did +Mr. Sales talk like this to Aunt Rose? She could not believe it and she was +both flattered and distressed. She must assert her dignity and she had no way +of doing it but by an expression of firmness, a slight tightening of lips that +wanted to twitch into a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Charles Batty,” the voice went on, “seems to have missed +his opportunities, but I have always suspected him of idiocy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what you mean,” she said untruthfully, and +then, loyally, she protested. “But he’s not an idiot. He’s +very clever, too clever, not like other people.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there are different names for that sort of thing,” he said +easily, and she was aware of an immense distance between her and him— he +seemed to have put her from him with a light push—and at the same time +she was oppressively conscious of his nearness. She felt angry, and she burst +out, “I won’t have you speaking like that about Charles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not, if he’s a friend of yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I won’t have you laughing at me.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped in his long stride. “Don’t you laugh yourself at the +things that please you very much?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t!” she begged. He was too much for her; she was +helpless, as though she had been drugged to a point when she could move and +think, but only through a mist, and she felt that his ease, approaching +impudence, was as indecent as Aunt Rose’s calm. It was both irritating +and pleasing to know that she could have shattered both with the word she was +incapable of saying, but her nearest approach to that was an inquiry after the +health of Mrs. Sales. He replied that she was looking forward to +Henrietta’s visit. She had very few pleasures and was always glad to see +people. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Rose”—here was an opportunity—“comes, +doesn’t she, every week?” +</p> + +<p> +He said he believed so. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you know her when she was a little girl?” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a discouraging affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“What was she like?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know.” He had, indeed, forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you must remember her when she was young.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young?” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta nodded bravely though he seemed to smoulder. “As young as I +am.” +</p> + +<p> +“She was exactly the same as she is now. No, not quite.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nicer?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nicer? What a word! Nice!” He looked all round him and made a +flourish with his stick. He could not express himself, yet he seemed unable to +be silent. “Do you call the sky nice?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, very, when it’s blue.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave, to her great satisfaction, the kind of laugh she had expected. +“Let us talk about something a little smaller than the sky,” he +said. He looked down at her, and she was relieved to see the anger fading from +his face; but she was glad to have learnt something of what he felt for Aunt +Rose. To him she was like the sky whence came the rain and the sunshine, where +the stars shone and the moon, and she wondered to what he would have compared +herself. “You said we might be sisters.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked again. She wore a broad white hat in honour of the season, her black +dress was dotted with white; from one capable white hand she swung her gloves; +she tilted her chin, a trick she had inherited from her father, in a sort of +challenge. +</p> + +<p> +“You like the idea?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe it. I’m really the image of my father. Did +you know him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Heard of him, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s him I’m like,” Henrietta repeated firmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then the story of his good looks must be true.” +</p> + +<p> +Mixed with her pleasure, she had a return of disappointment. Here was Mr. +Jenkins once more, and while it was sad to discover his re-incarnation in her +ideal, it was thrilling to resume the kind of fencing she thought she had +resigned. She forgot her virtuous resolves, and the remainder of the walk was +enlivened by the hope of a thrust which she would have to parry, but none came. +Francis Sales seemed to have exhausted his efforts, and at the door he said +with a sort of sulkiness, “I think you had better go up alone. You must +let me see you home.” +</p> + +<p> +This was not her first solitary visit to Christabel Sales, and she half +dreaded, half enjoyed meeting the glances of those wide blue eyes, which were +searching behind their innocence and hearing remarks which, though dropped +carelessly, always gave her the impression of being tipped with steel. She was +bewildered, troubled by her sense that she and Christabel were allies and yet +antagonists, and her jealousy of her Aunt Rose fought with her unwilling +loyalty to one of her own blood. There were moments when she acquiesced in the +suggestions offered in the form of admiration, and others when she stiffened +with distaste, with a realization that she herself was liable to attack, with +horror for the beautiful luxurious room, the crippled woman, the listening cat. +Henrietta sometimes saw herself as a mouse, in mortal danger of a feline +spring, and then pity for Christabel would overcome this weariness; she would +talk to her with what skill she had for entertainment, and she emerged +exhausted, as though from a fight. +</p> + +<p> +This evening she was amazed to be received without any greeting, but a +question: “Has Rose Mallett told you why I am here?” Christabel was +lying very low on her couch. Her lips hardly moved; these might have been the +last words she would ever utter. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, a hunting accident. And you told me about it yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence, and then the voice, its sharpness dulled, said slowly, +“Yes, I told you what I remembered and what I heard afterwards. A hunting +accident! It sounds so simple. That’s what they call it. Names are +useful. We couldn’t get on without them. I get such queer ideas, lying +here, with nothing to do. Before I was married I never thought at all. I was +too happy.” She seemed to be lost in memory of that time. Henrietta sat +very still; she breathed carefully as though a brusqueness would be fatal, and +the voice began again. “They call you Henrietta. It’s only a name, +but it doesn’t describe you; nobody knows what it means except you, but +it’s convenient. It’s the same with my hunting accident. Do you +see?” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta said nothing. She had that familiar feeling of being in the dark, and +now the evening shadows augmented it. She was conscious of the cat behind her, +on the hearthrug. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see?” Christabel persisted. +</p> + +<p> +“Things have to be called something,” Henrietta said. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just what I have been telling you. And so Rose Mallett +calls it a hunting accident.” A high-pitched and thin laugh came from the +pillows. “She was terribly distressed about it. And she actually told me +she had suspected that mare from the first. She told me! It’s +funny—don’t you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Henrietta said stoutly, “not funny at all.” She +spoke in a very firm and reasonable voice, as though only her common sense +could combat what seemed like insanity in the other. “I think it’s +very sad.” +</p> + +<p> +“For me? Oh, yes, but I wasn’t thinking of that. I was thinking of +your charming aunt, the most beautiful woman in Radstowe. That’s what I +have heard her called. Yet why hasn’t she married? Can’t she find +anybody”—the voice was gentle—“to love her? She +suspected that mare but she warned nobody. Funny—” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta had a physical inward trembling. She felt a dreadful rage against the +woman on the couch, a sickening disgust, such as she would have felt at looking +down a dark, deep well and seeing slime and blind ugliness at the bottom. She +felt as though her ears were dirty; she tried to move, but she sat perfectly +still and, dreading what would come next, she listened, fascinated. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps she is in love with somebody. Does she get many letters, +Henrietta? She is very reserved, she doesn’t tell me much; but, of +course, I’m interested in her.” She laughed again. “I am very +anxious for her happiness. It would comfort me to know anything you can tell +me.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta managed to stand up. “I know nothing,” she said in a +slightly broken voice. “I don’t want to know anything.” +</p> + +<p> +Christabel interrupted smoothly. “Perhaps you are wise or you +couldn’t stay happily in that house. They’re all like witches, +those women. They frighten me. You must be very brave, Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very grateful,” Henrietta said; “and I +shan’t come here again, no, never. I don’t know what you have been +trying to tell me, but I don’t believe it. It’s no good crying. I +shall never come back. They’re not witches.” She had a vision of +them at the dinner table, Rose like a white flower, Caroline and Sophia +jewelled, gaily dressed, a little absurd, oddly distinguished. “Witches! +They are my father’s sisters, and I love them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but you don’t know Rose,” Christabel sobbed. “And +don’t say you will never come again. And don’t tell Francis. He +would be angry.” +</p> + +<p> +“How could I tell him?” Henrietta asked indignantly. “No, no, +I don’t want to see either of you again. I shall go away—go +away—” She left the room to the sound of a horrible, faint weeping. +</p> + +<p> +She meant what she had said. She thought she would go away from Radstowe and +forget Christabel Sales, forget Francis Sales, whom she would no longer pretend +to love; forget those insinuations that Aunt Rose was guilty of a crime. This +place and these people were abhorrent to her, she felt she had been poisoned +and she rushed down the long avenue where, overhead, the rooks were calling, as +though she could only be saved by the clean night air beyond the house. She was +shocked; she believed that Christabel was mad; the thought of that warm room +where the cat listened, made her gasp, and her horror extended to Francis Sales +himself. The place felt wicked, but the clear road stretching before her, the +pale evening sky and the sound of her own feet tapping the road restored her. +</p> + +<p> +She was glad to be alone and, avoiding the short cut, she enjoyed the sanity of +the highway used by ordinary men and women in the decent pursuit of their +lives. But now the road was empty and though at another time she would have +been afraid of the lonely country, to-night she had a sense of escape from +greater perils than any lurking here. And before long it all seemed like a +dream, but it was a dream that might recur if she ran the risk. +</p> + +<p> +No, she would never go there again, she would never envy Aunt Rose a lover from +that house, she would never believe that the worst of Christabel’s +implications were true. They were the fabrications of a suspicious woman, and +though her jealousy might be justified, it seemed to Henrietta that she +deserved her fate. She was hateful, she was poisonous, and Henrietta felt a +sudden tenderness for Aunt Rose and Francis Sales. They could not help +themselves, for they were unfortunate, she longed to show them sympathy and she +saw herself taking them by the hand and saying gently, “Confide in me. I +understand.” She imagined Aunt Rose melting at that touch and those words +into tears, perhaps of repentance, certainly of gratitude, but at this point +Henrietta’s fancies were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind +her. She quickened her pace, then began to run, and the steps followed, gaining +on her. She could not outrun them and she stopped, turning to see who came. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Mallett!” It was the voice of Francis Sales. She sank down on +a heap of stones, panting and laughing. He sat beside her. “What’s +the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. I hate to hear anybody coming behind me. It might +have been a tramp. I’m very much afraid of tramps.” +</p> + +<p> +“I said I would see you home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I forgot. Let us go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t stay long.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think Mrs. Sales is very well.” +</p> + +<p> +“She isn’t. She gets hysterical and that affects her heart. I +thought you would do her good.” He seemed to blame Henrietta. “And +I thought a walk with you would do me good, too. I have a pretty dull +life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you interested in your cows and things?” +</p> + +<p> +“A man can’t live on cows.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you have other things and you live in the country. People +can’t have everything. I don’t suppose you’d change with +anybody really, if you could. People are like that. They grumble, but they like +being themselves. Suppose you were a young man in a shop, measuring cloth or +selling bacon. You’d find that much duller, I should think.” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed a little. “Where did you learn this wisdom?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had experience,” she said staidly. “Yes, +you’d find it duller.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you’re right. But then, you might come to buy the bacon. I +should look forward to that.” +</p> + +<p> +In the darkness, these playful words frightened her a little; they hurt her +sense of what was fitting from him to her and at the same time they pleased her +with their hint of danger. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you?” she asked slowly. +</p> + +<p> +He paused, saying, “May I light a pipe?” and by the flame of the +match he examined her face quite openly for a moment. “You know I +would,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She met his look, her eyes wavered and neither spoke for a long time. She was +oppressed by his nearness, the smell of his tobacco, her own inexplicable +delight. From the trees by the roadside birds gave out happy chirrups, country +people in their Sunday clothes and creaking boots passed or overtook the silent +pair; a man on a horse rode out from a gate and cantered with very little noise +on the rough grass edging the road. Henrietta watched him until he disappeared +and then it seemed as if he had never been there at all. A sheep in a field +uttered a sad cry and every sight and sound seemed a little unreal, like things +happening on a stage. +</p> + +<p> +And gradually Henrietta’s excitement left her. The world seemed a sad and +lonely place; she remembered that she herself was lonely; there was no one now +to whom she was the first, and she had a longing for her mother. She wished +that instead of returning to Nelson Lodge with its cleanliness and richness and +comfort, she might turn the key of the boarding-house door and find herself in +the narrow passage with the smell of cooking and the gas turned low; she wished +she could run up the stairs and rush into the drawing-room and find her mother +sitting there, sewing by the fire, and see her look up and hear her say, +“Well, Henry dear, what have you been doing?” After all, that old +life was better than this new one. The troubles of her mother, her own young +struggles for food and warmth, the woes of Mrs. Banks, had in them something +nobler than she could find in the distresses of Christabel and Aunt Rose and +Francis Sales, something redeeming them from the sordidness in which they were +set. She checked a sob. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a long way,” she sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you tired?” His voice was gentle. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dreadfully.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then let us sit down again.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I must go on. I must get back.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you would talk to me, you wouldn’t notice the distance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to talk. I’m thinking. When we get to the +bridge you can go back, can’t you? There will be lights and I shall be +quite safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, but I wish you’d tell me what’s the +matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very unhappy,” Henrietta said with a sob. +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth for? Look here,”—he touched her +arm—“did Christabel say anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know why it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to cry?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no good crying.” +</p> + +<p> +He held the arm now quite firmly and they faced each other. “You’d +better tell me the whole story.” +</p> + +<p> +Her lips quivered. She wished he would loosen his grip and hoped he would go on +holding her for ever. It was a moment of mingled ecstasy and sadness. +“Oh,” she almost wailed, “can’t I be unhappy if I want +to?” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a short laugh, saying, “Poor little girl,” and stooping, +kissed her on the mouth. She endured that kiss willingly for a moment and then, +very lightly, struck him in the face. +</p> + +<h3>§ 6</h3> + +<p> +Afterwards there was some satisfaction in thinking that she had done the +dramatic thing—what the pure-minded heroine always did to the villain; +but at the time the action was spontaneous and unconsidered. Henrietta was not +really avenging an insult: she was simply expressing her annoyance at her +pleasure in it. Being, when she chose, a clear- sighted young woman, she +realized this, but she also knew that Francis Sales would find the obvious +meaning in the blow. For herself, she sanely determined to blot that episode +from her mind: it was maddening to think of it as an insult and dangerous to +remember its delight, and she was able calmly to tell her aunts that Mr. Sales +had seen her home. +</p> + +<p> +“Then why didn’t he come in?” Caroline asked with a grunt. +“Leaving you on the doorstep like a housemaid!” +</p> + +<p> +“He only came as far as the bridge.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear child! What was he thinking of? Men are not what they were, or +is it the women who are different? They haven’t the charm! They +haven’t the old charm! My difficulty was always to get rid of the +creatures. I’m disappointed in you, Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he’s married,” Henrietta said gravely. “I only +needed him on the dark roads and I should think he wanted to go back to Mrs. +Sales.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be the first time, then,” Caroline said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, isn’t he fond of her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t ask dangerous questions, child—and would you be fond +of her yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s very pretty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Caroline, don’t,” Sophia begged. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline chuckled. “Don’t what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Say what you were going to say.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline chuckled again. “I can’t help it. My tongue won’t be +tied. I’m like all the Malletts—” +</p> + +<p> +“But not before the child.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a prude, Sophia, and if Henrietta imagines that a man like +Francis Sales, any man worth his salt—besides, Henrietta has knocked +about the world. She is no more innocent than she looks.” +</p> + +<p> +“She doesn’t mean half she says,” Sophia whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“And neither is Francis Sales,” Caroline persisted. +“Ridiculous! Dark roads, indeed! I don’t think I care for your +wandering about at night, Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t do it again,” Henrietta said meekly. +</p> + +<p> +“Sophia and I—” Caroline began one of her reminiscences, to +which neither Sophia nor Henrietta listened. To the one, they were familiar in +their exaggeration, and the other had her own thoughts, which were +bewilderingly confused. +</p> + +<p> +She had meant to stand between Francis Sales and Aunt Rose; later she had +wished to help them, now she did not know whether she wanted to help or hinder. +The thing was too much for her, but she wondered if Aunt Rose had ever +experienced such a kiss. Meeting her a few minutes later on the stairs, with +her slim hand on the polished rail, a beautiful satin-shod foot gleaming below +the lace of her dress, she seemed a being too ethereal for a salute so earthly, +and because she looked so lovely, because Christabel had been unjust, Henrietta +forgot to feel unfriendly. +</p> + +<p> +Rose said unexpectedly, “Oh, Henrietta, I am glad you have come back. You +seem to have been away for a long time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I went to the Battys’ to tea and then to Sales Hall. I promised +Mrs. Sales. Do you mind?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not; but I missed you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Oh! I never thought of that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I always miss you,” Rose said gravely. “You have made a +great difference to us all.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta’s mouth opened with astonishment. “I had no idea. And I +do nothing but enjoy myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose laughed. “That’s what we want you to do. You must be as happy +as you can.” +</p> + +<p> +This, from Aunt Rose, was the most wonderful thing that had happened yet. +Henrietta was overcome by astonishment and gratitude. “I had no idea. I +never dreamt of your liking me. I thought you just put up with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t given me much chance,” Rose said in a low voice, +“of doing anything else.” +</p> + +<p> +It was true: Henrietta could not flourish when she thought herself +unappreciated, but now she expanded like a flower blossoming in a night. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, if we could be friends! There’s nobody to talk to except +Charles Batty, and I hated, I simply hated being at Sales Hall to-night.” +She tightened her lips and opened them to say, “I shan’t go there +again. I said so. She is a terrible woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“She has a great deal to bear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and she counts on your remembering that,” Henrietta said +acutely. +</p> + +<p> +“What was the matter to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hints,” Henrietta whispered. “Hints,” and she added +nervously, “about you.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose made a slight movement. “Don’t tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the cat. I ran away. She was crying, but I didn’t care. I ran +all down the avenue on to the road. Mr. Sales had said he would take me home, +but I didn’t wait. It was much better under the sky. Then I heard +footsteps, and it was Mr. Sales running after me.” She paused. Two stairs +above her, Aunt Rose stood, listening with attention. She was, as usual, all +black and white; her neck, rising from the black lace, looked like a bowl of +cream laid out of doors to cool in the night. +</p> + +<p> +“He kissed me,” Henrietta said abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +Rose did not move, and before she spoke Henrietta had time to wonder what had +prompted her to that confession. She had not thought about it, the words had +simply issued of themselves. +</p> + +<p> +“Kissed you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Henrietta said, and suddenly she wanted to make it easier +for Aunt Rose. “I think he was sorry for me. I told him I was unhappy, +but I couldn’t tell him why, I couldn’t say it was his wife. I +think he meant it kindly.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure he did,” Rose said with admirable self-possession. +“You look very young in that big hat, you are very young, and perhaps he +guessed what you had been through. Don’t think about it any more.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” Henrietta seemed to have no control over her tongue. +“But then, you see, I hit him.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose managed a laugh. “Oh, Henrietta, how primitive!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Henrietta agreed, but she knew she had betrayed Francis +Sales. She knew and Rose knew that she would not have struck him if the kiss +had been paternal. “I suppose it was vulgar,” she murmured sadly, +yet not without some skill. +</p> + +<p> +Rose descended the two stairs without a word and went to the bottom of the +flight, but there she paused, saying, “Take off your things and let us +have some music.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta was learning to sing, and in defiance of Charles Batty’s +prophecy, she neither squeaked nor gurgled. She piped with a pretty simplicity +and with an enjoyment which made her forget herself. Yet she looked charming, +standing in the candle-light beside the shining grand piano on which Aunt Rose +accompanied her, and to-night she felt they were united in more than the music: +they were friends, they were fellow-sufferers, and long after Henrietta had +tired of singing, Rose went on playing, mournfully, as it seemed to Henrietta, +consoling herself with sweet sounds. Sophia sat before her embroidery frame, +slowly pushing her needle in and out; Caroline read a novel with avidity and an +occasional pause for chuckles, and when Rose at length dropped her hands on her +knees and remained motionless, staring at the keys, Henrietta startled her +aunts by saying firmly, “I am just going to enjoy life.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose raised her head and her enigmatic smile widened a little. Caroline +exclaimed, “Good gracious! Why not?” Sophia said gently, +“That is what we wish.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta stiffened herself for questions which did not come. Nobody expressed +a desire to know what had caused this solemn declaration: Caroline went on +reading, Sophia embroidering; Rose retired to bed. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta was not daunted by this indifference. She persisted in her +determination; she cast off all thoughts of ministering like an angel, or +revenging like a demon; she enjoyed the gaieties with which the youth of +Radstowe amused itself during the summer months; she accompanied her aunts to +garden parties, ate ices, had her fortune told in tents, flirted mildly and +endured Charles Batty’s peculiar half-apprehensive tyranny. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing went amiss with Charles but what he seemed to blame her for it, and +while she resented this strange form of attention, she had a compensating +conviction that he was really paying tribute and she knew that the absence of +his complaints would have left a blank. Fixing her with his pale eyes, he +described the bitterness of life in his father’s office, his +mismanagement of clients, his father’s sneers, his mother’s sighs; +his sufferings in not being allowed to go to Germany and study music. +</p> + +<p> +“If I were a man,” Henrietta said, voicing a pathetic faith in +masculine ability to break bonds, “I would do what I liked. I’d go +to Germany and starve and be happy. A man can do and get anything he really +wants.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I shall remember that,” he said. “But I can’t go +to Germany now,” he added darkly, and when she asked him for a reason, he +groaned. “Even you—even you don’t understand me.” +</p> + +<p> +In this respect she understood him perfectly well, but she did not wish to +clear the mysterious gloom, not devoid of excitement, in which they moved +together; and they parted for the summer holidays, miserably on his part, +cheerfully on hers. She was going to Scotland with Aunt Rose and the prospect +was so delightful that she did not trouble to inquire about his movements. +</p> + +<p> +She was surprised and almost disappointed that he did not reproach her for this +thoughtlessness when, on her return, she went to call on Mrs. Batty and hear +about her annual holiday at Bournemouth. Mrs. Batty had suffered very much from +the heat, Mr. Batty had suffered from dyspepsia, and they were glad to be at +home again, though it was to find that John, without a hint to his parents, had +engaged himself to a girl with tastes like his own. +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s bull-dogs with her, instead of terriers,” Mrs. +Batty sighed. “She brings them here and they slobber on the +carpets—dirty things. And golf. But she’s a nice girl, and they go +out before breakfast with the dogs and have a game—but I did hope he +would look elsewhere, dear.” She gazed sentimentally at Henrietta. +“I don’t feel she will ever be a daughter to me. Of course, I +kissed her and all that when I heard the news, but now she just comes in and +says, ‘Hullo, Mrs. Batty! Where’s John?’ And that’s +all. I do like affection. She’ll kiss the bull-dogs, though,” Mrs. +Batty added grimly; “but whether she ever kisses John, I can’t say. +And as for Charles, he never looks at a girl, so I’m as badly off as +ever. Worse, for Charles, really Charles hasn’t a word to throw at me. He +comes down to breakfast and you’d think the bacon had upset him, and +it’s the best I can get. And his father sits reading the paper and +lifting his eyebrows over the edge at Charles. He’s very cool, Mr. Batty +is. Half the time, John comes in late for breakfast, after his game, you know, +and then he’s in too much of a hurry to talk. They might all be dumb. +With Charles it’s all that piano business. I tell him I wish he’d +go to Germany and be done with it, though I never think musicians are +respectable, with all that hair. Anyhow, Charles is getting bald, and he says +he’s too old to start afresh. And then he glares at his father. +It’s all very unpleasant. Still, he’s a good boy really. +They’re both good boys. I’ve a lot to be thankful for; and, my +dear,”—her voice sank, and she laid a plump hand on +Henrietta’s—“Mr. Batty says we may give a ball after +Christmas. Everybody in Radstowe. We shall take the Assembly Rooms. The date +isn’t fixed, and now and then, if he isn’t feeling well, Mr. Batty +says he can’t afford it. But that’s nonsense, we shall have it; but +don’t say a word. I’ve told nobody else, but somehow, Henrietta, I +always want to tell you everything, as if you were my daughter.” Mrs. +Batty sighed heavily. “If only Charles were different!” +</p> + +<p> +However, Charles surprised his mother that evening by walking to the gate with +Henrietta. Arrived there, he announced firmly that he would take her home. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going for a walk,” Henrietta said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, a walk. Well, all right. Where shall we go? I know, I will take you +where you’ve never been before.” +</p> + +<p> +It was October and already the lamps were lighted in the streets; they studded +the bridge like fairy lanterns for a fairy path to that world of woods and +stealthy lanes and open country where the wind rustled the gorse bushes on the +other side. Below, at the water’s edge, more lamps stood like sentinels, +here and there, straight and lonely, fulfilling their task, and as Charles and +Henrietta watched, the terraces of Radstowe became illuminated by an unseen +hand. Over everything there was a suggestion of enchantment: lovers, strolling +by, were romantic in their silence; a faint hoot from some steamer was like a +laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be dark over there, won’t it?” Henrietta asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Frightfully. We’ll cut across the fields.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to Sales Hall?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sales Hall? What for? To see that miserable fellow? We’re not +going near Sales Hall.” +</p> + +<p> +She breathed a word. +</p> + +<p> +“What did you say?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Cows,” she breathed again. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“But in the winter,” she said hopefully, “I should think they +shut them up at night, poor things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not cold enough yet for that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid of them, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Domestic animals,” he said calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Horns,” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +They said no more. Their path edged those woods which in their turn edged the +gorge; but here and there the trees spread themselves more freely and, through +the darkness, Henrietta had glimpses of furtive little paths, of dips and +hollows. A small pool, thick with early fallen leaves, had hardly a foot of +gleaming surface with which to gaze like an unwinking eye at the emerging +stars. But this skirting of the wood came to an end and there stretched before +their feet, which made the only sound in the quiet night, a broad white road +where the arched gateway of a distant house looked like the fragment of a +temple. +</p> + +<p> +“I like this,” Henrietta said; “I feel safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not for long,” Charles replied sternly. He opened a gate and +through a little coppice they reached a fence. “You’ll have to +climb it.” The broad fields on the other side were as dark as water and +as still. It was surprising, when she jumped down, to find she did not sink, to +find that she and Charles could walk steadily on this blackness, cut here and +there by the deeper blackness of a hedge. There were no cows, but sheep +stumbled up and bleated at their approach, and for some time the tinkling of +the bell-wether’s bell accompanied them like music. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a stile here,” Charles said, and from this they +plunged into another wood where birds fluttered and twittered and, in the +undergrowth, there were small stealthy sounds. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t come here alone,” Henrietta said, “for all +the world.” +</p> + +<p> +Charles said nothing. Mrs. Batty was right: it was like walking with a dumb +man. They left the wood and walked downhill beside a ploughed field, and in the +shelter of a high wall. An open lane brought them to a gate, the gate opened on +a rough road through yet another wood of larch and spruce and fir. The road was +deeply rutted and they walked in single file until Charles turned, saying, +“This is what I’ve brought you to see. This is ‘The +Monks’ Pool.’” +</p> + +<p> +A large pond, almost round and strewn with dead leaves about its edge, lay +sombrely on their right hand, without a movement, without a gleam. It was like +a pall covering something secret, something which must never be revealed, and +opposite, where the ground rose steeply, tall firs stood up, guardians of the +unknown. Faint quackings came from some unseen ducks among the willows and +water gurgled at the invisible outlet of the pond; there were little stirrings +and sighings among the trees. The protruding roots of an oak offered a seat to +Henrietta, and behind her Charles leaned against the trunk. +</p> + +<p> +It was comfortable to have him there, to be able to look at this dark beauty +without fear, and as she sat there she heard an ever-increasing number of +little sounds; they were caused by she knew not what: small creatures moving +among the pine needles, night birds on the watch for prey, water rats, the flop +of fish, the fall of some leaf over-ripe on the tree, her own slow breathing, +the muffled ticking of her heart; and into this orchestra of tiny instruments +there came slowly, and as if it grew out of all these, another sound. +</p> + +<p> +It was the voice of Charles, and it was so much a part of this rare experience, +it seemed so right a complement, that at first she did not listen to the sense +of what he said. The words had no clearer meaning than had the other voices of +the night; the whole thing was wonderful —the tall, immobile trees, the +small, secret sounds, the black lake like an immense, mysterious pall, the +steady booming of the voice, had the effect of magic. +</p> + +<p> +This was essential beauty revealed to her ears and eyes, but gradually the +words formed themselves into sentences and were carried to her brain. She +understood that Charles was talking of himself, of her, with an eloquence born +of long-considered thoughts. He was telling her how she appeared to him as a +being of light and sweetness and necessity; he was telling her how he loved +her; he was asking for nothing, but he was saying amazing things in language +worthy of his thoughts of her. +</p> + +<p> +That muffled ticking of her heart went on like distant drum beats, the symphony +of tiny instruments did not pause, the dominant sound of Charles’s voice +continued, and now, as she listened, she heard nothing but his voice. He was +not pathetic, he did not plead, he did not claim: he spoke of very old and +lasting things, and it was like hearing some one read a tale. She did not stir. +She forgot that this was Charles; it was a simple heart become articulate. And +then suddenly the voice stopped and the orchestra, as though in relief, in +triumph, seemed to play more loudly. A water rat dived again, a duck quacked +sleepily and a branch of a tree creaked mournfully under a lost puff of wind. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta turned her head and saw Charles Batty standing motionless against the +tree. His hat was tilted a little to one side and his eyes were staring +straight before him. Even the darkness was not entirely kind to him, but that +did not matter. She wondered if he knew what he had been saying; she could not +remember it all, but it would come back. As they went home over the dark +fields, she would remember it. It seemed to have everything and yet nothing to +do with her; it was like poetry that, without embarrassment, profoundly moves +the hearer, and his very voice had developed the dignity of his theme. +</p> + +<p> +He did not speak again. In complete silence they retraced their steps and at +the gate of Nelson Lodge he left her. In the little high-walled garden she +stood still. This had been a wonderful experience. She felt uplifted, better +than herself, yet she could not resist speculating on her probable feelings if +another than Charles Batty, if, for instance, Francis Sales, had poured that +rhapsody into the night. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>Book III: Rose and Henrietta</h2> + +<h3>§ 1</h3> + +<p> +Early one October afternoon, Rose Mallett rode to Sales Hall. She went through +a world of brown and gold and blue, but she was hardly conscious of beauty, and +the air, which was soft, yet keen, and exciting to her horse, had no +inspiriting effect on her. She felt old, incased in a sort of mental weariness +which was like armour against emotion. She knew that the spirit of the country, +at once gentle and wild, furtive and bold, was trying to reach her in every +scent and sound: in the smell of earth, of fruit, of burning wood; in the noise +of her horse’s feet as he cantered on the grassy side of the road, in the +fall of a leaf, the call of a bird or a human voice become significant in +distance; but she remained unmoved. +</p> + +<p> +This was, she thought, like being dead yet conscious of all that happened, but +the dead have the excuse of death and she had none; she was merely tired of her +mode of life. It seemed to her that in her thirty-one years the sum of her +achievement was looking beautiful and being loved by Francis Sales: she put it +in that way, but immediately corrected herself unwillingly. Her attitude +towards him had not been passive; she had loved him. She had owed him love and +she had paid her debt; she had paid enough, yet if to-day he asked for more, +she would give it. Her pride hoped for that demand; her weariness shrank from +it. +</p> + +<p> +And he had kissed Henrietta. The sharpness of that thought, on which from the +first moment on the stairs she had refused to dwell, steeling her mind against +it with a determination which perhaps accounted for her fatigue, was like a +physical pain running through her whole body, so that the horse, feeling an +unaccustomed jerk on his mouth, became alarmed and restive. She steadied him +and herself. A kiss was nothing —yet she had always denied it to Francis +Sales. She could not blame him, for she saw how her own fastidiousness had +endangered his. He needed material evidence of love. She ought, she supposed, +to have sacrificed her scruples for his sake; mentally she had already done it, +and the physical refusal was perhaps no more than pride which salved her +conscience and might ruin his, but it existed firmly like a fortress. She could +not surrender it. Her love was not great enough for that; or was it, she asked +herself, too great? She could not comfort herself with that illusion, and there +came creeping the thought that for some one else, some one too strong to need +such a capitulation, she would have given it gladly, but against Francis, who +was intrinsically weak, she had held out. +</p> + +<p> +Life seemed to mock at her; it offered the wrong opportunities, it strewed her +path with chances of which no human being could judge the value until the +choice had been made; it was like walking over ground pitted with hidden holes, +it needed luck as well as skill to avoid a fall. But, like other people, she +had to pursue her road: the thing was to hide her bruises, even from herself, +and shake off the dust. +</p> + +<p> +She had by this time reached the track which was connected with so much of her +life, and she drew rein in astonishment. They were felling the trees. Already a +space had been cleared and men and horses were busy removing the fallen trunks; +piles of branches, still bravely green, lay here and there, and the pine +needles of the past were now overlaid by chippings from the parent trees. What +had been a still place of shadows, of muffled sounds, of solemn aisles, the +scene of a secret life not revealed to men, was now half devastated, trampled, +and loud with human noises. It had its own beauty of colour and activity, there +was even a new splendour in the unencumbered ground, but Rose had a sense of +loss and sacrilege. Something had gone. It struck her that here she was +reminded of herself. Something had gone. The larch trees which had flamed in +green for her each spring were dead and she had this strange dead feeling in +her heart. +</p> + +<p> +She saw the figure of Francis Sales detach itself from a little group and +advance towards her. She knew what he would say. He would tell her, in that +sulky way of his, how many weeks had passed since he had seen her and, to avoid +hearing that remark, she at once waved a hand towards the clearing and said, +“Why have you done this?” +</p> + +<p> +He shrugged his shoulders. “To get money.” +</p> + +<p> +“But they were my trees.” +</p> + +<p> +“You never wrote,” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +She made a gesture, quickly controlled. Long ago when, in the first exultation +of their love and their sense of richness, they had marked out the limits of +their intercourse, so that they might keep some sort of faith with Christabel +and preserve what was precious to themselves, it had been decided that they +were not to meet by appointment, they were not to speak of love, no letters +were to be exchanged, and though time had bent the first and second rules, the +last had been kept with rigour. It was understood, but periodically she had to +submit to Francis Sales’s complaint, “You never wrote.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you cut down the trees,” she said half playfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you write?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Francis, you know quite well.” +</p> + +<p> +He was looking at the ground; he had not once looked at her since her greeting. +“You go off on a holiday, enjoying yourself, while I—who did you go +with?” +</p> + +<p> +“With Henrietta,” Rose said softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that girl. But here I am. I have come back.” She seemed to +invite him to be glad. “And,” she went on calmly, feeling that it +did not matter what she said, “what a queer world to come back to. I miss +the trees. They stood for my childhood and my youth; yes, they stood for it, so +straight—I must go on. Christabel is expecting me.” +</p> + +<p> +“She didn’t tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“No?” Rose questioned without surprise. “I suppose I shall +see you at tea?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He nodded and she touched her horse. Something had happened to him as well as +to her and a mass of pain lodged itself in her breast. He was different, and as +though he had suspected the weary quality of her love he had met her with the +same kind, or perhaps with none at all. A little while ago she was half longing +for release from this endless necessity of controlling herself and him; from +the shifts, the refusals and the reproaches which had gradually become the +chief part of their intercourse; and now he had dared to seem indifferent, +though he had not forgotten to reproach! She could almost feel the healthy +pallor of her face change to a sickly white; her anger chilled and then +stiffened her into a rigidity of body and mind and when she dismounted she slid +down heavily, like a figure made of wood. +</p> + +<p> +The man who took her horse looked at her curiously. Miss Mallett always had a +pleasant word for him and, conscious of his stare, she forced a smile. She had +not ridden for weeks, she told him; she was tired. He was amused at that. She +had been born in the saddle; he remembered her as a little girl on a Shetland +pony and he did not believe she could ever tire. “Must be something wrong +somewhere,” he said, examining girth and pommels. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s old age coming on,” Rose said gravely. +</p> + +<p> +He thought that a great joke. He was twice her age already and considered +himself in his prime. He led the horse away and Rose went into the house. +</p> + +<p> +How extraordinarily limited her life had been! It had passed almost entirely in +this house and Nelson Lodge and on the road between the two. Of all her +experiences the only ones that mattered had been suffered here, and they had +all been of one kind. Even Henrietta’s fewer years had been more varied. +She had known poverty and been compelled to the practical application of her +wits, she had baffled Mr. Jenkins, she had been kissed by Francis Sales. +</p> + +<p> +Rose stood for a moment in the hall and looked for the mirror which was not +there. She did not wish to give Christabel Sales the satisfaction of seeing her +look distraught, but a peep in the glass of one of the sporting prints +reassured her. Her appearance almost made her doubt the reality of the feelings +which consisted of a great heat in the head and a deadly cold weight near her +heart and which forced these triumphant words from her lips—“At +least Henrietta has never felt like this.” +</p> + +<p> +She entered Christabel’s room calmly, smiling and prepared for news, but +at the first sight of the invalid, lying very low in her bed and barely turning +her head at the sound of the opening door, she thought that perhaps +Christabel’s weakness had at last overcome her enmity. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very ill,” she said faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t say that. You may as well tell the truth—to +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I must say again that I am sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder why.” +</p> + +<p> +To that Rose made no answer, and before Christabel spoke again she had time to +notice that the cat had gone. She breathed more easily. The cat had gone, the +trees were going and Francis was going too. Suddenly she felt she did not care. +The idea of an empty world was pleasant, but if Francis were really going, the +cat might as well have stayed. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me what you did in Scotland,” Christabel said. +</p> + +<p> +“I showed Henrietta all the sights.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Henrietta—she’s a horrid girl. She has stopped coming to +see me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You made yourself so unpleasant.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did she tell you that? Do you think she told Francis?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know she didn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I can’t make out why she should tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Henrietta and I are great friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you manage that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” Rose said slowly. “What has happened to +the cat?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s gone. It went out and never came back.” +</p> + +<p> +“How queer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Some one must have killed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think so,” Rose said thoughtfully. “I think it +decided to go. I’m sure it did.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean? What do you mean?” Christabel cried. “Had +you something to do with that, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not that I know of.” Rose laughed. She was tired of considering +every word before she uttered it. +</p> + +<p> +“With that too!” Christabel repeated a little wildly, and then in a +firm voice she said, “You’ve got to tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t know. You must make all inquiries of the cat. It was a +wise animal. It knew the time had come.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you’re mad,” Christabel said. +</p> + +<p> +“Animals are very strange,” Rose went on easily, “and rats +leave sinking ships.” +</p> + +<p> +A cry of terror came from Christabel. “You mean I’m going to +die!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” Rose became sane and reassuring. “I never thought +of that. It might have known it was going to die itself and an animal likes to +die decently alone. It had been getting unhealthily fat.” +</p> + +<p> +Christabel kept an exhausted silence, and Rose regretting her cruelty, aware of +its futility, said gently, “Shall I get you a kitten?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no kitten. They jump about. The old cat was so quiet. And I miss +him.” A tear rolled down either cheek. “It has been so lonely. +Everybody was away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we’ve all come back now,” Rose said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but that Henrietta—she’s deserted me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was your own fault, Christabel. You horrified her.” +</p> + +<p> +“It should have been you who did that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Things don’t always have the effect we hope for. You said too +much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but not half what I could have said.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too much for Henrietta, anyhow. I don’t think she will come +again.” +</p> + +<p> +Christabel smiled oddly and Rose knew that now she was to hear some news. +“You can tell her,” Christabel said, “that I shan’t say +anything to upset her. I shall say nothing about you—as she loves you so +much. Does she love you? I dare say. You make people love you—for a +little while.” Her voice lingered on those words. “Yes, for a +little while, but you don’t keep love, Rose Mallett. No, you don’t. +I’m sorry for you now. Tell Henrietta she needn’t be afraid, +because I’m sorry for you. Yes, you and I are in the same boat, in the +same deserted boat. +</p> + +<p> +If there were any rats they would run away. You said so yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I said the cat had gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you knew?” +</p> + +<p> +Rose shook her head. It was her turn to smile. She was prepared for anything +Christabel might say, she was even anxious to hear it, but when Christabel +spoke in a mysteriously gleeful manner, she had difficulty in repressing a +shudder. It was not, she told herself, that she suffered from the knowledge now +imparted by Christabel with detail and with proofs, but her malice, her +salacious curiosity were more than Rose could bear. She felt that the whole +affair, which at first, so long ago, had possessed a noble sadness, a secret +beauty, the quality of a precious substance enclosed in a common vial, was +indecent and unclean. +</p> + +<p> +“So you see,” Christabel said, “you haven’t kept him; +you won’t keep Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose said nothing. She was thinking of what she might have done and she was +glad she had not done it. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t seem to mind,” Christabel said. “Why +don’t you ask me why I’m so sure?” She laughed. “I +ought to know how to find things out by this time, and I know Francis, yes, +better than you do. When I had my accident—it wasn’t worth it, was +it?—I said to myself, “Now he won’t be faithful to me.” +When I knew I should have to lie here, I told myself that. And now +you—” Her voice almost failed her. “I suppose you +haven’t been kind enough to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think it’s time I went,” Rose said. +</p> + +<p> +“And you’ll never come back?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, if you want me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can say what I like to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can, indeed,” Rose murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“And tell Henrietta to come too.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I can’t ask Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +“I promise to be like a maiden aunt. Ah, but she has three already— +she knows what they are. That won’t attract her. I’ll be like an +invalid in a Sunday School story-book.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell her of your promise,” Rose said. +</p> + +<p> +There remained the task of having tea with Francis Sales and breaking the bonds +of which he had tired. She made it easy for him. That was necessary for her +dignity, but beyond the desire for as much seemliness as could be saved from +the general ugliness of their mistake, she had no feeling; yet she thought it +would be good to be in the open air, on horseback, free. If there had been +anything still owing, she had paid her debt with generosity. She gave him the +chance he wanted but did not know how to take, and she had to allow him to +appear aggrieved. She was cruel: she was tired of him; she was, he sneered, too +good for him. The words went on for some time, and if some of them were new, +their manner was wearisomely familiar. She was amazed at her own endurance, now +and in the past, and at last she said, “No, no, Francis. Say no more. +This is too much fuss. Perhaps we have both changed.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was you who began it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it? How can one tell?” +</p> + +<p> +“You began it,” he persisted. “There was a time when you went +white, like paper, when we met, and your eyes went black. Now I might be a +sheep in a field.” +</p> + +<p> +She was standing up, ready to go. “One gets used to things,” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +“I have never been used to you,” he muttered, and she knew that, +telling this truth, he also explained a good deal. “I never should be. +You’re like nobody else—nobody.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it is too much strain,” she murmured slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—well, it is you who have said it. I had made up my +mind—I’m not ungrateful—I never intended to say a +word.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled. This was the first remark which had really touched her. She found +it so offensive that a smile was the only weapon with which to meet it. +“I know that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But mind,” he almost shouted, “there’s nobody like +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, I know that too.” She turned to him with a silencing +sternness. “I tell you I know everything.” +</p> + +<h3>§ 2</h3> + +<p> +The old groom who held her horse nodded with satisfaction when he helped her +into the saddle. She had not lost her spring and he tightened her girths in a +leisurely manner and arranged her skirt with the care due to a fine rider and a +lady who understood a horse, yet one who was always ready to ask an old +man’s advice. He had a great admiration for Miss Mallett and, conscious +of it and rather pathetically glad of it, she lingered for the pleasure of +talking to some one who seemed simple and untroubled. He had spent all his life +on the Sales estate, and she wondered whether, though, like herself, of a +limited outward experience, he also had known the passions of love and disgust +and shame. He was sixty-five, he told her, but as strong as ever, and she +envied him: to be sixty-five with the turmoil of life behind him, yet to be +strong enough to enjoy the peace before him, was a good finale to existence. +She was only thirty-one, but she was strong too, and she felt as though she had +come through a storm, battered and exhausted but whole and ready for the calm +which already hovered over her. She said, “The young are always sorry for +the old, but that is one of the many mistakes they make. I think it must be the +best time of all.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you have them that cares for you,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +That was where her own happiness would break down. +</p> + +<p> +There were her stepsisters, who would probably die before herself; there was +Henrietta, who would form ties of her own; and there was no one else. If she +had had less faith in Francis Sales’s love and, at the same time, had +been capable of pandering to it, she might have had his devotion for her old +age, the devotion of a somewhat querulous and dull old man. Now she had not +even that to hope for, and she was glad. She had always wanted the best of +everything, and always, except in the one fatal instance, refused what fell +below her standard. She had not realized until now that Francis Sales had +always been below it. She had at least tried to wrap their love in beauty, but +that sort of beauty was not enough for him. It was her scruples, he said, which +had been his undoing, and there was truth in that, but she had to remember that +when originally she had disappointed him, he had found comfort quickly in +Christabel; when Christabel failed him he had returned to her; and now he had +found consolation, if only of a temporary kind, in some one else. When would he +seek yet another victim of his affection and his griefs? He was, she thought +scornfully, a man who needed women, yet she knew that if he had pleaded with +her to-day, saying that in spite of everything he needed her, she would have +listened. +</p> + +<p> +She admitted her responsibility, it would always be present to her, for she had +that kind of conscientiousness, and having once helped him, she must always +hold herself ready to do it again. The chain binding them was not altogether +broken, but she no longer felt its weight. She had a lightness of spirit +unknown for years; the anger, the jealous rage and the disgust had vanished +with a completeness which made her doubt their short existence, and she began +to make plans for a new life. There was no reason now why she should not wander +all over the world, yet, on the very doorstep of Nelson Lodge, she found a +reason in the person of Henrietta—flushed and gay and just returned from +a tea party. She had enjoyed herself immensely, but her head ached a little. It +had been all she could do to understand the brilliant conversation. There had +been present a budding poet and a woman painter and she had never heard people +talk like that before. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t speak at all, except to Charles,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Charles was there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I thought it safer not to talk but I looked as bright as I could, +and of course I asked for cakes and things. They all ate a lot. I was glad of +that. But most of them still looked hungry at the end. And Charles has taken +tickets for me for the concerts, next to him, in a special corner where you can +sometimes hear the music through the whispering of the audience. That’s +what he says!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Henrietta, I have taken tickets for you too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, but perhaps they will take them back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Henrietta, you really can’t sit in a corner with Charles when +I’m in another part of the hall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t I? Well, Charles will be very angry, but he’ll have to +put up with it. If you explained to him, Aunt Rose, he’d understand. And +I’d really rather sit with you. I shall be able to look at people and if +I crackle my programme you won’t glare. Of course, I shall try not to. +Will you explain to him? And I did promise to go to a concert with him some +day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must. I’ll tell him that, too. Are you afraid of him, +Henrietta?” +</p> + +<p> +“He shouts,” Henrietta said, “and I’m sorry for him. +And I do like him very much. I feel inclined to do things just to please +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let that carry you too far.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I’m afraid of. Not him, exactly, but me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t suspect you of such tenderness. I shall have to look +after you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if you are feeling very kind some day, perhaps you will go and see +Christabel Sales. She has promised to behave herself.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta’s expression tightened. “I don’t want to go. +It’s a dreadful place.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” Rose said, and she added encouragingly, “but the +cat has gone.” +</p> + +<p> +They were standing together in the hall and against the white panelled walls, +the figure of Rose, in the austere riding habit, one gauntletted hand holding +her crop, the other resting lightly on her hip, had an heroic aspect, like a +statue in dark marble; but her eyes did not offer the blank gaze, the calm +effrontery of stone: they looked at Henrietta with something like appeal +against this obsession of the cat. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m glad the cat’s gone,” Henrietta murmured. +“What happened to it?” +</p> + +<p> +Rose shook her head. “It disappeared.” +</p> + +<p> +They stared at each other until Henrietta said, “But all the same, I +don’t want to go.” And then, because Rose would not help her out, +she was obliged to say, “It’s Mr. Sales.” Her voice dropped. +“I haven’t seen him since I hit him.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose turned to go upstairs. “I shouldn’t think too much of +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t think it matters?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta looked after her and followed her for a step. “You think I may +go?” Her voice was dull under her effort to control it. She felt that the +stately figure moving up the stairs was deliberately leaving her to face a +danger, sanctioning her desire to meet it. She felt her fate was in the answer +made by Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you can take care of yourself perfectly well, Henrietta,” +and like a sigh, another sentence floated from the landing where Rose stood, +out of sight: “You are not like me.” +</p> + +<p> +This was a mysterious and astonishing remark. Henrietta did not understand it +and in her excited realization that the door so carefully locked by her own +hand had been opened. Aunt Rose, she did not try to understand it. Aunt Rose +had said she was able to take care of herself, and it was true, but honesty and +a weak clinging to safety urged her to answer, “But you see, you see I +don’t want to do it!” +</p> + +<p> +These words were not uttered. She stood, looking up towards the empty landing +with a hand pressed against her heart. It was beating fast. The spirit of +Reginald Mallett, subdued in his daughter for some months, seemed to be +fluttering in her breast and it was Aunt Rose who had waked it up. It was not +Henrietta’s fault, she was not responsible; and suddenly, the ordinary +happiness she had been enjoying was transferred into an irrational joy. She +went singing up the stairs, and Rose, sitting in her room in a state of +limpness she would never have allowed anybody to see, heard a sound as innocent +as if a bird had waked to a sunny dawn. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta sang, but now and then she paused and became grave when the spirit of +that mother who lived in her memory more and more dimly, as though she had died +when Henrietta was a child, overcame the spirit of her father. Her mission was +to be one of kindness to Christabel Sales, and if—the song burst out +again—if adventure came in her way, could she refuse it? She would refuse +nothing—the song ceased—short of sin. She looked at herself and saw +a solemn feminine edition of the portrait hanging behind her on the wall. She +was like her father, but she took pride in her greater conscientiousness; her +vocabulary was larger than his by at least one word. +</p> + +<p> +A few days later she set out on that road and past those trees which had been +the safe witnesses of so much of Rose Mallett’s life, but their safeness +lay in their constant muteness, and they had no message for Henrietta. Walking +quickly, she rehearsed her coming meeting with Francis Sales, but when she +actually met him on the green track, on the very spot where Rose had pulled up +her horse in amazement at the scene of transformation, Henrietta, like Rose, +had no formal greeting for him. +</p> + +<p> +She said, “The trees! What are you doing with them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Turning them into gold.” +</p> + +<p> +“But they were beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +“So are lots of things they will buy.” She moved a little under his +look, but when he said, “I’m hard up,” she became interested. +</p> + +<p> +“Really? I thought you were frightfully rich. You ought to be with all +these belongings.” She looked round at the fields dotted with sheep and +cattle, the distant chimneys of Sales Hall, the fallen trees and the team of +horses dragging logs under the guidance of workmen in their shirt sleeves. +“I know all about being poor,” she said, “but I don’t +suppose we mean the same thing by the word. I’ve been so +poor—” She stopped. “But there’s a lot of excitement +about it. I used to hope I should find a shilling in my purse that I’d +forgotten. A shilling! You can do a lot with a shilling. At least I can.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you’d tell me how.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretend you haven’t got it. That’s the beginning. You +haven’t got it, so you can’t have what you want.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never have what I want.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you mustn’t want anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, that’s so easy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well”—she descended to details with an air of +kindness—“what do you want? Let’s work it out. We’d +better sit on the wall. After all, it’s rather lovely without the trees. +It’s so clear and the air’s so blue, as if it’s trying to +make up. Now tell me what you want.” +</p> + +<p> +“Something money can’t buy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you needn’t have cut down the trees.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t have if I’d thought you’d care.” +</p> + +<p> +She said softly but sharply, “I don’t believe that for a moment. +Why don’t you tell the truth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to hear it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll wait while you make up your mind.” +</p> + +<p> +Sitting on the wall, his feet rested easily on the ground while hers swung +free, and while he seemed to loll in complete indifference, she was conscious +of a tenseness she could not prevent. She hated her enjoyment of his manner, +which was impudent, but it had the spice of danger that she liked and it was in +defiance of the one and encouragement of the other that she said, +“I’m sure you would never talk to Aunt Rose like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should never give your Aunt Rose my confidence,” he said +severely. +</p> + +<p> +It was impossible not to feel a warmth of satisfaction, and she asked shortly, +“Why not?” “She wouldn’t understand. You’re +human. I’m devilish lonely. Well, you know my circumstances.” A +shadow which seemed to affect the brightness of the autumn day, even deadening +the clear shouting of the men and the jingling of the chains attached to the +horses, passed over Francis Sales’s face. “One wants a +friend.” +</p> + +<p> +A cry of genuine bewilderment came from Henrietta. “But I thought you +were so fond of Aunt Rose!” +</p> + +<p> +From sulky contemplation of his brown boots and leggings, he looked at her. His +eyes, of a light yet dense blue, were widely opened. “What makes you +think that? Did she tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta’s lip curled derisively. “No, it was you, when you looked +at her. And now you have told me again.” She had a moment of thoughtful +contempt for the blundering of men. There was Charles, who always seemed to +wander in a mist, and now this Francis Sales, who revealed what he wished to +hide. He was mentally inferior to Mr. Jenkins, who had a quickness of wit, a +vulgar sharpness of tongue which kept the mind on the alert; but physically she +had shrunk from Mr. Jenkins’s proximity, while that of Francis Sales, in +his well-cut tweeds and his shining boots, who seemed as clean as the air +surrounding him, had an attraction actually enhanced by his heaviness of +spirit. He was like a child possessed, consciously or unconsciously, of a +weapon, and her sense of her own superiority was corrected by fear of his +strength and of the subtle weakness in her own blood. +</p> + +<p> +She heard a murmur. “She has treated me very badly. I’ve known her +all my life. Well—” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta, with a gentleness he appreciated and a cleverness he missed, said +commiseratingly, “She wouldn’t let you take her hand in the +wood.” +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth are you talking about? Look here, Henrietta, what do you +mean?” There had been so many occasions of the kind that it was +impossible to know to which one she referred, and, looking back, his past +seemed to be blocked with frustrations and petty torments. “What do you +mean?” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is some gossip,” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, among the squirrels and the rabbits. Woods are full of eyes and +ears.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, “the eyes and ears will have to find another +home. There will soon be no wood left.” +</p> + +<p> +So he had tried to take Aunt Rose’s hand in this wood too! She laughed +with the pretty trill which made her laughter a new thing every time. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see the joke,” he grumbled. +</p> + +<p> +She turned to him. “I don’t think you’ve laughed very much in +your life. You’re always being sorry for yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been very unfortunate,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“There you are again! Why don’t you tell yourself you’re +lucky not to squint or turn in your toes? You’d be much more miserable +then—much. But thinking yourself unfortunate, when you’re not, is a +pleasant occupation.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know a lot,” Henrietta said. “But I never thought myself +unfortunate, so I wasn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very noble,” Sales said sourly. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I told you it was exciting to be poor. You’re not poor enough. +A new dress,” she went on, clasping her hands; “first of all, I had +to save up—in pennies.” She turned accusingly. “You +don’t believe it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must have taken a long time.” +</p> + +<p> +“It did, but not so long as you would think, because it cost so little in +the end. I saved up, and then I looked in the shop windows, and then I talked +about it for days, and then I bought the stuff. Mother cut out the dress, and +then I made it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the result was charming.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought so then. Now I know it wasn’t, but at the time I was +happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, “that’s very interesting, but it +doesn’t help me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I could help you if you told me your troubles. I should know +how.” +</p> + +<p> +“Telling my troubles would be a help.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here I am, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the good?” he said. “You’ll desert me, +too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if you’re good.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, if that’s the stipulation—” He stood up. His tone, +which might have been provocative, was simply bored. She knew she had been +dull, and her lip trembled with mortification. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, of course!” she cried gaily, when she had mastered that +weakness. “Aunt Caroline warned me against you this very afternoon. She +said—but, never mind. I’m not going to repeat her remarks. And +anyhow, Aunt Sophia said they were not true. Aunt Rose,” Henrietta said +thoughtfully, “was not there. I don’t suppose either of them is +right. And now I’m going to see Mrs. Sales.” +</p> + +<p> +He ran after her. “Henrietta, I shouldn’t tell her you’ve +seen me.” +</p> + +<p> +She frowned. “I don’t like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s for her sake.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta turned away without a word, but she pondered, as she went, on the +dangerous likeness between right and wrong and the horrible facility with which +they could be, with which they had to be, interchanged. One became bewildered, +one became lost; she felt herself being forced into a false position: she might +not be able to get out. Aunt Rose had sent her, Francis Sales was conspiring +with her—she made her father’s gesture of helplessness, it was not +her fault. But she made up her mind she would never allow Francis Sales to find +her dull again, for that was unfair to herself. +</p> + +<h3>§ 3</h3> + +<p> +Rose Mallett, who had always accepted conditions and not criticized them, found +herself in those days forced to a puzzled consideration of life. It seemed an +unnecessary invention on the part of a creator, a freak which, on +contemplation, he must surely regret. She was not tired of her own existence, +but she wondered what it was for and what, possessing it, she could do with it. +Her one attempt at usefulness had been foiled, and though she had never +consciously wanted anything to do, she felt the need now that she was deprived +of it. She passed her days in the order and elegance of Nelson Lodge, in a +monotonous satisfaction of the eye, listening to the familiar chatter of +Caroline and Sophia, dressing herself with tireless care and refusing to regret +her past. Nevertheless, it had been wasted, and the only occupation of her +present was her anxiety for Francis Sales. She could not rid herself of that +claim, begun so long ago. She had to accept the inactive responsibility which +in another would have resolved itself into earnest prayer but which in her was +a stoical endurance of possibilities. +</p> + +<p> +What was he doing? What would he do? She knew he could not stand alone, she +knew she must continue to hold herself ready for his service, but a prisoner +fastened to a chain does not find much solace in counting the links, and that +was all she had to do. It seemed to her that she moved, rather like a ghost, up +and down the stairs, about the landing, in the delicate silence of her bedroom; +that she sat ghost-like at the dining-table and heard the strangely aimless +talk of human beings. She supposed there were countless women like herself, +unoccupied and lonely, yet her pride resented the idea. There was only one Rose +Mallett; there was no one else with just her past, with the same mental +pictures and her peculiar isolation, and if she had been a vainer woman she +would have added that no other woman offered the same kind of beauty to a world +in need of it. Her obvious consolation was in the presence of Henrietta, though +she had little companionship to give her aunt, and no suspicion that Rose, +almost unawares, began to transfer her interests to the girl, to set her mind +on Henrietta’s happiness. She would take her abroad and let her see the +world. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline sniffed at the suggestion, Sophia sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“The world’s the same everywhere,” Caroline said. “If +you know one man you know them all.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if you know a great many, you will know one all the better. +However,” she smiled in the way of which her stepsisters were afraid, +“I wasn’t thinking of men.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s where you’re so unnatural.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinking of places—cities and mountains and plains.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll get the plague or be run away with by brigands.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think Henrietta and I would rather like the brigands. We must avoid +the plague.” +</p> + +<p> +“Smallpox,” Caroline went on, “and your complexions +ruined.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would stay at home,” Sophia said. “Caroline and I +are getting old.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, Sophia! I’d go myself for twopence. But I’d better +wait here and get the ransom money ready, and then James Batty and I can start +out together with a bag of it.” She laughed loudly at the prospect of +setting forth with the respectable James. “And it wouldn’t be the +first elopement I’d planned either. When I was eighteen I set my mind on +getting out of my bedroom window with a bundle—no, of course I never told +you, Sophia. You would have run in hysterics to the General. But there was +never one among them all who was worth the inconvenience, so I gave it up. I +always had more sense than sentiment.” She sighed with regret for the +legions of disappointed and fictitious lovers waiting under windows, with which +her mind was peopled. “Not one,” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +No one took any notice. Sophia, drooping her heavy head, was thinking of +brigands in a far country and of Caroline and herself left in Nelson Lodge +without Rose and without Henrietta. If they really went away she determined to +tell Henrietta the story of her lover, lest she should die and the tale be +unrecorded. She wanted somebody to know; she would tell Henrietta on the eve of +her departure, among the bags and boxes. He had gone to America and died there, +and that continent was both sacred to her and abhorrent. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t go to America,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” Caroline demanded. “Just the place they ought to +go to. Lots of millionaires.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose reassured Sophia. “And it is only an idea. I haven’t said a +word to Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta showed no enthusiasm for the suggestion. She liked Radstowe. And +there was the Battys’ ball. It would be a pity to miss that. She must +certainly not miss that, said Caroline and Sophia. And what was she going to +wear? They had better go upstairs at once, to the elder ladies’ room, and +see what could be done with Caroline’s pink satin. She had only worn it +once, years ago. Nobody would remember it, and trimmed with some of her +mother’s lace, the big flounce and the fichu, it would be a different +thing. Sophia could wear her apricot. +</p> + +<p> +“Come along, Henrietta. Come along, Rose. We must really get this +settled.” +</p> + +<p> +They went upstairs, Caroline moving with heavy dignity, but keeping up her head +as she had been taught in her youth. Nothing was more unbecoming than ducking +the head and sticking out the back. Sophia went slowly, holding to the +balustrade, so very slowly that Henrietta did not attempt to start. She said +softly to Rose, “How slowly she goes. I’ve never noticed it +before.” +</p> + +<p> +“She always goes upstairs like that,” Rose said. “It is not +natural to her to hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta followed and found Sophia panting a little on the landing. She laid +hold of her niece’s arm. “A little out of breath,” she +whispered. “Don’t say anything, dear child, to Caroline. She +doesn’t like to be reminded of our age.” +</p> + +<p> +They went into the bedroom and Rose, drifting into her own room, heard the +opening of the great wardrobe doors. She would be called in presently for her +advice, but there would be a lot of talk and many reminiscences before she was +needed. She stood by the fire, which, giving the only light to the room, threw +golden patches on the white dressing-gown lying across a chair, and made the +buckles on her shoes sparkle like diamonds. +</p> + +<p> +She was wondering why Henrietta’s eyes had darkened as though with fear +at the idea of going away. She had been very quick in veiling them, and her +voice, too, had been quick, a little tremulous. There was more than the +Battys’ ball in her desire to stay in Radstowe. Was it Charles whom she +was loth to leave? Afterwards, perhaps in the spring, she had said it would be +nice to go. It was kind of Aunt Rose, and Aunt Rose, gazing down at the fire, +controlled her longing to escape from this place too full of memories. She +would not leave Henrietta who had to be cared for, perhaps protected; she would +not persuade her who had to be happy, but she felt a sinking of the heart which +was almost physical. She rested both hands on the mantelshelf and on them her +weight. She felt as though she could not go on like this for ever. She, who +apparently had no ties, was never free; she had the duties without the joys, +and for these few minutes, before a knock came at the door, she allowed herself +the relief of melancholy. She was incapable of tears, but she wished she could +cry bitterly and for a long time. +</p> + +<p> +The knock was Henrietta’s. She entered a little timidly. Aunt Rose was +not free with invitations to her room and to Henrietta it was a beautiful and +mysterious place. She had a childlike pleasure in the silver and glass on the +dressing-table, in glimpses of exquisite garments and slippers worn to the +shape of Aunt Rose’s slim foot, and Aunt Rose herself was like some fairy +princess growing old and no less lovely in captivity, but to-night, that dark +straight figure splashed by the firelight reminded her of words uttered by +Christabel. She had said that all Henrietta’s aunts were witches, and for +the first time the girl agreed. In the other room, brilliantly lighted, +Caroline and Sophia were bending somewhat greedily over a mass of silks and +satins and laces, their cheeks flushed round the dabs of rouge, their fingers +active yet inept, fumbling in what might have been a brew for the working of +spells; and here, straight as a tree, Aunt Rose looked into the fire as though +she could see the future in its red heart, but her voice, very clear, had a +reassuring quality. It was not, Henrietta thought, a witch’s voice. +Witches mumbled and screeched, and Aunt Rose spoke like water falling from a +height. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, Henrietta. Is the consultation over?” +</p> + +<p> +“It has hardly begun. What a lot of clothes they have, and boxes of lace, +boxes! I think you will have to decide for them. And Aunt Caroline snubs Aunt +Sophia, all the time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did they send you to fetch me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but we needn’t go back yet, need we? Aunt Caroline wants to +wear her emeralds, but she says they will look vulgar with pink satin. +There’s some lovely grey stuff like a cobweb. She says it was in her +mother’s trousseau and I think she ought to wear that, but she says she +is going to keep it until she’s old!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then she’ll never wear it. She will never make such an +admission.” +</p> + +<p> +“And she won’t let Aunt Sophia have it because she says it would +make her look like a dusty broom. And it would, you know! She’s really +very funny sometimes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very funny. We’re queer people, Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are we? And I’m more theirs than yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“As far as blood goes, yes.” She spoke very quietly, but she felt a +great desire to assert, for once, her own claims, instead of accepting those of +others. She wanted to tell Henrietta that in return for the secret care, the +growing affection she was giving, she demanded confidence and love; but she had +never asked for anything in her life. She had taken coolly much she could +easily have done without, admiration and respect and the material advantages to +which she had been born, but she had asked for nothing. Cruelly conscious of +all that lay in the gift of Henrietta, who sat in a low chair, her chin on the +joined fingers of her hands, Rose continued to look at the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean I’m really more like you?” Henrietta said. +“Am I? I’m like my father,” and she added softly, +“terribly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why terribly?” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta moved her feet. “Oh, I don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you’d tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was queer. You said we all were, and I’m a Mallett, too, +that’s all. Don’t you think we ought to go and see about the +dresses now? Aunt Rose, they’re bothering me to wear white, the only +thing for a young girl, but I want to wear yellow. Don’t you think I +might?” +</p> + +<p> +Rose, who had felt herself on the brink of confidences, as though she peered +over a cliff, and watched the mists clear to show the secret valley underneath, +now saw the clouds thicken hopelessly, and retreated from her position with an +effort. +</p> + +<p> +“Yellow? Yes, certainly. You will look like a marigold. +Henrietta—” She did not know what she was going to say, but she +wanted to detain the girl for a little longer, she hoped for another chance of +drawing nearer. “Henrietta, wait a minute.” She moved to her +dressing-table, smiling at what she was about to do. It seemed as though she +were going to bribe the girl to love her, but she was only yielding to the +pathetic human desire to give something tangible since the intangible was +ignored. “When I was twenty-one,” she said, “your father gave +me a present.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only when you were twenty-one?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” Rose excused him, “we didn’t know each other +very well. He was a great deal from home, but he remembered my twenty-first +birthday and he gave me this necklace. I think it’s beautiful, but I +never wear it now, and I think you may like to have it. Here it is, in its own +box and with the card he wrote—‘A jewel for a rose.’” +</p> + +<p> +Holding it in her cupped hands, Henrietta murmured with delight: “May I +have it really? How lovely! And may I have the card, too? He did say nice +things. Are you sure you can spare the card? I expect he admired you very much. +He liked beautiful women. My mother was pretty, too; but I don’t believe +he ever gave her anything except a wedding-ring, and he had to give her +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Henrietta—well, his daughter shall have all he gave me.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you’re sure you don’t want it. What are the +stones?” +</p> + +<p> +“Topaz and diamonds; but so small that you can wear them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Topaz and diamonds! Oh!” And Henrietta, clasping it round her neck +and surveying herself by the candles Rose had lighted, said earnestly, +“Oh, I do hope he paid for it!” This was the first thought of +Reginald Mallett’s daughter. +</p> + +<p> +Rose was horrified into laughter, which seemed hysterically continuous to +Henrietta, and through it Rose cried tenderly, “Oh, you poor child! You +poor child!” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta did not laugh. She said gravely, “All the same, I’m glad +I had him for a father. Nobody but he would have chosen a thing like this. He +had such taste.” She looked at her aunt. “I do hope I have some +taste, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you have,” Rose said with equal gravity. She laughed no +longer. “There are many kinds, and though he knew how to choose an +ornament, he made mistakes in other ways.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta unclasped the necklace and laid it down. She looked, indeed, +remarkably like her father. Her eyes flashed above her angry mouth. “You +mean my mother!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Henrietta. How could I? I did not know your mother, and from the +little you have told us I believe she was too good for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I tell you more,” Henrietta protested, “when I know +what you would be thinking? You would be thinking she was common. Aunt Caroline +does. She does! I don’t know how she dare! No, I won’t have the +necklace.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must believe what I say, Henrietta. Your mother was not the only +woman in your father’s life, and I was referring to the others.” +</p> + +<p> +“You need not speak of them to me,” Henrietta said with dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t do so again. That, perhaps, is where my own taste +failed.” She decided to put out no more feelers for Henrietta’s +thoughts. It was what she would have resented bitterly herself, and it did no +good. She was not clever at this unpractised art, and she told herself that if +her own affection could not tell her what she wished to know, the information +would be useless. Moreover, she had Henrietta’s word for it that she was +terribly like her father. +</p> + +<p> +“So put on the necklace again. It suits you better than it does me, so +well that we can pretend he really chose it for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Henrietta said, fingering it again, “if you promise +you never think anything horrid about my mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“The worst I have ever thought of her,” Rose said lightly, +“is envying her for her daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +She saw Henrietta’s mouth open inelegantly. “Me? Oh, but +you’re not old enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel very old sometimes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you were when I first saw you,” Henrietta said, looking +in the glass and swaying her body to make the diamonds glitter, “but now +I know you never will be, because it’s only ugly people who get old. When +your hair is white you’ll be like a queen. Now you’re a princess, +though Mrs. Sales says you’re a witch. Oh, I didn’t mean to tell +you that. It was a long time ago. She is never disagreeable now. I’m +going to see her again to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would go in the morning, Henrietta. The afternoons get dark +so soon and the road is lonely.” +</p> + +<p> +“She doesn’t like visitors in the morning,” Henrietta said. +“I love this necklace. Could I wear it to the dance?” +</p> + +<p> +“It depends on the dress. If you are really to look like a marigold you +must wear no ornaments. If you had yellow tulle—” And Rose took +pencil and paper and made a rough design, talking with enthusiasm meanwhile, +for like all the Malletts, she loved clothes. +</p> + +<p> +The next day Caroline had to stay in bed. She had been feverish all night and +Sophia appeared in Rose’s bedroom early in the morning, her great plait +of hair swinging free, her face yellow with anxiety and sleeplessness and lack +of powder, to inform her stepsister that dear Caroline was very ill: they must +have the doctor directly after breakfast. Sophia was afraid Caroline was going +to die. She had groaned in the night when she thought Sophia was asleep. +“I deceived her,” Sophia said. “I hope it wasn’t wrong, +but I knew she would be easier if she thought I slept. Now she says there is +nothing the matter with her and she wants to get up, but that’s her +courage.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline was not allowed to rise and after breakfast and an hour with Sophia +behind the locked door she announced her readiness to see the doctor, who +diagnosed nothing more serious than a chill. She was very much disgusted with +his order to stay in bed. She had not had a day in bed for years; she believed +people were only ill when they wanted to be and, as she did not wish to be, she +was not ill. She had no resource but to be unpleasant to Sophia, to the +silently devoted Susan and to Rose who had intended to go to Sales Hall with +Henrietta. +</p> + +<p> +She was not able to do that, but later in the afternoon she set out to meet her +so that she might have company for part of the dark way home. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards, she could never make up her mind whether she was glad or sorry she +had gone. She had expected to meet Henrietta within a mile or two of the +bridge, and the further she went without a sight of the small figure walking +towards her, the more necessary it became to proceed, but she felt a deadly +sickness of this road. She loved each individual tree, each bush and field and +the view from every point, but the whole thing she hated. It was the +personification of mistake, disappointment and slow disillusion, but now it was +all shrouded in darkness and she seemed to be walking on nothing, through +nothing and towards nothing. She herself was nothing and she thought of +nothing, though now and then a little wave of anxiety washed over her. Where +was Henrietta? +</p> + +<p> +She became genuinely alarmed when, in the hollow between the track and the +rising fields, she saw a fire and discovered by its light a caravan, a cart, a +huddle of dark figures, a tethered pony, and heard the barking of dogs. There +were gipsies camping in the sheltered dip. If Henrietta had walked into their +midst, she might have been robbed, she would certainly have been frightened; +and Rose stood still, listening intently. +</p> + +<p> +The cleared space, where the wood had been, stretched away to a line of trees +edging the main road and above it there was a greenish colour in the sky. There +was not a sound but what came from the encampment. Down there the fire glowed +like some enormous and mysterious jewel and before it figures which had become +poetical and endowed with some haggard kind of beauty passed and vanished. They +might have been employed in the rites of some weird worship and the movements +which were in reality connected with the cooking of some snared bird or rabbit +seemed to have a processional quality. The fire was replenished, the stew was +stirred, there was a faint clatter of tin plates and a sharp cracking of twigs: +a figure passed before the fire with extraordinary gestures and slid into the +night: another figure appeared and followed its predecessor: smoke rose and a +savoury smell floated on the air. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a child wailed and Rose had the ghastly impression that it was the +child who was in the pot. +</p> + +<p> +Cautiously she stepped into the clearing; the dogs barked again and she ran +swiftly, as silently as possible, leaping over the small hummocks of heath, +dodging the brushwood and finding a certain pleasure in her own speed and in +her fear that the dogs would soon be snapping at her heels. If she did not find +Henrietta on the road, she would go on to Sales Hall. Very high up, clouds +floated as though patrolling the sky; they found in her fleeting figure +something which must be watched. +</p> + +<p> +She was breathless and strangely happy when she reached the road. She was +pleased at her capacity for running and her dull trouble seemed to have lifted, +to have risen from her mind and gone off to join the clouds. She laughed a +little and dropped down on a stone, and above the hurried beating of her heart +she heard fainter, more despairing, the cry of the gipsy child. “It +isn’t cooked yet,” she thought. There was a deeper silence, and she +imagined a horrible dipping into the pot, a loud and ravenous eating. +</p> + +<p> +For a few minutes she forgot her quest, conscious of a happy loss of +personality in this solitary place, feeling herself merged into the night, +looking up at the patrolling clouds which, having lost her, had moved on. She +sat in the darkness until she heard, very far off, the beat of a horse’s +hoofs, the rumble of wheels. She remembered then that she had to find +Henrietta. The road towards Sales Hall was nowhere blurred by a figure, there +was no sound of footsteps, and the noise of the approaching horse and cart was +distantly symbolic of human activity and home-faring; it made her think of +lights and food. +</p> + +<p> +She looked back, and not many yards away two figures stepped from the +sheltering trees by the roadside. On the whiteness of the road they were clear +and unmistakable. Their arms were outstretched and their hands were joined and, +as she looked, the two forms became one, separated and parted. The feet of +Henrietta went tapping down the road and for a moment Francis stood and watched +her. Then he turned. He struck a match, and Rose saw his face and hands +illuminated like a paper lantern. The match made a short, brilliant journey in +the air and fell extinguished. He had lighted his pipe and was advancing +towards her. She, too, advanced and stopped a few feet from him and at once she +said calmly, “Was that Henrietta? I came to find her.” +</p> + +<p> +He stammered something; she was afraid he was going to lie, yet at the same +time she knew that to hear him lie would give her pleasure; it would be like +the final shattering and trampling of her love: but he did not lie. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Henrietta,” he said sullenly. “There are gipsies in the +hollow. I shall turn them out to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let them stay there,” she said, she knew not why. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re all thieves,” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +Neither spoke. It was like a dream to be standing there with him and hearing +Henrietta’s footsteps tapping into silence. Then Rose asked in genuine +bewilderment, “Why did you let her go home alone? Why did you leave her +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“She wouldn’t have me. She’s safe now”; and raising his +voice, he almost cried, “You shouldn’t let her come here!” It +was a cry for help, he was appealing to her again, he was the victim of his +habit. She smiled and wondered if her pale face was as clear to him as his was +to her. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I should not,” she said slowly. “I should not. One does +nothing all one’s life but make mistakes.” Her chief feeling at +that moment was one of self-disgust. She moved away without another word, going +slowly so that she should not overtake Henrietta. +</p> + +<h3>§ 4</h3> + +<p> +Henrietta was going very fast, impelled by the fury of her thoughts, and she +forgot to be afraid of the lonely country, for she felt herself still wrapped +in the dangerous safety of that man’s embrace, and the darkness through +which she went was still the palpitating darkness which had fallen over her at +his touch. The thing had been bound to happen. She had been watching its +approach and pretending it was not there, and now it had arrived and she was +giddy with excitement, inspired with a sense of triumph, tremulous with +apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +Her thoughts were not of her lover as an individual, but of the situation as a +whole. Here she was, Henrietta Mallett, from Mrs. Banks’s boarding-house, +the chief figure in a drama and an unrepentant sinner. She could not help it: +she loved him; he needed her. Since that day when she had offered him +friendship and help, he had been depending on her more and more, a big man like +a neglected baby. She had strenuously fixed her mind on the babyish side of +him, but all the time her senses had been attracted by the man, and now, by the +mere physical experience of the force of his arms, she could never see him as a +child again. She clung to the idea of helping him, to the thought of his +misfortunes, for that was imperative, but she was now conscious of her fewer +years, her infinitely smaller bodily strength, the limitations of her sex. +</p> + +<p> +And suddenly, as she moved swiftly, hardly feeling the ground under her feet, +she began to cry, with emotion, with fear and joy. What was going to happen to +her? She loved him. She could still feel the violence of his clasp, the +roughness of his coat on her cheeks, the iron of his hands, so distinctly that +it seemed to have happened only a moment ago, yet she was nearly home. She +could see the lights of the bridge as though swung on a cord across the gulf, +and she dried her eyes. She was exhausted and hungry and when she had passed +over the river she made her way to a shop where chocolates could be bought. She +knew their comforting and sustaining properties. It was unromantic, but hunger +asserts itself in spite of love. +</p> + +<p> +It was getting late and the shop was empty but for one assistant and a tall +young man. This was Charles Batty, taking a great deal of trouble over his +purchase, for spread before him on the counter was an assortment of large +chocolate boxes adorned with bows of ribbon and pictures of lovers leaning over +stiles and red-lipped maidens caressing dogs. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like these pictures,” Henrietta heard him mutter +bashfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s one with roses. Roses are always suitable.” +“No,” he said, “I want a big white box with crimson +ribbon.” Henrietta stepped up to his side. “I’ll help you +choose,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He started, stared, forgot to take off his hat. He gazed at her with the +absorption of some connoisseur looking at the perfect thing he has dreamed of: +he looked without greed and with a sort of ecstasy which left his face +expressionless and embarrassed Henrietta in the presence of the arch girl +behind the counter. +</p> + +<p> +Charles waked up. “I want a white one,” he repeated, “with +crimson ribbon. No pictures.” The assistant went away and he turned to +Henrietta. “It’s for you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Charles, don’t speak so loud.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care. But I suppose you’re ashamed of me. Yes, of +course, that’s it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be silly,” Henrietta said, “and do be quick, +because I want some chocolates myself.” +</p> + +<p> +With the large box, white and crimson-ribboned and wrapped in paper, under his +arm, he waited until she was served, and then they walked together down the +street, made brilliant with the lights of many little shops. +</p> + +<p> +“This is for you,” he said, “but I’ll carry it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But this isn’t the way home.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” They turned back into the dimmer road bordering The Green. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you wouldn’t walk round the hill?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mind.” She felt as she might have done in the +company of some large, protective dog. He was there, saving her from the fear +of molestation, but there was no need to speak to him, it was almost impossible +to think consecutively of him, yet she did remind herself that a very long time +ago, when she was young, he had said wonderful things to her. She had forgotten +that fact in the stir of these last days. +</p> + +<p> +“I got these chocolates for you,” he said again. “I thought +perhaps that was the kind of thing I ought to do. I don’t know, and you +can’t ask people because they’d laugh. Why didn’t you come to +tea on Sunday?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t come every Sunday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you can. Considering I’m engaged to you, it’s only +proper.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what you mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, “you may not be engaged to me, but I’m +engaged to you. That’s what I’ve decided.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed. “You’ll find it rather dull, I’m afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said. “I can do things for you.” She was +struck by that simple statement, spoilt by his next words: “Like these +chocolates.” +</p> + +<p> +He was very insistent about the chocolates and proud of his idea. She thanked +him. “But I don’t want you to give me things.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t stop me. I’m doing it all the time.” +</p> + +<p> +They had reached the highest point of the hill and they halted at the railing +on the cliff’s edge. Below them, the blackness of earth gave way to the +blackness of air and the shining blackness of water, and slowly the opposing +cliff cleared itself from a formless mass into the hardly seen shapes of rock +and tree. Here was beauty, here was something permanent in the midst of change, +and it seemed as though the hand of peace were laid on Henrietta. For a moment +the episode on the other side of the water and the problem it involved took +their tiny places in the universe instead of the large ones in her life and, +strangely enough, it was Charles Batty who loomed up big, as though he had some +odd fellowship with immensity and beauty. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you give me?” she asked. “I don’t want it, you +know, but tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I told you that night when you listened and took it all. I don’t +think I can say it again.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, but you’re not to misunderstand me, and you mustn’t go +on giving and getting nothing back.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just what I can do. Not many people could, but I can. +Perhaps it’s the only way I can be great, like an artist giving his work +to a world that doesn’t care.” +</p> + +<p> +The quick sense she had to serve her instead of knowledge and to make her +unconsciously subtle, detected his danger in the words and some lack of homage +to herself. “Ah, you’re pretending, and you’re enjoying +it,” she said. “It’s consoling you for not being able to do +anything else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who said I couldn’t do anything else?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you nearly did, and I don’t suppose you can. If you could, +you wouldn’t bother about me.” +</p> + +<p> +He was silent and though she did not look at him she was very keenly aware of +his tall figure wrapped in an overcoat reaching almost to his heels and with +the big parcel under his left arm. He was always slightly absurd and now, when +he struck the top bar of the railing with his left hand and uttered a mournful, +“Yes, it’s true!” the tragedy in his tone could not repress +her smile. Yet if he had been less funny he might have been less truly tragic. +</p> + +<p> +“So, you see, I’m only a kind of makeshift,” she remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, “but I may have been mistaken in myself. +I’m not mistaken about you. Never!” he cried, striking the rail +again. +</p> + +<p> +They were alone on the hill, but suddenly, with a clatter of wings, a bird left +his nest in the rocks and swept out of sight, leaving a memory of swiftness and +life, of an intenser blackness in the gulf. Far below them, to the left, there +were lights, stationary and moving, and sometimes the clang of a tramcar bell +reached them with its harsh music: the slim line of the bridge, with here and +there a dimly burning light, was like a spangled thread. The sound of footsteps +and voices came to them from the road behind the hill. +</p> + +<p> +“But after all,” Charles said more clearly, “it doesn’t +matter about being acclaimed. It’s just like making music for deaf +people: the music’s there; the music’s there. And so it +doesn’t matter very much whether you love me. It’s one’s +weakness that wants that, one’s loneliness. I can love you just the same, +perhaps better; it’s the audience that spoils things. I should think it +does!” +</p> + +<p> +“So you’re quite happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not quite,” he answered, “but I have something to do, +something I can do, too. Music—no, I’m not good enough. I’m +no more than an amateur, but in this I can be supreme.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t be sure of that,” she said acutely. “If you +wrote a poem you might think it was perfect, but you wouldn’t absolutely +know till you’d tried it on other people. So you can’t be sure +about love.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mightn’t be,” he said with a touch of scorn. “You +may depend on other people, but I don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +She made a small sound of scorn. “No, you’ll never know whether +you’re doing this wonderful work of yours well or not because,” she +said, cruelly exultant, “it won’t be tested.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but it might be. You’ve got to do things as though they will +be.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so,” she said indifferently. “And now I must go +back.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned obediently and thrust the parcel at her. +</p> + +<p> +“But aren’t you going to take me home?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t think I need do that. I shall stay here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I won’t have your chocolates. I didn’t want them, +anyhow, but now I won’t take them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand you,” he said miserably. +</p> + +<p> +“Doesn’t the painter understand his paints or the musician his +instruments? No, you’ll have to begin at the beginning, Charles Batty, +and work very hard before you’re a success.” +</p> + +<p> +She ran from him fleetly, hardly knowing why she was so angry, but it seemed to +her that he had no right to be content without her love; she felt he must be +emasculate, and the guilty passion of Francis Sales was, by contrast, splendid. +But for that passion, Charles Batty might have persuaded her she was incapable +of rousing men’s desire and not to rouse it was not to be a woman. +Accordingly, she valued Francis and despised the other, yet when she had +reached home and run upstairs and was standing in the dim room where the +firelight cast big, uncertain shadows, like vague threats, on walls and +ceiling, she suffered a reaction. +</p> + +<p> +The scene on the road became sinister: she remembered the strange silence of +the trees and the clangorous barking of the dogs, the hoarse voices from the +encampment in the hollow. It had been very dark there and an extraordinary +blackness had buried her when she was in that man’s arms. It had been +dark, too, on the hill, but with a feeling of space and height and freedom. If +Charles had been a little different—but then, he did not really want her; +he was making a study of his sorrow, he was gazing at it, turning it round and +over, growing familiar with all its aspects. He was an artist frustrated of any +power but this of feeling and to have given him herself would simply have been +to rob him of what he found more precious. But she and Francis Sales were kin; +she understood him: he was not better than herself, perhaps he was not so good +and he, too, was unhappy, but he did not love her for those qualities of which +Charles Batty had talked by the Monks’ Pool, he wove no poetry about her: +he loved her because she was pretty; because her mouth was red and her eyes +bright and her body young: he loved her because, being her father’s +daughter, her youth answered his desire with enough shame to season appetite, +but not to spoil it. And she thought of Christabel as of some sick doll. +</p> + +<p> +Dinner was a strange meal that night. Caroline’s chair was empty, and the +sighs of Sophia were like gentle zephyrs in the room. Henrietta’s silence +might have been interpreted as anxiety about her aunt and Susan informed the +cook, truly enough, that Miss Henrietta had a feeling heart. +</p> + +<p> +It was only Rose who could have explained the nature of the feeling. She was +fascinated by the sight of Henrietta, her rival, her fellow dupe. Rose looked +at her without envy or malice or covetousness, but with an extraordinary +interest, trying to find what likeness to herself and what differences had +attracted Francis Sales. +</p> + +<p> +There was the dark hair, curly where hers was straight, dark eyes instead of +grey ones, the same warm pallor of the skin, in Henrietta’s case slightly +overlaid with pink; but the mouth, ah! it must be the mouth and what it meant +that made the alluring difference. Henrietta’s mouth was soft, red and +mutinous; in her father it had been a blemish, half hidden by the foreign cut +of moustache and beard, but in Henrietta it was a beauty and a warning. Rose +had never properly studied that mouth before and under the fixity of her gaze +Henrietta’s eyelids fluttered upwards. There were shadows under her eyes +and it seemed to Rose that she had changed a little. She must have changed. +Rose had never been in the arms of Francis Sales; she shuddered now at the +thought, but she knew that she, too, would have been different after that +experience. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at Henrietta with the sadness of her desire to help her, the fear of +her inability to do it; and Henrietta looked back with a hint of defiance, the +symbol of her attitude to the cruel world in which fond lovers were despised +and love had a hard road. Rose restrained an impulse to lean across the table +and say quietly, “I saw you to-night with Francis Sales and I am sorry +for you. He told me I should not let you meet him. He said that himself, so you +see he does not want you,” and she wondered how much that cry of his had +been uttered in despair of his passion and how much in weariness of Henrietta +and himself. +</p> + +<p> +Rose leaned back in her chair and immediately straightened. She was intolerably +tired but she refused to droop. It seemed as though she were never to be free +from secrecy: after her release there had been a short time of dreary peace and +now she had Henrietta’s fight to wage in secret, her burden to carry +without a word. And this was worse, more difficult, for she had less power with +which to meet more danger. Between the candle lights she sent a smile to +Henrietta, but the girl’s mouth was petulantly set and it was a relief +when Sophia quavered out, “She won’t be able to go to the +Battys’ ball! She will be heart-broken.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose and Henrietta were momentarily united in their common amazement at the +genuineness of this sorrow and to both there was something comic in the picture +of the elderly Caroline, suffering from a chill and bemoaning the loss of an +evening’s pleasure. Henrietta cast a look of scornful surprise at her +Aunt Sophia. Was the Battys’ ball a matter for a broken heart? Rose said +consolingly, “It isn’t till after Christmas. Perhaps she will be +well enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Christmas,” Sophia wailed. “Henrietta’s first +Christmas here! With Caroline upstairs!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like Christmas,” Henrietta said. “It makes me +miserable.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you will like the ball,” Rose said. “Why, if it +hadn’t been for the ball we might have been in Algiers now.” +</p> + +<p> +“With Caroline ill! I should have sent for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we start, Henrietta, in a few weeks’ time?” She +ignored Henrietta’s vague murmur. “Oh, not until Caroline is quite +well, Sophia. We could go to the south of France, Henrietta. Yes, I think we +had better arrange that.” Rose felt a slightly malicious pleasure in this +proposal which became a serious one as she spoke. “You must learn to +speak French, and it is a long time since I have been abroad. It will be a +kindness to me. I don’t care to go alone. We have no engagements after +the middle of January, so shall we settle to go then?” There was +authority in her tone. “We shall avoid brigands, Sophia, but I think we +ought to go. It is not fair that Henrietta’s experiences should be +confined to Radstowe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite right, dear.” Sophia was unwillingly but nobly truthful. +“We have a duty to her father, but say nothing to Caroline until she is +stronger.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta was silent but she had a hot rage in her heart. She felt herself in a +trap and she looked with sudden hatred and suspicion at her Aunt Rose. It was +impossible to defy that calm authority. She would have to go, in merest +gratitude she must consent; she would be carried off, but she looked round +wildly for some means of escape. +</p> + +<p> +The prospect of that exile spoilt a Christmas which otherwise would not have +been a miserable one, for the Malletts made it a charming festival with +inspired ideas for gifts and a delightful party on Christmas Day, when Caroline +was allowed to appear. She refused to say that she was better; she had never +been ill; it was a mere fad of the doctor and her sisters; she supposed they +were tired of her and wanted a little peace. However, she continued to absorb +large quantities of strengthening food, beef tea, meat jelly and heady tonic, +for she loved food, and she was determined to go to the ball. +</p> + +<p> +This was on New Year’s Eve, and all that day, from the moment when Susan +drew the curtains and brought the early tea, there was an atmosphere of +excitement in Nelson Lodge and Henrietta permitted herself to enjoy it. Francis +Sales was to be at the ball. She forgot the threatened exile, she ignored +Charles Batty’s tiresome insistence that she must dance with him twice as +many times as with anybody else, because he was engaged to her. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe you can dance a bit,” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“I can get round,” he said. “It’s the noise of the band +that upsets me—jingle, jingle, bang, bang! But we can sit out when we +can’t bear it any longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“That would be very amusing,” Henrietta said. +</p> + +<p> +Susan, drawing Henrietta’s curtains, remarked that it was a nice day for +the ball and then, looking severely at Henrietta and arranging a wrap round her +shoulders, she said, “I suppose Miss Caroline is going.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I hope so,” Henrietta said. “She’s not worse, is +she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not that I know of, Miss Henrietta, but I’m afraid it will be the +death of her.” She seemed to think it would be Henrietta’s fault +and, in the kitchen, she told Cook that, but for Miss Henrietta, the Battys, +who were close-fisted people—you had only to look at Mr. Batty’s +mouth—would not be giving a ball at all, but they had their eyes on Miss +Henrietta for that half-witted son of theirs. She was sure of it. And Miss +Caroline was not fit to go, it would be the death of her. Cook was optimistic. +It would do Miss Caroline good; she was always the better for a little fun. +</p> + +<p> +The elder ladies breakfasted in bed to save themselves all unnecessary fatigue, +and throughout the day they moved behind half-lowered blinds. Henrietta was +warned not to walk out. There was a cold wind, her face would be roughened; and +when she insisted on air and exercise she was advised to wear a thick veil. +Both ladies offered her a shawl-like covering for the face, but Henrietta shook +her head. “Feel,” she said, lifting a hand of each to either cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“Like a flower,” Sophia said. +</p> + +<p> +“The wind doesn’t hurt flowers. It won’t hurt me.” +</p> + +<p> +Fires were lighted in the bedroom earlier than usual. Caroline and Sophia again +retired to their room, leaving orders that they were not to be disturbed until +four o’clock, and a solemn hush fell on the house. +</p> + +<p> +While the ladies were having tea, Susan was busy in their bedroom laying out +their gowns and Henrietta, chancing to pass the open door, peeped in. The bed +was spread with the rose-pink and apricot dresses of their choice, with +petticoats of corresponding hues, with silken stockings and long gloves and +fans; and on the mound made by the pillows two pairs of very high-heeled +slippers pointed their narrow toes. It might have been the room of two young +girls and, before she fluttered down to tea, Henrietta took another glance at +the mass of yellow tulle on her own bed. She wished Mrs. Banks and Miss Stubb +could see her in that dress. Mrs. Banks would cry and Miss Stubb would grow +poetical. She would have to write and tell them all about it. At eight +o’clock the four Miss Malletts assembled in the drawing-room. Caroline +was magnificent. Old lace veiled the shimmering satin of her gown and made it +possible to wear the family emeralds: these, heavily set, were on her neck and +in her ears; a pair of bracelets adorned her arms. Seen from behind, she might +have been the stout and prosperous mother of a family in her prime and only +when she turned and displayed the pink patches on yellow skin, was her age +discernible. She was magnificent, and terrible, and Henrietta had a moment of +recoil before she gasped, “Oh, Aunt Caroline, how lovely!” +</p> + +<p> +Sophia advanced more modestly for inspection. “She looks about +twenty-one!” Caroline exclaimed. “What a figure! Like a +girl’s!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re prejudiced, dear Caroline. I never had your air. +You’re wonderful.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re all wonderful!” Henrietta cried. +</p> + +<p> +They had all managed to express themselves: Caroline in the superb attempt at +overcoming her age, and Sophia in the softness of her apparel; Rose, in filmy +black and pearls round her firm throat, gently proud and distant; and Henrietta +was like some delicately gaudy insect, dancing hither and thither, approaching +and withdrawing. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, we’re all wonderful,” Henrietta said again. +“Don’t you think we ought to start? It’s a pity for other +people not to see us!” +</p> + +<p> +With Susan’s help they began the business of packing themselves into the +cab. Caroline lifted her skirts and showed remarkably thin legs, but she stood +on the doorstep to quarrel with Sophia about the taking of a shawl. She ought +to have a lace one round her shoulders, Sophia said, for the Assembly Rooms +were always cold and it was a frosty night. +</p> + +<p> +“Sophia, you’re an idiot,” Caroline said. “Do you think +I’m going to sit in a ball-room in a shawl? Why not take a hot-water +bottle and a muff?” +</p> + +<p> +“At least we must have the smelling salts. Susan, fetch the salts. Miss +Caroline might need them.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Caroline said she would rather die than display such weakness and she +stepped into the cab which groaned under her weight. Another fainter groan +accompanied Sophia’s entrance and Rose and Henrietta, tapping their satin +shoes on the pavement, heard sounds of bickering. Sophia had forgotten her +handkerchief and Susan fled once more into the house. +</p> + +<p> +The cabman growled his disapproval from the box. “I’ve another +party to fetch,” he said. “And how many of you’s +going?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only four,” Henrietta said sweetly, “and we shan’t be +a minute.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been waiting ten already,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +The handkerchief was handed into the darkness of the cab and Rose and Henrietta +followed. “Mind my toes,” Caroline said. “Susan, tell that +disagreeable fellow to drive on.” +</p> + +<p> +They had not far to go, but the man did not hurry his horse. Other cabs passed +them on the road, motor-cars whizzed by. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall be dreadfully late,” Henrietta sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“I am always late for balls,” Caroline said calmly. +</p> + +<p> +Rose, leaning back in her corner, could see Henrietta’s profile against +the window-pane. Her lips were parted, she leaned forward eagerly. “We +shall miss a dance,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline coughed. “Oh, dear,” Sophia moaned. “Caroline, you +should be in bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a silly old woman,” Caroline retorted. +</p> + +<p> +“But you’ll promise not to sit in a draught; Henrietta, see that +your Aunt Caroline doesn’t sit in a draught.” But Henrietta was +letting down the window, for the cab had drawn up before the portals of the +Assembly Rooms. +</p> + +<p> +In the cloak-room, Rose and Henrietta slipped off their wraps, glanced in the +mirror, and were ready, but there were anxious little whisperings and +consultations on the part of the elder ladies and Henrietta cast a despairing +glance at Rose. Would they never be ready? But at last Caroline uttered a +majestic “Now” and led the way like a plump duck swimming across a +pond with a fleet of smaller ducks behind her. +</p> + +<p> +No expense and no trouble had been spared to justify the expectations of +Radstowe. The antechamber was luxuriously carpeted, arm-chaired, cushioned, +palmed and screened, and the hired flunkey at the ballroom door had a presence +and a voice fitted for the occasion. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Mallett!” he bawled. “Miss Sophia Mallett! Miss Rose +Mallett! Miss Henrietta Mallett!” +</p> + +<p> +The moment had come. Henrietta lifted her head, settled her shoulders and +prepared to meet the eyes of Francis Sales. The Malletts had arrived between +the first and second dances and the guests sitting round the walls had an +uninterrupted view of the stately entrance. Mrs. Batty, in diamonds and purple +satin, greeted the late-comers with enthusiasm and James Batty escorted +Caroline and Sophia to arm-chairs that had all the appearance of thrones. Mrs. +Batty patted Henrietta on the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty dear,” she said. “Here you are at last. There are a +lot of boys with their programmes half empty till you come, and my Charles, +too. Not that he’s much for dancing. I’ve told him he must look +after the ugly ones. We’re going to have a quadrille for your +aunts’ sake!” And then, whispering, she asked, “What do you +think of it? I said if we had it at all, we’d have it good.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s gorgeous!” Henrietta said, and off the stage she had +never seen a grander spectacle. The platform at the end of the room was banked +with flowers and behind them uniformed and much-moustached musicians played +with ardour, with rapture, their eyes closing sentimentally in the choicest +passages. Baskets of flowers hung from the chandeliers, the floor was polished +to the slipperiness of ice and Mrs. Batty, on her hospitable journeys to and +fro, was in constant danger of a fall. +</p> + +<p> +The society of Radstowe, all in new garments, appeared to Henrietta of a +dazzling brilliance, but she stood easily, holding her head high, as though she +were well used to this kind of glory. Looking round, she saw Francis Sales +leaning against a wall, talking to his partner and smiling with unnecessary +amiability. A flame of jealousy flickered hotly through her body. How could he +smile like that? Why did he not come to her? And then, in the pride of her +secret love, she remembered that he dare not show his eagerness. They belonged +to each other, they were alone in their love, and all these people, talking, +laughing, fluttering fans, thinking themselves of immense importance, had no +real existence. He and she alone of all that company existed with a fierceness +that changed the sensuous dance-music into the cry of essential passion. +</p> + +<p> +Young men approached her and wrote their initials on her programme which was +already marked with little crosses against the numbers she had promised to +Francis Sales. Charles Batty, rather hot, anxious and glowering, arrived too +late. His angry disgust, his sense of desertion, were beyond words. He stared +at her. “And my flowers,” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Charles, don’t shout.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are my flowers? I sent some—roses and lilies and maidenhair. +Where are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t seen them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I suppose you didn’t like them, but the girl in the shop told +me they would be all right. How should I know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t seen them,” she repeated. Over his shoulder she +saw the figure of Francis Sales coming towards her. +</p> + +<p> +“I ordered them yesterday,” Charles continued loudly. +“I’ll kill that girl. I’ll go at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“The shop will be shut,” Henrietta reminded him. “Oh, do be +quiet, Charles.” She turned with a smile for Francis. +</p> + +<p> +“She hasn’t a dance left,” Charles said. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Sales took the precaution of booking them in advance,” +Henrietta said lightly, and with a miserable gesture Charles went off, +muttering, “I hadn’t thought of that. Why didn’t some one +tell me?” +</p> + +<h3>§ 5</h3> + +<p> +That ball was to be known in Nelson Lodge as the one that killed Miss Caroline, +but Miss Caroline had her full share of pleasure out of it. It was the custom +in Radstowe to make much of Caroline and Sophia: they were respected and +playfully loved and it was not only the middle-aged gentlemen who asked them to +dance, and John and Charles Batty were not the only young ones who had the +honour of leading them into the middle of the room, taking a few turns in a +waltz and returning, in good order, to the throne-like arm-chairs. Francis +Sales had their names on his programme, but with him they used the privilege of +old friends and preferred to talk. +</p> + +<p> +“You can keep your dancing for Rose and Henrietta,” Caroline said. +</p> + +<p> +“He comes too late for me,” Rose said pleasantly. He gave her +something remarkably like one of his old looks and she answered it with a grave +one. There was gnawing trouble at her heart. She had watched his meeting with +Henrietta. It had been wordless; everything was understood. She had also seen +the unhappiness of Charles Batty, and, on an inspiration, she said to him, +“Charles, you must take pity on an old maid. I have all these dances to +give away.” +</p> + +<p> +For him this dance was to be remembered as the beginning of his friendship with +Rose Mallett; but at the moment he was merely annoyed at being prevented from +watching Henrietta’s dark head appearing and disappearing among the other +dancers like that of a bather in a rough sea. He said, “Oh, thank you +very much. Are you sure there’s nobody else? But I suppose there +can’t be”; and holding her at arm’s length, he ambled round +her, treading occasionally on her toes. He apologized: he was no good at +dancing: he hoped he had not hurt her slippers, or her feet. +</p> + +<p> +She paused and looked down at them. “You mustn’t do that to +Henrietta. Her slippers are yellow and you would spoil them.” +</p> + +<p> +“She isn’t giving me a single dance!” he burst out. “I +asked her to, but I never thought I ought to get a promise. Nobody told me. +Nobody tells me anything.” +</p> + +<p> +An icily angry gentleman remonstrated with him for standing in the fairway and +Rose suggested that they should sit down. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, I’m no good. I can’t dance. I can’t please +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Charles, you’re still in the way. Let us go somewhere quiet and +then you can tell me all about it.” +</p> + +<p> +He took her to a small room leading from the big one. “I’ll shut +the door,” he said, “and then we shan’t hear that hideous +din.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a very good band.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s profane,” Charles said wearily. “Music—they +call it music!” He was off at a great pace and she did not try to hold +him in. She lay back in the big chair and seemed to study the toes on which +Charles Batty had trampled. His voice rolled on like the sound of water, +companionable and unanswerable. Suddenly his tone changed. “Henrietta is +very unkind to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there any reason why she shouldn’t be?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do everything I can think of. I’ve told her all about +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“She would rather hear about herself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve done that, too. Perhaps I haven’t done it enough. +I’ve given her chocolates and flowers. What else ought I to do?” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice, very calm and clear after his spluttering, said, “Not too +much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” This was a new idea. “Oh! I never thought of that. +Why—” +</p> + +<p> +She interrupted his usual cry. “Women are naturally cruel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are they? I didn’t know that either.” He swallowed the +information visibly. She could almost see the process of digestion. +“Oh!” he said again. +</p> + +<p> +“They don’t mean to be. They are simply untouched by a love they +don’t return.” She added thoughtfully: “And inclined to +despise the lover.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it,” he mourned. “She despises me.” And +in a louder voice he demanded, not of Rose Mallett, but of the mysterious world +in which he gropingly existed, “Why should she?” +</p> + +<p> +“She shouldn’t, but perhaps you yourself are making a +mistake.” +</p> + +<p> +She heard indistinctly the word, “Impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t be sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m quite certain about that—about nothing else.” His +big hands moved. “I cling to that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must be ready to serve her. Charles, if I ever needed +you—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d do anything for you because you’re her aunt. And +besides,” he said simply, “you’re rather like her in the +face.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, but it’s her you may have to serve—and not me. I +want her to be happy. I don’t know where her happiness is, but I know +where it is not. Some day I may tell you.” She looked at him. He might be +useful as an ally; she was sure he could be trusted. “Promise you will do +anything I ask for her sake.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned the head which had been sunk on his crumpled shirt. “Is +anything the matter?” he asked, concerned, and more alert than she had +ever seen him. +</p> + +<p> +She said, “Hush!” for the door behind was opening and it let in a +murmur of voices and a rush of cold, fresh air. Rose shivered and, looking +round, she saw Henrietta and Francis Sales. Her cloak was half on and half off +her shoulders, her colour was very high and her eyes were not so dazzled by the +light that she did not immediately recognize her aunt. It was Francis Sales who +hesitated and Rose said quickly, “Oh, please shut the door.” +</p> + +<p> +He obeyed and stood by Henrietta’s side, a pleasing figure, looking +taller and more finely made in his black clothes. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been on the terrace?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it’s a glorious night.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll get cold,” Charles said severely. She had been out +there with the man who murdered music and who, therefore, was a scoundrel, and +Charles’s objection was based on that fact and not on Francis +Sales’s married state. He had not the pleasure of feeling a pious +indignation that a man with an invalid wife walked on the terrace with +Henrietta. He would have said, “Why not?” and he would have found +an excuse for any man in the beauty, the wonder, the enchantment of that girl, +though he could not forgive Henrietta for her friendship with the slaughterer +of music and of birds. +</p> + +<p> +He glared and repeated, “You’ll be ill.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta pretended not to hear him, and Rose said thoughtfully and slowly, +“Oh, no, Charles, people don’t get cold when they are happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose not.” He felt in a vague way that he and Rose, sitting +there, for he had forgotten to stand up, were united against the other two who +stood, very clear, against the gold-embossed wall of the room, and that those +two were conscious of the antagonism. They also were united and he felt an +increase of his dull pain at the sight of their comeliness, the suspicion of +their likeness to each other. “I suppose not,” Charles said, and +after that no one spoke, as though it were impossible to find a light word, and +unnecessary. +</p> + +<p> +Each one was aware of conflict, of something fierce and silent going on, but it +was Rose who understood the situation best and Charles who understood it least. +His feelings were torturing but simple. He wanted Henrietta and he could not +get her: he did not please her, and that Sales, that Philistine, that handsome, +well-made, sulky-looking beggar knew how to do it. +</p> + +<p> +But Rose was conscious of the working of four minds: there was her own, sore +with the past and troubled by a present in which her lover concealed his +discomfiture under the easy sullenness of his pose. He, too, had the past +shared with her to haunt him, but he had also a present bright with +Henrietta’s allurements yet darkly streaked with prohibitions, struggles +and surrenders, and Rose saw that the worst tragedy was his and hers. It must +not be Henrietta’s. In their youth she and Francis had misunderstood, and +in their maturity they had failed, each other; it was the fault of neither and +Henrietta must not be the victim of their folly. Looking at the big fan of +black feathers spread on her knee, Rose smiled a little, with a maternal +tenderness. Henrietta was her father’s daughter, wilful and lovable, but +she was also the daughter of that mother who had been good and loving. +Henrietta had her father’s passion for excitement but, being a woman, she +had the greater need of being loved, and Rose raised her eyes and looked at +Charles with an ironical appreciation of his worthiness, of his comicality. She +saw him with Henrietta’s eyes, and her white shoulders lifted and dropped +in resignation. Then she looked at Henrietta and smiled frankly. “Another +dance has begun,” she said. “Somebody must be looking for +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Henrietta said, “it’s with Mr. Sales,” and +turning to him with the effect of ignoring Rose, she said in a clear voice +which became slightly harsh as she saw him gazing at her aunt oddly, almost as +though he were astonished by a new sight, “Shall we go back to the +terrace or shall we dance?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll get cold,” Charles said again angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us dance,” Sales said. +</p> + +<p> +The door to the ball-room closed behind them and Charles let out a groan. +“You see!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Rose hoped he did not see too much and she was reassured when he added, +“She takes no notice of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Charles, but you know you treat her a little like a child. You +shouldn’t talk of catching cold. You’re too material.” +</p> + +<p> +She was surprised to hear him say with a sort of humble pride, “Only +before other people. She’s heard me different.” Then, dropping into +the despair of his own thoughts, and with the rage of one feeling himself +sinking hopelessly, he cried out, “It’s like pouring water through +a sieve.” +</p> + +<p> +The voice of Rose, very calm and wise, said gently, “Continue to +pour.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all very fine,” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +“Continue to pour. It may be all you can do, but it is worth +while.” +</p> + +<p> +“I told her I would do that, one night, on the hill. She said she +didn’t want it.” +</p> + +<p> +“She doesn’t know,” Rose said in the same voice, comforting +in its quietness. She stood up. “We had better go back now, and remember, +you promise to do for her anything I ask of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” he said, “but I shall do it wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +She laid her hand on his arm. “It must be done rightly. It must. It will +be. Now take me back.” +</p> + +<p> +He resigned her unwillingly, for he felt that she was his strength, to the +partner who claimed her, but as she prepared to dance, Charles returned +hurriedly and, ignoring the affronted gentleman who had already clasped her, he +said anxiously, “This service—what is it? Is there something +wrong?” +</p> + +<p> +She looked deeply into his eyes. “There must not be.” +</p> + +<p> +And now, for him in the sea of dancers, there were two dark heads bobbing among +the waves. +</p> + +<p> +The hours sped by; the lavish supper was consumed; dresses and flowers lost +their freshness; the musicians lost their energetic ardour; the man at the +piano was seen to yawn cavernously above the keys. The guests began to depart, +leaving an exhausted but happy Mrs. Batty. She had been complimented by Miss +Mallett on the perfection of her arrangements, on the brilliance of the +assembly, on the music and even on the refreshments, and Mrs. Batty had blessed +her own perseverance against Mr. Batty’s obstinacy in the matter of the +supper. He had wanted light refreshments and she had insisted on a +knife-and-fork affair, and Miss Caroline had actually remarked on the wisdom of +a solid meal. She had no patience with snacks. Mrs. Batty intended to lull Mr. +Batty to slumber with that quotation. +</p> + +<p> +In the cab, as the Malletts jolted home in the care of the same surly driver, +Caroline complaisantly spoke of her congratulations. She would not have said so +much to anybody else, but she knew Mrs. Batty would be pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“So she was, dear,” Sophia said, but her more delicate social sense +was troubled. “Though I do think one ought to treat everybody as one +would treat the greatest lady in the land. I think we ought to have taken for +granted that everything would be correct.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rubbish! You must treat people as they want to be treated. She was +panting for praise, and she got it, and anyhow it’s too late to +argue.” +</p> + +<p> +They had stayed to the end so that Henrietta’s pleasure should not be +curtailed, and now she was leaning back, very white and still. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe the child’s asleep,” Sophia whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I’m not. I’m wide awake.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you enjoy it, dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very much,” said Henrietta. +</p> + +<p> +“I kept my eye on you, child,” Caroline said. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta made an effort. “I kept my eye on you, Aunt Caroline. I saw you +flirting with Mr. Batty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impudence! Sophia, do you hear her? I only danced with him twice, though +I admit he hovered round my chair. They always did. I can’t help it. +We’re all like that. You should have seen your father at a ball! There +was no one like him. Such an air! Ah, here we are. I suppose this disagreeable +cabman must be tipped.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll see to that,” Rose said. It was the first time she had +spoken. “Be quick, Caroline. Don’t stand in the cold.” +</p> + +<p> +“The dancing has done me good,” Caroline said, and she lingered on +the pavement to look at the stars, holding her skirts high in the happy +knowledge of her unrivalled legs and feet. “No, Sophia, I am not cold, or +tired; but yes, I’ll take a little soup.” +</p> + +<p> +They sat round the roaring fire prepared for them and drank the soup out of +fine old cups. Caroline chattered; she was gay; she believed she had been a +great success; young men had paid court to her; she had rapped at least one of +them with her fan; a grey-haired man had talked to her of her lively past. But +Sophia had much ado to prevent her heavy head from nodding. Henrietta was +silent, very busy with her thoughts and careful to avoid the eyes of Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” Caroline said, “we ought to give a little dance. +We could have this carpet up. Just a little dance—” +</p> + +<p> +“But Henrietta and I,” Rose said distinctly, “are going +away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nonsense! You must put it off. We ought to give a dance for the +child. Now, how many couples? Ten, at least. Sophia, you’re +asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, dear. A party. I heard. But if you’re ready now, I think +I’ll go to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go along. I’ll follow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, Caroline, we always go together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, I’ll come, but I could stay here and talk for hours. I +could always sit you out and dance you out, couldn’t I?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear. You’re wonderful. Such spirit!” +</p> + +<p> +They kissed Rose; they both kissed Henrietta on each cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“A little dance,” Caroline repeated, and patted Henrietta’s +arm. “Good child,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta went upstairs behind them, slowly, not to overtake Sophia. She did +not want to be left down there with Aunt Rose. She wanted solitude, and she +knew now what people meant when they talked of being in a dream. Under her hand +the slim mahogany rail felt like the cold, firm hand of Francis Sales when, +after their last dance together, he had led her on to the terrace again. They +were alone there, for the wind was very cold, but for Henrietta it was part of +the exquisite mantle in which she was wrapped. She was wrapped in the glamour +of the night and the stars and the excitement of the dance, yet suddenly, +looking down at the dark river, she was chilled. She said, and her voice seemed +to be carried off by the wind, “Aunt Rose is going to take me +away.” +</p> + +<p> +He bent down to her. “What did you say?” +</p> + +<p> +She put her lips close to his ear. “Aunt Rose is going to take me +away.” +</p> + +<p> +He dropped her hand. “She can’t do that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she will. I shall have to go,” and he said gloomily, “I +knew you would leave me, too.” She felt helpless and lonely: her +happiness had gone; the wind had risen. She said loudly, “It’s not +my fault. What can I do? I shall come back.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood quite still and did not look at her. “You don’t think of +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think of nothing else. How can I tell her I can’t leave you? She +has been good to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“She was once good to me, too. That won’t last long.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that’s not true!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Go, then, if she’s more to you than I am. I’m used to +that.” +</p> + +<p> +She moved away from him. Why did he not help her? He was a man; he loved her, +but he was cruel. Ah, the thought warmed her, it was his love that made him +cruel: he needed her; he was lonely. Under her cloak, she clasped her gloved +hands in a helplessness which must be conquered. What shall I do? she asked the +stars. Across the river the cliff was sombre; it seemed to listen and to +disapprove. The stars were kinder: they twinkled, they laughed, they +understood, and the lights on the bridge glowed steadily with reassurance. She +turned back to Francis Sales. “You must trust me,” she said firmly. +He put his hands heavily on her shoulders. “I won’t let you +go.” +</p> + +<p> +A murmur, inarticulate and delighted, escaped her lips. This was what she +wanted. Very small and willing to be commanded, she leaned against him. +“What will you do with me?” she whispered, secure in his strength. +She laughed. “You will have to take me away yourself!” +</p> + +<p> +“You wouldn’t come,” he said with unexpected seriousness. +</p> + +<p> +So close to him that the wind could not steal the words, she answered, “I +would do anything for one I loved.” +</p> + +<p> +The memory of her own voice, its tenderness and seduction, startled her in the +solitude of her room. She had not known she could speak like that. She dropped +her face into her hands, and in the rapture of her own daring and in the +recollection of the excitement which had frozen them into a stillness through +which the beating of their hearts sounded like a faint tap of drums, there came +the doubt of her sincerity. +</p> + +<p> +Had she really meant what she said? Yet she could have said nothing else. The +words had left her lips involuntarily, her voice, as though of itself, had +taken on that tender tone. She could not have failed in that dramatic moment, +but now she was half afraid of her undertaking. Well, her hands dropped to her +sides, she had given her word; she had promised herself in an heroic surrender +and her very doubts seemed to sanctify the act. +</p> + +<p> +For a long time she sat by the fire, half undressed, her immature thin arms +hanging loosely, her sombre eyes staring at the fire. She wished this night +might go on for ever, this time of ecstasy between a promise and its +fulfilment. She had seen disillusionment in another and did not laugh at its +possibility for herself; it would come to her, she thought, as it had come to +her mother, who had hoped her daughter would find happiness in love; and +Henrietta wondered if that gentle spirit was aware of what was happening. +</p> + +<p> +The thought troubled her a little, and from her mother, who had been a +neglected wife, it was no more than a step to that other, lying on her back, +tortured and lonely. If Christabel Sales had a daughter, what would be her +fierce young thoughts about this thief, sitting by the fire in a joy which was +half misery? Yet she was no thief: she was only picking up what would otherwise +be wasted. It seemed to her that life was hardly more than a perpetual and +painful choice. Some one had to be hurt, and why should it not be Christabel? +Or was she hurt enough already? And again, what good would she get from +Henrietta’s sacrifice? No one would gain except Henrietta herself, she +could see that plainly, and she was prepared to suffer; she was anxious to +suffer and be justified. +</p> + +<p> +The coals in the grate began to fade, the room was cold and she was tired. +Slowly she continued her undressing, throwing down her dainty garments with the +indifference of her fatigue. She feared her thoughts would stand between her +and sleep, but, when she lay down, warmth gradually stole over her and soothed +her into forgetfulness. She slept, but she waked to unusual sounds in the +house: a door opened, there were footsteps on the landing and then a voice, +shrill and frightened. She jumped out of bed. Sophia was on the landing; Rose +was just opening her door; Susan, decently covered by a puritanical +dressing-gown, had been roused by the noise. Caroline was in pain, Sophia said. +She was breathing with great difficulty. “I told her she ought to take a +shawl,” Sophia sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +Fires had to be lighted, water boiled and flannels warmed, and the voice of +Caroline was heard in gasping expostulation. Henrietta dressed quickly. +“I’m going for the doctor,” she told Rose, who was already +putting on her coat, and Henrietta noticed that she still wore her evening +gown. She had not been to bed, and for a moment Henrietta forgot her Aunt +Caroline and stared at her Aunt Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going,” Rose said quietly. “Oh, hadn’t you +better stay here? Aunt Sophia is in such a fuss.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll go together,” Rose said. “I can’t let you +go alone.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta laughed a little. This care was so unnecessary for one who had given +herself to a future full of peril. +</p> + +<p> +They went out in the cold darkness of the morning, walking very fast and now +and then breaking into a run, and with them there walked a shadowy third +person, keeping them apart. It was strange to be yoked together by +Caroline’s danger and securely separated by this shadow. They did not +speak, they had nothing to say, yet both thought, What difference is this going +to make? But on their way back, when the doctor had been roused and they had +his promise to come quickly, Henrietta’s fear burst the bonds of her +reserve. “You don’t think she is going to die, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +Rose put her arm through Henrietta’s. “Oh, Henrietta, I hope not. +No, no, I’m not going to believe that, “and, temporarily united, +the third person left behind though following closely, they returned to the +lighted house. As they stood in the hall they could hear the rasping sound of +Caroline’s breathing. +</p> + +<h3>§ 6</h3> + +<p> +John Gibbs, of Sales Hall, milkman and news carrier, shook his head over the +cans that morning. Mrs. Sales was very bad. The master had fetched the doctor +in the early morning. He had set out in the same car that brought him from the +dance. Cook and Susan looked at each other with a compression of lips and a +nodding of heads, implying that misfortune never came singly, but they did not +tell John Gibbs of the illness in their own house. They had imbibed something +of the Mallett reserve and they did not wish the family affairs to be blabbed +at every house in Radstowe. But when the man had gone, Susan reminded Cook of +her early disapproval of that ball. It would kill Miss Caroline, it would kill +Mrs. Sales. +</p> + +<p> +“She wasn’t there, poor thing,” Cook said. +</p> + +<p> +“But he was, gallivanting. I dare say it upset her.” +</p> + +<p> +Susan was right. Christabel Sales had fretted herself into one of her heart +attacks; but the Malletts did not know this until later. At present they were +concerned with Caroline, about whom the doctor was reassuring. She was very +ill, but she had herself remarked that if they were expecting her to die they +would be disappointed, and that was the spirit to help recovery. +</p> + +<p> +A nurse was installed in the sick-room, Sophia fluttered a little less and Rose +and Henrietta ignored their emotion of the early morning; they also avoided +each other. They were both occupied with the same problem, though +Henrietta’s thoughts had taken definite shape; above her dreaming, her +practical mind was dealing with concrete details, and Rose was merely +speculating on the future, and the more she speculated, the surer she became of +the necessity to interfere. Her plan of carrying Henrietta to other lands was +frustrated for the present by Caroline’s illness and she dared not allow +things to drift. There was a smouldering defiance in Henrietta’s manner: +she was absorbed yet wary; she seemed to have a grudge against the aunt who had +missed nothing at the dance, who had seen her exits and entrances with Francis +Sales and interrupted their farewell glance, the wave of Henrietta’s +gloved hand towards the tall figure standing in the porch of the Assembly Rooms +to see her depart. +</p> + +<p> +There was a certain humour about the situation, and for Rose an impeding +feeling of hypocrisy. Here she was, determined to put obstacles on the primrose +path where she herself once had dallied. It looked like the envy of age for +youth, it looked like inclining to virtue because the opposite was no longer +possible for her, like tardy loyalty to Christabel; but she must not be +hampered by appearances. +</p> + +<p> +Her chief fear was of hardening Henrietta’s temper, and she came to the +conclusion that she must appeal to Francis Sales himself. It was an unpleasant +task and, she dimly felt, she hardly knew why, a dangerous one; and meeting +Henrietta that day at meals or in the hushed quiet of the passages, she felt +herself a traitor to the girl. After all, what right had she to interfere? She +had no right, and her double excuse was her knowledge of Francis Sales’ +character and her certainty that Henrietta was chiefly moved by her dramatic +instinct. And again Rose wished that the hair of Charles Batty’s head +were thicker and that he could supply the counter-attraction needed; but she +might at least be able to use him; there was no one else. +</p> + +<p> +That night, after an evening spent in soothing Sophia’s fears which had +been roused by the unnatural gentleness of Caroline, and treating Henrietta to +all the friendliness she would receive, Rose went out to post a letter to +Francis Sales. She had asked him, with an irony she had no doubt he would miss, +to meet her in the hollow where the gipsies had encamped and where so many of +their interviews had taken place. It was within a few yards of that bank of +primroses where he had asked her to marry him. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline was better the next morning and it was easy for Rose to escape. She +chose to ride. It was one of those mild January days which already promise the +return of spring. Birds chirped in the leafless trees, the earth was damp and +seemed to stir with the efforts of innumerable roots to produce a richer life, +yet the leaves of autumn were still lying on the ground. How she loved this +country, this blue air, this smell of fruit present even before the blossom was +on the trees, the sight of wood smoke curling from the cottage chimneys, the +very ruts in the road! A little while ago she had told herself she was sickened +by it: it was the symbol of failure and young, tender, ruined hopes, but the +love of it lay deeply in her heart; all this, the failure and the ruin, were of +her life and it could be no more cast off than could the hands which had +refused the kissing and clasping of Francis Sales. +</p> + +<p> +This was her own country: the strange, unbridled, stealthy wildness of it was +in her blood; it was in Henrietta through her father, it was in Francis, too, +and due to it was this tragic muddle in which they found themselves. She had a +faint, despairing feeling that she could not fight against it, that her mission +would only be another failure, yet she counted on Francis’s easy +tenderness of heart. The very weakness which persuaded him to an action could +turn him from it, and it was to his tenderness she must appeal. +</p> + +<p> +She reached the track and, raised high on her horse, she could see the fields +with the rough grass and gorse bushes sloping to the channel; the pale strip of +water like silver melted in the heart of the hills and falling slowly to the +sea; the blue hills themselves like gates keeping a fair country. The place +where the wood had been was like a brown and purple rug, but before long the +pattern would be complicated by creeping green. Where the trees had murmured +and whispered or stood silent, listening, there was now no sound, no secrecy; +the place lay candidly under the wide sky, but, from a field out of sight, a +sheep bleated disconsolately, with a sound of infinite, uncomprehending woe, +and a steamer in the river sent out a distant hoot of answering derision. +</p> + +<p> +The gipsies had departed; the ashes of their fire made a black patch on the +ground and a few rags fluttered in the wind. There was no human being in sight +and she rode down the slope to wait in the hollow. She was beginning to wonder +if Francis had received her letter when, with a dreary sense of watching a +familiar scene reacted, she saw him in the lane with Henrietta by his side. +Here was an unexpected difficulty, and she could do nothing but ride towards +them, raising her whip in greeting. +</p> + +<p> +She said at once to Francis, “Did you get my letter?” She saw +Henrietta’s face flush angrily, but she knew that the time had come for +her to speak. “I asked you to meet me here.” +</p> + +<p> +He was staring at her and his mouth moved mechanically. “No, I +didn’t get it by the first post. Perhaps it’s there now.” +With his eyes still fixed on her, he moved back a step. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” Rose smiled. “Don’t go and get it. Fortunately +you are here. I want to talk to you, Henrietta, please—” Her voice +was gentle, she leaned forward in the saddle with a charming gesture of +request, but Henrietta shook her head. She was antagonized by that charm which +was holding Francis’s eyes. A loosened curl had fallen over her forehead, +giving to the severity of her dress, copied from that portrait of her father, a +dishevelling touch, as though a young lady were suddenly discovered to be a +gipsy in an evil frame of mind. +</p> + +<p> +“If it’s anything to do with me, I’m going to stay,” +she said. “If it hasn’t, I’ll go.” She looked at +Francis and added, between her teeth, “But it must have.” Those +words and that look claimed him for her own. +</p> + +<p> +Rose lifted her chin and looked over the two heads, the uncovered one of +Francis Sales and Henrietta’s, with her hat a little askew, and, +absurdly, Rose remembered that the child had washed her hair the night before: +that was why the hat was crooked and the curl loose, making the scene +undignified and funny above the pain of it. Rose spoke in a voice heightened by +a tone. “It concerns you both,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, then, you needn’t say it, need she, Francis?” +</p> + +<p> +“Francis,” she repeated the name with a grave humour, “this +is not fair to Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that,” he muttered, and Rose saw Henrietta shoot at him a +thin look of scorn. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta said, “But I don’t care about that, and anyhow, +we’re not going to do it any more. We’re tired of these +meetings”—she faced him—“aren’t we? We had just +made up our minds to have no more of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad of that,” said Rose, and she fancied that the +hurried beating of her heart must be plain through the thick stuff of her coat. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta laughed, showing little teeth, and Rose thought, “Her teeth are +too small. They spoil her.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, you need not spy on us any more,” Henrietta said. +</p> + +<p> +Francis made a movement of distaste. He said, as though the words cost him much +labour, “Henrietta, don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +But there seemed to be no limit to what Rose could bear. She stooped forward +suddenly and put her cheek against the horse’s neck in an impulsive need +to express affection, perhaps to get it. +</p> + +<p> +“You think I don’t understand,” she said quietly, “but +I do, too well.” She paused, and in her overpowering sense of +helplessness, of distrust, she found herself making, without a quiver, the +confession of her own foolishness. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know whether Francis has told you that he and I were once +in love with one another. At least that is what we called it.” Very pale, +appearing to have grown thinner in that moment, she looked at the horse’s +ears and spoke as though she and Henrietta were alone. “Until quite +lately. Then he realized, we both realized, our mistake. But it seems that +Francis must have somebody to—to meet, to kiss. Between me and you there +has been some one else.” With a wave of her hand, she put aside that +thought. “We used to meet here often. This place must be full of memories +for him. For me, the whole countryside is scattered with little broken bits of +love. It breaks so easily, or it may be only the counterfeit that breaks. +Anyhow, it broke, it chipped. I thought you ought to know that.” She +touched her horse with her heel and turned down the lane. She went slowly, +sitting very straight, but she had the constant expectation of being shot in +the back. She had to remind herself that Henrietta had no weapon but her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +It was those eyes Francis Sales chiefly remembered when he had parted from +Henrietta and turned homewards. There had been scorn in them, anger, grief, +jealousy and expectation. If she had not been so small, if they had not been +raised to his, if he could have looked levelly into them as he did into the +clear grey eyes of Rose, things might have been different. But she was little +and she had clung to him, looking up. She had told him she could never see her +Aunt Rose again. How could she? Was he sure he did not love Rose still? Was he +sure? He ought to be, for it was he who had made Henrietta love him. He had +liked that tribute too much to contradict it, but Rose Mallett was right: +whoever had been the promoter of this business, it was not fair to Henrietta, +and the thought of Rose, so white and straight, was like wind after a sultry +day. She was like a church, he thought; a dim church with tall pillars losing +themselves in the loftiness of the roof; yes, that was what was the matter with +her: she was cold, but there was no one like her, you could not forget her even +in the warmth of Henrietta’s presence. One way and another, these +Malletts tortured him. +</p> + +<p> +He walked home, trying to find some way out of this maze of promises to +Henrietta and of self-reproach, and his mental wanderings were interrupted by +an unwelcome request from the nurse that he should go at once to Mrs. Sales. +She seemed, the woman warned him, to be very much excited: would he please be +careful? She must not have another heart attack. +</p> + +<p> +As he entered the room, it seemed to him that he had been treading on +egg-shells all his life, but a sudden pity swept him at the sight of his wife, +very weak from the pain of the night before last, yet intensely, almost +viciously alive. He wished he had not gone to the Battys’ ball; it had +upset her and done him no good. If it had not been for that walk on the +terrace— +</p> + +<p> +He shut the door gently and stood by her. “Are you in pain?” he +asked. He felt remorsefully that he did not know how to treat her; he had not +love enough, yet with all his heart he wanted to be kind. +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t kissed me to-day,” she said. “No, +don’t do it. You don’t want to, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do,” he said, and as he bent over her he was touched by the +contented sigh she gave. If he could begin over again, he told himself, with +the virtue of the man who has committed himself fatally, things would be +different. If he hadn’t brought Henrietta to such a pass, they should be +different now. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never stopped being fond of you, Christabel.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed and disconcerted him. “Or of your horses, or your +dogs,” she said. “No one could expect you to care much for a +useless log like me. No one could have expected you not to go to that +dance.” Tears filled her eyes. “But I was lonely. And I imagined +you there—” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I hadn’t gone,” he said truthfully. +</p> + +<p> +She seemed to consider that remark, but presently she asked, “Have you +lost something?” +</p> + +<p> +He had lost a great deal, for Rose despised him; that had been plain in the +face which once had been so soft for him. +</p> + +<p> +“I asked you,” Christabel said, “if you had lost +something.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—no, nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +She let out a small piercing shriek. “You’re lying, lying! But why +should I care? You’ve done that for years. And Rose has been so kind, +hasn’t she, coming to see me every week? Take your letter, Francis. Yes, +I’ve read it! I don’t care. I’m helpless. Take it!” +From its hiding-place under the coverlet she drew the letter and threw it at +him. It fluttered feebly to the ground. She had made a tremendous effort, +trying to fling it in his face, and it had fallen as mildly as a snowflake. She +began to sob. This was the climax of her suffering, that it should fall like +that. +</p> + +<p> +He picked it up and read it. It was no good trying to explain, for one +explanation would only necessitate another. He was deeply in the mire, they +were both, they were all in it, and he did not know how to get anybody out, but +he had to stop that sobbing somehow. His pity for Christabel swelled into his +biggest feeling. He crumpled the letter angrily and, at the sound, she held her +breathing for a moment. Of course, she should have crumpled the letter and then +she might have hit him with it. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to God I’d never seen her,” she heard him say with +despairing anger. And then, more gently, “Don’t cry, Christabel. I +can’t bear to hear you. The letter’s nothing. I shall never meet +her again. I must take more care of you.” He took her hand and stroked +it. He would never meet Rose again, but he had an appointment with Henrietta. +</p> + +<p> +“You promise? But no, it doesn’t matter if you love her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t love her.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you did.” +</p> + +<p> +He passed his free hand across his forehead. No, he would not keep that +appointment with Henrietta, or he would only keep it to tell her it was +impossible. He could not go with this wailing in his ears and he knew that +piteous sound was his salvation. It gave him the strength to appear weak. +“Don’t cry. It’s all right, Christabel. Look, I’ll burn +the confounded letter and I swear it’s the only one I’ve ever had +from her. “It was to Rose, he admitted miserably, that he owed the +possibility of telling that truth. +</p> + +<p> +Her weeping became quieter. “Tell her,” she articulated, “I +never want to see her again.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” he said petulantly, “haven’t I just told you I +never want to meet her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then write—write—I don’t mind Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” he almost shouted, “not Henrietta either!” +</p> + +<p> +She turned to him a face ravaged with tears and misery. “Why not +Henrietta?” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“I hate the lot of them,” he muttered. “They’re all +witches.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed joyously. “That’s what I’ve said myself!” +She gave him both her thin, hot hands to hold. “But it’s worth +while, all this, if you are going to be good to me.” +</p> + +<p> +He kissed her then as the sinner kisses the saint who has wrought a miracle of +salvation for him. “We’ve had bad luck,” he murmured. +“You’ve had the worst of it.” He stroked her cheek. +“Poor little thing.” +</p> + +<h3>§ 7</h3> + +<p> +Once out of sight of the two standing in the lane, Rose rode home quickly. She +felt she had a great deal to do, but she did not know what it was. Her head was +hot with the turmoil of her thoughts. There was no order in them; the past was +mixed with the present, the done with the undone: she was assailed by the awful +conviction that right was prolific in producing wrong. If she had not preserved +her own physical integrity, these two, who were almost like her +children—yes, that was how she felt towards them—would not have +been tempted to such folly. For it was folly: they did not love each other, and +she remembered, with a sickening pang, the expression with which Francis had +looked at her. She told herself he loved her still; he had never loved anybody +else and she had only pity and protection and a deep-rooted fondness to give +him in return. She cared more passionately for Henrietta, who was now the +victim of the superficial chastity on which Rose had insisted. +</p> + +<p> +If she had known that Henrietta was to suffer, she would have subdued her +niceness, for if Francis had been in physical possession of her body, she would +have had no difficulty in possessing his mind. Holding nothing back, she could +also have held him securely. She did not want him, but Henrietta would have +been saved. But then Rose had not known: how could she? And Henrietta might be +saved yet, she must be saved. The obvious method was to lay siege to the facile +heart of Francis, but there was no time for that. Rose was not deceived by +Henrietta’s enigmatic words. They were tired of meeting stealthily, she +had said. What did that mean? Her head grew hotter. She had to force herself +into calm, and the old man at the toll-house on the bridge received her visual +greeting as she passed, but, as she went slowly to the stables, there was added +to her anxiety the thrilling knowledge that at last, and for the first time, +she was going to take definite action. Her whole life had been a long and dull +preparation for this day. She began to take a pleasure in her excitement: she +had something to do; she was delivered from the monotony of thought. +</p> + +<p> +On her way from the stables she met Charles Batty going home for his midday +meal, and she stopped him. “Charles!” she said. She presented to +his appreciative eyes a very elegant figure in the habit looped up to show her +high slim boots, with her thick plait of hair under the hard hat, her +complexion defying the whiteness of her stock; while to her he appeared with +something of the aspect of an angel in a long top coat and a hat at the back of +his head. “Charles,” she said again, tapping her boot with her +whip, “I’m in trouble. Would you mind walking home by the hill? I +want you to help me, but I can’t tell you how. Not yet.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked beside her without speaking and they came to the place where he had +stood with Henrietta and she had flouted him; whither she had wandered on her +first day in Radstowe, that high point overlooking the gorge, the rocks, the +trees, the river; that scene of which not Charles, nor Rose, nor Henrietta +could ever tire. +</p> + +<p> +“Not, yet,” she repeated. “Will you meet me this +afternoon?” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” he remonstrated, “if Henrietta found +out—” +</p> + +<p> +She had not time to smile. “It’s for her sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll do anything,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Then will you meet me this afternoon at five o’clock? Not here. I +may not be able to get so far. Where can we meet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s the post-office. Can’t mistake that.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, I may have something important, very important, Charles, to say +to you. At five o’clock, will you be on The Green? There’s a seat +by the old monument. It won’t take a minute to get there. Are you +listening? On The Green at five o’clock. Come towards me as soon as you +see me and at once we’ll walk together towards the avenue. Wait till six, +and if I don’t come, will you still hold yourself in readiness at home? +Don’t forget. Don’t be absent-minded and forget what you are there +for, and even if there’s a barrel-organ playing dreadful tunes, +you’ll wait there? For Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand this about Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +“That doesn’t matter, not in the least. Now what are your +instructions?” +</p> + +<p> +He repeated them. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. I trust you.” +</p> + +<p> +They separated and she went home, a little amused by her melodramatic conduct, +but much comforted by the fact that Charles, though ignorant of his part, was +with her in this conspiracy. She was met by reproaches from Sophia. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Rose, riding on such a day! And Henrietta out, too! Suppose +we’d wanted something from the chemist!” +</p> + +<p> +“But you didn’t, did you? And there are four servants in the house. +How is Caroline now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very quiet. Oh, Rose, she’s very ill. She lets me do anything I +like. She hasn’t a fault to find with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let Henrietta sit with her this afternoon while Nurse is out.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, Rose, I must do what I can for her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like Henrietta to feel she is needed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think Caroline would be pleased. I’ll see what she +says.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline was distressingly indifferent but, as Henrietta went to her room on +her return and sent a message that she had a headache and did not want any +food, she was left undisturbed. Sophia became still more agitated. What was the +matter with the child? It would be terrible if she were ill, too. Would Rose go +and take her temperature? No, Rose was sure Henrietta would not care for that. +She had better be left to sleep. If only she could be put to sleep for a few +days! +</p> + +<p> +Now that she was in the house and locked into her room, Rose was alarmed. She +was afraid she had done wrong in making that confession; she had played what +seemed to be her strongest card but she had played it in the wrong way, at the +wrong moment. She had surely roused the girl’s antagonism and rivalry, +and there came to Rose’s memory many little scenes in which Reginald +Mallett, crossed in his desires, or irritated by reproaches, had suddenly +stopped his storming, set his stubborn mouth and left the house, only to return +when need drove him home. +</p> + +<p> +But if Henrietta went, and Rose had no doubt of her intention, she would not +come back. She had the unbending pride of her mother’s class, and +Rose’s fear was changed into a sense of approaching desolation. The house +would be unbearable without Henrietta. Rose stood on the landing listening to +the small sounds from Caroline’s room and the unbroken silence from +Henrietta’s. If that room became empty, the house would be empty too. +There would be no swift footsteps up and down the stairs, no bursts of singing, +no laughter: she must not go; she could not be spared. For a moment Rose forgot +Francis Sales’s share in the adventure: she could only think of her own +impending loneliness. +</p> + +<p> +She went quickly down the stairs and sat in the drawing-room, leaving the door +open, and after an hour or so she heard stealthy sounds from the room above; +drawers were opened carefully and Henrietta, in slipperless feet, padded across +the floor. Rose looked at her watch and rang the bell. +</p> + +<p> +“Please take a tray to Miss Henrietta’s room,” she told +Susan, “with tea, and sandwiches and, yes, an egg. She had no luncheon. A +good, substantial tea, please, Susan.” If the child were anticipating a +journey, she must be fed. +</p> + +<p> +A little later she heard Susan knock at Henrietta’s door. It was not +opened, but the tray was deposited outside with a slight rattle of china, and +Susan’s voice, mildly reproachful, exhorted Miss Henrietta to eat and +drink. +</p> + +<p> +At half-past four the tray was still lying there untouched. This meant that +Henrietta was in no hurry, or that she was too indignant to eat: but it might +also mean that she had no time. Only half-past four and Charles Batty was not +due till five! He might be there already; in his place, she would have been +there, but men were painfully exact, and five was the hour she had named. But +again, Charles Batty was not an ordinary man. Trusting to that fact, she went +to her room and provided herself with money, and, having listened without a +qualm at Henrietta’s door, she ran out of the house. +</p> + +<p> +The church facing The Green sounded the three-quarters and there, on the seat +by the old stone, sat Charles, his hands in his pockets, his hat pulled over +his eyes in a manner likely to rouse suspicions in the mildest of policemen. +</p> + +<p> +He rose. “Where’s your hat?” +</p> + +<p> +“No time,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He repeated his lesson. “We were to walk towards the avenue.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but I daren’t. I want to keep in sight of the house. Come +with me. Here’s money. Don’t lose it.” +</p> + +<p> +He held it loosely. “Some one’s been playing ‘The Merry +Peasant’ for half an hour,” he said. “I’ll never sit +here again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Charles, take care of the money. You may need it. There’s ten +pounds—all I had—but perhaps it will be enough. I want you to watch +our gate, and if Henrietta goes out, please follow her, but don’t let her +see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I say!” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“I know. It’s hateful, it’s abominable, but you must do +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“She won’t be pleased.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must do it,” Rose repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s sure to see me. Eyes like needles.” +</p> + +<p> +“She mustn’t. She’ll probably go by train. If she goes to +London, to this address—I’ve written it down for you—you may +leave her there for the night and let me know at once. If she goes anywhere +else, you must go with her. Take care of her. I can’t tell you exactly +what to do because I don’t know what’s going to happen. She may +meet somebody, and then, Charles, you must go with them both. But bring her +home if you can. Don’t go to sleep. Don’t compose music in your +head. Oh, Charles, this is your chance!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it? I shall miss it. I always do the wrong thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to-night.” She smiled at him eagerly, imperiously, trying to +endue him with her own spirit. “Stay here in the shadow. I don’t +think you will have long to wait, and if you get your chance, if you have to +talk to her, don’t scold.” +</p> + +<p> +“Scold! It’s she that scolds. She bullies me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, not to-night!” she repeated gaily. +</p> + +<p> +He peered down at her. “Yes, you are rather like her in the face, +specially when you laugh. Better looking, though,” he added mournfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tell her that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mustn’t I? Well, I don’t suppose I shall think of it +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Remember that for you she is the best and most beautiful woman in the +world. You can tell her that.” +</p> + +<p> +“The best and most beautiful—yes,” he said. “All right. +But you’ll see—I’ll lose her. Bound to,” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +She put her hand on his arm. “You’ll bring her home,” she +said firmly, and she left him standing monumentally, with his hat awry. +</p> + +<p> +Charles stood obediently in the place assigned to him, where the shelter of the +Malletts’ garden wall made his own bulk less conspicuous and whence he +could see the gate. The night was mild, but a little wind had risen, gently +rocking the branches of the trees which, in the neighbourhood of the street +lamps, cast their shadows monstrously on the pavements. Their movements +gradually resolved themselves into melody in Charles Batty’s mind: the +beauty of the reflected and exaggerated twigs and branches was not consciously +realized by his eyes, but the swaying, the sudden ceasing, and the resumption +of that delicate agitation became music in his ears. He, too, swayed slightly +on his big feet and forgot his business, to remember it with a jerk and a fear +that Henrietta had escaped him. Rose had told him he must not make music in his +head. How had she known he would want to do that? She must have some faculty +denied to him, the same faculty which warned her that Henrietta was going to do +something strange to-night. +</p> + +<p> +He felt in his pocket to assure himself of the money’s safety. He +rearranged his hat and determined to concentrate on watching. The pain which, +varying in degrees, always lived in his bosom, the pain of misunderstanding and +being misunderstood, of doing the wrong thing, of meaning well and acting ill, +became acute. He was bound to make a mistake; he would lose Henrietta or +incense her, though now he was more earnest to do wisely than he had ever been. +He had told her he was going to make an art of love, but he knew that art was +far from perfected, and she was incapable of appreciating mere endeavour. He +was afraid of her, but to-night he was more afraid of failing. +</p> + +<p> +The music tripped in his head but he would not listen to it. He strained his +ears for the opening of the Malletts’ door, and just as the sound of the +clock striking two steady notes for half-past five was fading, as though it +were being carried on the light wings of the wind over the big trees, over the +green, across the gorge, across the woods to the essential country, he heard a +faint thud, a patter of feet and the turning of the handle of the gate. He +stepped back lest she should be going to pass him, but she turned the other +way, walking quickly, with a small bag in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s going away,” Charles said to himself with +perspicacity, and now for the first time he knew what her absence would mean to +him. She did not love him, she mocked and despised him, but the Malletts’ +house had held her, and several times a day he had been able to pass and tell +himself she was there. Now, with the sad little bag in her hand, she was not +only in personal danger, she threatened his whole life. +</p> + +<p> +He followed, not too close. Her haste did not destroy the beauty of her +carriage, her body did not hang over her feet, teaching them the way to go; it +was straight, like a young tree. He had never really looked at her before, he +had never had a mind empty of everything except the consideration of her, and +now he was puzzled by some difference. In his desire to discover what it was, +he drew indiscreetly close to her, and though a quick turn of her head reminded +him of his duty to see and not to be seen, he had made his discovery. Her +clothes were different: they were shabby and, searching for an explanation, he +found the right one. She was wearing the clothes in which she had arrived at +Nelson Lodge. He remembered. In books it was what fugitives always did: they +discarded their rich clothes and they left a note on the pin-cushion. It was +her way of shaking the dust from her feet and, with a rush of feeling in which +he forgot himself, he experienced a new, protective tenderness for her. He +realized that she, too, might be unhappy, and it seemed that it was he who +ought to comfort her, he who could do it. +</p> + +<p> +He had to put a drag on his steps as they tried to hurry after her, through the +main street of Upper Radstowe, through another darker one where there were +fewer people and he had to exercise more care, and so past the big square where +tall old houses looked at each other across an enclosure of trees, down to a +broad street where tramcars rushed and rattled. She boarded one of these and +went inside. Pulling his hat farther over his face in the erroneous belief that +he would be the less noticeable, he ascended to the top, to crane his head over +the side at every stopping-place lest Henrietta should get off; but there was +no sign of her until they reached that strange place in the middle of the city +where the harbour ran into the streets and the funnels and masts of ships +mingled with the roofs of houses. This was the spot where, round a big triangle +of paving, tramcars came and went in every direction, and here everybody must +alight. +</p> + +<p> +The streets were brilliant with electricity; electric signs popped magically +with many-coloured lights on the front of a music hall where an audience was +already gathering for the first performance, on public-houses, on the big red +warehouses on the quay. The lighted tramcars with passengers inside looked like +magic-lantern slides, and amid all the people using the triangle as a promenade +or hurrying here and there on business, the newsboys shouting and the general +bustle, Charles did not know whether to be more afraid of losing Henrietta or +colliding with her. But now his faculties were alert and he used more +discretion than was necessary, for Henrietta, under the influence of that +instinct which persuades that not seeing is a precaution against being seen, +was scrupulous in avoiding the encounter of any eye. +</p> + +<p> +He followed her to another tramcar which would take her to the station; he +followed her when she alighted once more and, seeing her change that bag from +one hand to another, as though she found it heavy, he let out a groan so loud +and heartfelt that it aroused the pity of a passer-by, but he was really +luxuriating in his sorrow for her. It was an immense relief after much +sorrowing for himself and it induced a forgetfulness of everything but his +determination to help her. +</p> + +<p> +It was easy to keep her in sight while she went up the broad approach to the +dull, crowded, badly lighted and dirty station: it was harder to get near +enough to hear what ticket she demanded. He did not hear, but again he followed +the little, shabby, yet somehow elegant figure, and he took a place in the +compartment next to the one she chose. It was the London train, and he found +himself hoping she was not going so far; he felt that to see her disappearing +into that house of which he had the address in his pocket would be like seeing +her disappear for ever. He would lose his chance of helping her, or rather, she +would lose her chance of being helped, a slightly different aspect of the +affair and the one on which he had set his mind. +</p> + +<p> +He had taken a ticket for the first stop, and when the train slowed down for +the station of that neighbouring city, he had his head out of the window. An +old gentleman with a noisy cold protested. Could he not wait until the train +actually stopped? Charles was afraid he could not be so obliging. He assured +the old gentleman that the night was mild. “And I’m keeping a good +deal of the draught out,” he said pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +He saw a small hand on the door of the next compartment, then the sleeve of a +black coat as Henrietta stretched for the handle, and he said to himself, +“She was in mourning for her mother.” He was proud of remembering +that; he had a sense of nearness and a slow suspicion that hitherto he had not +sufficiently considered her. In their past intercourse he had been trying to +stamp his own thoughts on her mind, but now it seemed that something of her, +more real than her physical beauty, was being impressed on him. He wanted to +know what she was feeling, not in regard to him, but in regard, for instance, +to that dead mother, and why she ran away like this, in her old clothes and +with the little bag. +</p> + +<p> +She was out of the train: she had descended the steps to the roadway and there +she looked about her, hesitating. Cabmen hailed her but, ignoring them and +crossing the tramlines, she began to walk slowly up a dull street where cards +in the house windows told of lodgings to be let. If she knocked at one of these +doors, what was he to do? But she did not look at the houses: her head was +drooping a little, her feet moved reluctantly, she was no longer eager and her +bag was heavy again, she had changed it from the right to the left hand, and +then, unexpectedly, she quickened her pace. The naturally unobservant Charles +divined a cause and, looking for it, he saw with a shock of surprise and horror +the tall figure of a man at the end of the street. She was hastening towards +him. +</p> + +<p> +Charles stood stock-still. A man! He had not thought of that, he had positively +never thought of it! Nor had he guessed at his capacity for jealousy and anger. +Then this was why Rose Mallett had sent him on this mission: it was a +man’s work, and in the confusion of his feelings he still had time to +wish he had spent more of his youth in the exercise of his muscles. He braced +himself for an encounter, but already Henrietta had swerved aside. This was not +the man she was to meet; her expectation had misled her; but the acute Charles +surmised that the man she looked for would also be tall and slim. +</p> + +<p> +Tall and slim; he repeated the words so that he should make no mistake, but +subconsciously they had roused memories and instead of that little black figure +hurrying on in front of him, he saw a young woman clothed in yellow, entering +from the frosty night, with brilliant half veiled eyes, and by the side of her +was Francis Sales. +</p> + +<p> +Again he stood still, as much in amazement at his own folly as in any other +feeling. Francis Sales, the fellow who could dance, who murdered music and +little birds! And he had a wife! Charles was not shocked. If Henrietta had +wished to elope with a great musician, wived though he might be, Charles could +have let her go, subduing his own pangs, not for her own sake but for that of a +man more important than himself, but he would not yield the claims of his +devotion to Francis Sales. He should not have her. +</p> + +<p> +He walked on quickly, taking no precautions. He had lost sight of Henrietta and +he could not even hear the sound of her steps, yet he had no doubt but he would +find her, and she was not far to seek. A turn of the road brought him under the +shadow of the cathedral and, in the paved square surrounded by old houses in +which it stood, he saw her. Apparently at that moment she also saw him, for +with an incredibly swift movement and a furtiveness which wrung his heart, she +slipped into the porch and disappeared. He followed. The door was unlocked and +she had passed through it, but he lingered there, fancying he could smell the +faint sweetness of her presence. Within, the organ was booming softly and in +that sound he forgot, for a moment, the necessity for action. The music seemed +to be wonderfully complicated with the waft of Henrietta’s passage, with +his love for her, with all he imagined her to be, but the forgetfulness was +only for that moment, and he pushed open the door. +</p> + +<h3>§ 8</h3> + +<p> +The place was dimly lighted. Two candles, like stars, twinkled on the distant +altar; a few people sat in the darkness with an extraordinary effect of +personal sorrow. This was not where happy people came to offer thanks; it was a +refuge for the afflicted, a temporary harbour for the weary. They did not seem +to pray; they sat relaxed, wrapped in the antique peace, the warm, musty smell +of the building, sitting with the stillness of their desire to preserve this +safety which was theirs only for a little while. Their dull clothes mixed with +the shadows, the old oak, the worn stone, and the voice of the organ was like +the voice of multitudes of sad souls. Very soon the music ceased with a kind of +sob and the verger, with his skirts flapping round his feet, came to warn those +isolated human creatures that they must face the world again. +</p> + +<p> +They rose obediently, but Henrietta did not move, as though she alone of that +company had not learnt the lesson of necessity. But the altar lights were now +extinguished, the skirted verger was approaching her, and Charles forestalled +him. He murmured, “Henrietta!” +</p> + +<p> +She looked up without surprise. “What time is it?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Seven o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +She rose, picking up her bag. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me have that,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” she answered absently, and then, “Is it really +seven?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, there’s the clock striking now.” The sound of the seven +notes whirred and then clanged above their heads. “We must go,” he +said. “They’re locking up.” The air was cold and damp after +the warmth of the church and Henrietta stood, shivering a little and looking +round her. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m hungry,” Charles Batty said. “Will you come and +have dinner with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she replied, “I shall stay here.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long for?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know.” And sharply she turned on him and asked, +“What are you doing here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I come here sometimes. There are concerts.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be late, then, if you are going to dine.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know, but I’m hungry. You can’t listen to music if +you’re hungry. Let’s have dinner first.” +</p> + +<p> +The square was deserted, the lights in the little shops, where old furniture +and lace and jewels were sold, were all put out and the large policeman who had +been standing at the corner had moved away. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want anything to eat,” she said. She dropped the bag +and covered her face with both her hands. She was going to cry, but he was not +afraid; he was rather glad and, not without pleasure at his own daring, he +removed a hand, tucked it under his arm, and said, “Come along.” +</p> + +<p> +She struggled. “I can’t. I must go to London. If you want to help +me you’ll find out about the trains. I can go to Mrs. Banks. I +can’t go back to Radstowe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Henrietta,” he said firmly, “come and have dinner and +we’ll talk about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll promise to help me.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing I want to do so much,” he said. “We +mustn’t forget the bag.” +</p> + +<p> +“Somewhere quiet, Charles,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Somewhere good,” he emended. +</p> + +<p> +She looked down, “Such old clothes.” +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t matter what you wear,” he told her. “You +always look different from anybody else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I? And I am! I am! I’m much worse, and nobody,” she +almost sobbed, “is so unhappy! Charles, will you wait here for a minute? +I must just—just walk round the square.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll come back?” +</p> + +<p> +She nodded, and he kept the bag as hostage. +</p> + +<p> +The large policeman had strolled back. He saw the tall young man standing over +the bag and thought it would be well to keep an eye on him, but Charles did not +notice the policeman. His whole attention was for Henrietta’s +reappearance. She would come back because she had said she would, but if she +did not come alone there would be trouble. He did not, however, expect to see +Francis Sales: he gathered that Sales had failed her, and he was sorry. He +would have beaten him, somehow; he would have conquered for the first time in +his life, and now he felt that his task was going to be too easy. He wished he +could have sweated and panted in the doing of it; and when Henrietta returned +alone, walking with an angry swiftness, he felt a genuine regret. +</p> + +<p> +“Come along, Charles,” she said briskly. “Let us have +dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +He could see the brightness of her eyes, looking past him; her lips had a fixed +smile and he wished she would cry again. “She is crying inside,” he +told himself. He moved forward beside her vaguely. The tenderness of his love +for her was like a powerful, warm wave, sweeping over him and making him +helpless for the time. He could do nothing against it, he had to be carried +with it, but suddenly it receded, leaving him high and dry and unromantically +in contact with a lamp-post. His hat had fallen off. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing?” Henrietta asked irritably. +</p> + +<p> +He rubbed his head. “Bumped it. I was thinking about you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What were you thinking?” she asked defiantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well—” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She laughed. “Charles, you’re hopeless.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I’m not.” He stooped for his hat and picked it up. +“Not,” he repeated strongly. “Here’s the place.” +They had turned into a busy street. “I hope there won’t be a +band.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope there will be. I want noises, hideous noises.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re going to get them,” he sighed as he pushed open the +swing-door and received in his ears the fierce banging, braying and shrieking +of various instruments played in a frenzy by a group of musicians confined, as +if for the public safety, in a small gallery at the end of the room. Large and +encumbered by the bag, he stood obstructing the waiters in the passage between +the tables. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re like wild beasts in a cage,” he said in the loud +voice of his anger. “Can you stand it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes—yes. Let us sit here, in this corner.” He was +ridiculous, she thought, yet to-night, unconscious of any absurdity himself, he +had a dignity; he was not so ugly as she had thought; his somewhat protruding +eyes had less vacancy, and though his tie was crooked, she was not ashamed of +him. Nevertheless, she said as he sat down, “Charles, I’m going to +London to-night. Get a time-table.” +</p> + +<p> +“Soup first,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go to-night. I can’t go back to Radstowe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you,” he asked unexpectedly, “leave a note on your +dressing-table?” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” She frowned. “No, of course not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, you can go back. We’re going to a concert together. +It’s quite easy. I told you you were different from everybody +else.” And then, remembering Rose’s words, he leaned across the +table towards her. “The most beautiful and the best,” he said +severely. +</p> + +<p> +“Me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Here’s the soup.” +</p> + +<p> +She drank it, looking at him between the spoonfuls. This was the man who had +talked to her by the Monks’ Pool. Here was the same detachment he had +shown then, and though the act of taking soup was not poetical, though the band +blared and the place shone with many lights, she was taken back to that night +among the trees, with the water lying darkly at her feet, keeping its own +secrets; with the ducks quacking sleepily and unseen, and the water rats diving +with a silken splash. +</p> + +<p> +She seemed to be recovering something she had lost because she had disregarded +it, something she wanted, not for use but for the sake of possessing and +sometimes looking at it. +</p> + +<p> +Sternly she tried not to think of Francis Sales, who had deserted her. She +might have known he would desert her. He had looked at Aunt Rose and she had +seen him weaken, yet he had promised. He was that kind of man: he could not say +no to her face, but he left her in this city, all alone. +</p> + +<p> +Her lips trembled; she steadied them with difficulty. She was determined not to +honour him with so much as a memory or a regret, but there came forbidden +recollections of the dance, of the terrace, and of her hands in his. She closed +her eyes and a tremor, delicious, horrible, ran through her body. She felt the +strength of those brown, muscular hands and she was assailed by the odour of +wind and tobacco that clung to him. He had never said anything worth +remembering, but there had been danger and excitement in his presence. There +was neither in the neighbourhood of Charles, yet she could not forget his +words. +</p> + +<p> +She opened her eyes. “What was it you said just now?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re the best and most beautiful woman in the world. Your fish +is getting cold.” +</p> + +<p> +She ate it without appetite or distaste. “But, Charles—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“Everything,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +He tapped himself, “Here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I expect you’ve got it all wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yesterday, perhaps, but not to-day. To-day I know everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“How does it feel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wonderful,” he replied. They laughed together but, as though with +that laughter the door to emotion had been opened, he saw tears start into her +eyes. “No,” he begged, “there’s no need to cry.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed again. “I’ve got to cry some time.” +</p> + +<p> +“When we’re going home, then. We’re going home in a +car.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are we?” she said, pleased as a child. “But what about +London, Charles? I have to go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to-night. Here’s some chicken.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t go back.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you haven’t left a note.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s easy. You and I have just been to a concert. You +promised me that long ago.” +</p> + +<p> +She uttered no more protests. She ate and drank obediently, glad to be cared +for, and when the meal was over she told him gratefully, “You have been +good. You never said another word about the band and it has made even my head +ache.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I forgot about it!” He stared at her in amazement. “I +forgot about it! I didn’t hear it! Good heavens! But come away quickly +before I begin remembering.” +</p> + +<p> +That they might be able to tell the truth, they went to the concert and, +standing at the back of the hall stayed there for a little while. Even for +Charles, the music was only a covering for his thoughts. Henrietta, strangely +gentle, was beside him, but he dwelt less on that than on the greater marvel of +the new power he felt within himself. She might laugh at him, she might mock +him in the future, but she could not daunt him, and though she might never love +him, he had done her service. No one could take that from him. He turned his +head and looked down at her, to find her looking up at him, a little puzzled +but entirely friendly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Henrietta!” he whispered loudly, transgressing his own law of +silence and evoking an indignant hiss from an enthusiastic neighbour. He +blushed with shame, then decided that to-night he could not really care, and +signing to Henrietta to follow him, he tiptoed from the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you hear? Did you hear?” he asked her. “I spoke! +I—at a concert! I’ve never done that in my life before. I’ll +never do it again! But, then, it was the first time you’d ever looked at +me like that, Henrietta! And, oh Lord, we’ve forgotten the bag. I dare +not go back for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll leave it, then,” she said indifferently. “I +don’t want to see it again.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I like it. It’s an old friend. I’ve watched +it—” He checked himself. “I’ll go. Wait here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why aren’t we going home by train?” she asked, when he +returned. +</p> + +<p> +“The angry man didn’t see me,” he said triumphantly. +“Oh, because— well, you wanted somewhere to cry, didn’t +you?” +</p> + +<p> +In the closed car she sat, for a time very straight, looking out of the window +at the streets and the people, but when they had drawn away from the old city +and left its grey stone houses behind and taken to the roads where slowly +moving carts were creaking and snatches of talk from slow-tongued country +people were heard and lost in the same moment, she sank back. The roads were +dark. They were lined by tall, bare trees which seemed to challenge this swift +passage and then decide to permit what they could not prevent, and for a mile +or so the river gleamed darkly like an unsheathed sword in the night. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall soon be there, shan’t we?” she asked, in a small +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, pretty soon.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish we wouldn’t. I wish we could go on like this for ever, to +the edge of the world and then drop over and forget.” +</p> + +<p> +He sighed. He could not arrange that for her but he told the man to drive more +slowly. Against the dark upholstery of the car, her face was like a young moon, +wan and too weary for its work. He slipped his arm under her back and drew her +to him. Pulling off her hat, she found a place for her head against his +shoulder and he shut his eyes. She breathed regularly and lightly, as though +she were asleep, but presently she said, “Charles, I don’t mean +anything by this, but you are the only friend I have. You won’t think I +mean anything, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head and it came to rest on hers. He, too, wished they might go on +like this for ever, to the world’s edge. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +The car was stopped at a little distance from the house and Henrietta had to +rouse herself from the state between waking and sleeping, thought and imagery, +in which she had passed the journey. The jarring of the brake shocked her into +a recognition of facts and the gentle humming of the engine reminded her that +life had to go on as before. The persistent sound, regular, not loud, +controlled, was like existence in Nelson Lodge; one wearied of it, yet one +would weary more of accidents breaking the healthy beating of the engine: +to-night had been one of the accidents and she was terribly tired. No wonder! +She had been trying to run away with a man who did not want her, a man who had +a lonely, miserable invalid for a wife, the old lover of Aunt Rose. A little +blaze of anger flared up at the thought of Rose; nevertheless, she continued +her self-accusations. She had been willing to leave her aunts without a word +and they had been good to her and one of them was ill, and the very money in +her pocket was not her own. She was shocked by her behaviour. She was like her +father, who took what belonged to other people and used it badly. +</p> + +<p> +She sat, flaccid, her hands loose on her lap. She felt incapable of movement, +but Charles was speaking to her, telling her to get out and run home quickly. +She looked at him. She was holding his friendly hand. What would she have done +without him? She saw herself in the train, speeding through the lonely +darkness; she saw herself knocking at Mrs. Banks’s door, felt herself +clasped to the doubtful blackness of that bosom, and she shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“You must go,” Charles said, but he still held her hand. +</p> + +<p> +He had brought her back to cleanliness and comfort, he had saved her from +behaviour of gross ingratitude, he had been marvellously kind and wise. +</p> + +<p> +“Charles,” she said, “it’s awful.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, it’s all right. We’ve been to a concert.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes”—her voice sank—“I’ve kept that +promise. But the whole thing— and Aunt Caroline so ill. She may have +died.” +</p> + +<p> +“There hasn’t been time,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Charles, it only takes a minute.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, run home quickly. This bag’s a nuisance,” he said, but +he looked at it tenderly. How he had dogged that bag! How heavy it had seemed +for her! “Look here, I’ll take it home and get it to you to-morrow +somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want it. I hate it.” +</p> + +<p> +He thought, “I’ll keep it, then,” and aloud he said, +“I’ll wrap the things up in a parcel and let you have them. Nothing +you don’t want me to see, is there?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. Do get out, dear. No, I shall drive on.” +</p> + +<p> +She lingered on the pavement. She had not said a word of thanks. She jumped on +to the step and put her head through the window. “Thank you, kind +Charles,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Henrietta,” he began in a loud voice, filling the dark interior +with sound, “Henrietta—” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no. Nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Not fair,” he said. “Just weakness. Good night. Be +quick.” +</p> + +<p> +She ran along the street and gave the front-door bell a gentle push. To her +relief it was the housemaid and not Susan who opened to her. Susan would have +looked at her severely, but the housemaid had a welcoming smile, an offer of +food if Miss Henrietta had not dined. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta shook her head. She was going to bed at once. She did not want +anything to eat. How was Miss Caroline? +</p> + +<p> +“Not so well to-night, Miss Henrietta. The doctor’s been again and +there’s a night-nurse come.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta pressed her hands against her heart. Oh, good Charles, wonderful +Charles! She did not know how to be grateful enough. She moved meekly, humbly +through the hall and up the stairs. All was terribly, portentously still, but +in her bedroom there were no signs of the trouble in the house. The fire was +lighted, her evening gown had been laid out on the bed, her silk stockings and +slippers were in their usual places. Nobody had suspected, nobody had been +alarmed; she had stolen back by a miracle into her place. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, Charles Batty was a miracle, there was no other word for him and, by +contrast, the image of Francis Sales appeared mean, contemptible. Why had he +failed her? His desertion was a blessing, but it was also a slight and perhaps +a tribute to the power of Rose. Yes, that was it. She set her little teeth. He +had stared at Aunt Rose as though he could not look at her enough, not with the +starved expression she had first intercepted long ago, but with a look of +wonder, almost of awe. She was nearly middle-aged, yet she could force that +from him. Well, she was welcome to anything he could give her, his offerings +were no compliment. Henrietta was done with him; she would not think of him +again; she had been foolish, she had been wicked, but she was the richer and +the wiser for her experience. +</p> + +<p> +She had always been taught that sin brought suffering, yet here she was, warm +and comfortable, in possession of a salutary lesson and with the good Charles +for a secure friend. It was odd, unnatural, and this variation in her case gave +her a pleasant feeling of being a special person for whom the operation of +natural laws could be diverted. By the weakness of Francis Sales and the +strength of Aunt Rose whom, nevertheless, she could never forgive, she was +saved from much unhappiness, and if her mother knew everything in that heaven +to which she had surely gone, she must now be weeping tears of thankfulness. +Yet Henrietta’s future lay before her rather drearily. She stretched out +her arms and legs; she yawned. What was she to do? Being good, as she meant to +be, and realizing her sin, as indeed she did, was hardly occupation enough for +all her energies. +</p> + +<p> +Her immediate business was to answer a knock at the door. It was Rose who +entered. Her natural pallor was overlaid by the whiteness of distress. +“Oh, Henrietta, I am glad you have come in.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been to a concert with Charles Batty,” Henrietta said +quickly. +</p> + +<p> +Rose showed no interest or surprise. “Caroline is so much worse.” +Henrietta felt a pang at her forgetfulness. “She is very ill. I was +afraid you might not be back in time. She has been asking for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been to Wellsborough, to a concert,” Henrietta +insisted. “Is she as bad as that, Aunt Rose? But she’ll get better, +won’t she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Come with me and say good night to her. “Rose took +Henrietta’s hand. “How warm you are,” she said, in wonder +that anything could be less cold than Caroline soon would be. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta’s fingers tightened round the living hand. “She’s +not going to die, is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she’s dying,” Rose said quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but she can’t,” Henrietta protested. “She +doesn’t want to. She’ll hate it so.” It was impossible to +imagine Aunt Caroline without her parties, without her clothes, she would find +it intolerably dull to be dead. “Perhaps she will get better.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose said nothing. They crossed the landing and entered the dim room. Caroline +lay in the middle of the big bed: with her hair lank and uncurled she was +hardly recognizable and strangely ugly. Her body seemed to have dwindled, but +her features were strong and harsh, and Henrietta said to herself, “This +is the real Aunt Caroline, not what I thought, not what I thought. I’ve +never seen her before.” She wondered how she had ever dared to joke with +her: she had been a funny, vain old woman without much sensibility, immune from +much that others suffered, and now she was a mere human creature, breathing +with difficulty and in pain. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta stood by the bed, saying and doing nothing: Rose had slipped away; +the nurse was quietly busy at a table and Aunt Sophia was kneeling before a +high-backed chair with her elbows on the cushioned seat, her face in her hands. +She was praying; it was as bad as that. Her back, the sash-encircled waist, the +thick hair, looked like those of a young girl. She was praying. Henrietta +looked again at Aunt Caroline’s grey face and saw that the eyes had +opened, the lips were smiling a little. “Good child,” she said, +with immense difficulty, as though she had been seeking those words for a long +time and had at last fitted them to her thought. +</p> + +<p> +Sophia stirred, dropped her hands and looked round: the nurse came forward with +a little crackle of starched clothes. “Say good night to her and +go.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta leaned over the empty space of bed and kissed Caroline on the temple. +“Good night, dear Aunt Caroline,” she said softly. +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer. The eyes were closed again and the harsh breathing went on +cruelly, like waves falling back from a pebbled shore, and Henrietta felt the +dampness of death on her lips. No, Aunt Caroline would not get better. +</p> + +<p> +She died in the early morning while Henrietta slept. Susan, entering as usual +with Henrietta’s tea, did not say a word. She knew her place; it was not +for her to give the news to a member of the family; moreover, she blamed +Henrietta for Miss Caroline’s death. It was the Battys’ ball that +had killed Miss Caroline, and Susan stuck to her belief that if it had not been +for Miss Henrietta, there would not have been a ball. +</p> + +<p> +Sleepily, Henrietta watched Susan draw the blinds, but something in the +woman’s slow, languid movements startled her into wakefulness. Her dreams +dropped back into their place. She had been sleeping warmly, forgetfully, while +death hovered over the house, looking for a way in. She sat up in bed. +“Aunt Caroline?” +</p> + +<p> +Susan began to cry, but in spite of her tears and her distress she ejaculated +dutifully, “Miss Henrietta, your dressing-gown, your slippers!” but +Henrietta had rushed forth and bounded into Rose’s room. +</p> + +<p> +“You might have told me! You might have waked me!” +</p> + +<p> +Rose was writing at her desk. She turned. “Put on your dressing-gown, +Henrietta. You will get cold. I came into your room but you were fast asleep, +and in that minute it was all over. The big things happen so quickly.” +</p> + +<p> +Yes, that was true. Quickly one fell in and out of love, ran away from home, +returned and slept and waked to find that people had quickly died. The big +things happened quickly, but the little ones of every day went on slow feet, as +though they were tired of themselves. +</p> + +<p> +“It was somehow a comfort,” Rose went on, “to know that you +were fast asleep, but living. You never moved when I kissed you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Kissed me? What did you do that for?” Henrietta asked in a loud +voice. She had been taken unawares by the woman who had wronged her, yet she +was touched and pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t help it. I was so glad to have you there, and you +looked so young. I don’t know what we should do without you, poor Sophia +and I. Oh, do put on my dressing-gown!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear, yes, put on the dressing-gown.” It was Sophia who +spoke. Her face was very calm; she actually looked younger, as though the +greatness of her sorrow had removed all other signs, like a fall of snow hiding +the scars of a hillside. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Aunt Sophia!” Henrietta went forward and pressed her cheek +against the other’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear, but you must go and dress. Breakfast is ready.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta was a little shocked that Aunt Sophia, who was naturally sentimental, +should be less emotional on this occasion than Aunt Rose, but she was also awed +by this control. She remembered how, when her own mother died, Mrs. Banks had +refused to take solid food for a whole day, and the recollection braced her for +her cold bath, for fresh linen, for emulation of Aunt Sophia, for everything +unlike the slovenly weeping of Mrs. Banks, sitting in the neglected kitchen +with a grimy pocket-handkerchief on her lap and the teapot at her elbow; but +she knew that the Banksian manner was really natural to her, and the Mallett +control, the acceptance, the same eating of breakfast, were a pose, a falseness +oddly better than her sincerity. +</p> + +<p> +At table no one referred to Caroline; they were practical and composed and +afterwards, when Sophia and Rose were closeted together, making arrangements, +writing letters to relatives of whom Henrietta had never heard, interviewing +Mr. Batty and a husky personage in black, Henrietta stole upstairs past +Caroline’s death chamber and into her own room. +</p> + +<p> +She was glad to find the pretty housemaid there, tidying the hearth and dusting +the furniture. She wanted to talk to somebody and the pretty housemaid was +sympathetic and discreet. She told Henrietta, inevitably, of deaths in her own +family, and Henrietta was interested to hear how the housemaid’s +grandmother had died, actually while she was saying her prayers. +</p> + +<p> +“And you couldn’t have a better end than that, could you, Miss +Henrietta?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose not,” Henrietta said, “but it might depend on what +you were praying for.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, she would be saying the usual things, Miss Henrietta, just daily +bread and forgive our trespasses. There was no harm in my grandmother. It was +her husband who broke his neck picking apples. His own apples,” she said +hastily, “And now poor Mrs. Sales has gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Sales?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Miss Henrietta, I thought you’d know—last night. Her +and Miss Caroline together.” She implied that in this journey they would +be company for each other. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta found nothing to say, but above the shock of pity she felt for the +woman she had disliked and the awe induced by the name of death, she was +conscious of a load lifted from her mind: she had not been deserted, her charm +had not failed; it was the approach of death that had held him back. She put +the thought away lest it should lead to others of which she would be ashamed, +yet she felt a malicious pleasure, lasting only for a second, at remembering +that downstairs sat Aunt Rose calmly full of affairs, Aunt Rose for whom the +love of Francis Sales had ceased too soon! And, suppressed but fermenting, was +the idea that in these late events, including the failure of her escape, there +was the kind hand of fate. +</p> + +<p> +At that very moment Charles Batty chose to call. +</p> + +<p> +“With a parcel, Miss Henrietta, and he would like to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t see him,” Henrietta said. “Tell him—tell +him about Miss Caroline.” She had already drifted away from Charles. He +had been so near last night, so almost dear in the troubled fog of her +distress, but this morning she had drifted and between them there was a shining +space of water sparkling hardly. But she spared him an instant of gratitude and +softness. His part in her life was like that, to a sailor, of some lightship +eagerly looked for in the darkness, of strangely diminished consequence in the +clear day, still there, safely anchored, but with half its significance gone. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t see him,” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +She wanted, suddenly, to see Aunt Rose. Voices no longer came from the +drawing-room. Mr. Batty, genuinely sad in the loss of an old friend, had gone; +the undertaker had tiptoed off to his gloomy lair, and Henrietta went +downstairs, but when she saw her aunt she dared not ask her if she knew about +Christabel Sales. Rose had a look of invulnerability; perhaps she knew, but it +was impossible to ask, and if she knew, it had made no difference. It seemed as +though she had gone beyond the reach of feeling: she and Sophia both wore white +masks, but Sophia’s was only a few hours old and Rose’s had been +gradually assumed. It was not only Caroline’s death which had given her +that strange, calm face: the expression had grown slowly, as though something +had been a long time dying, yet she hardly had a look of loss. She seemed to be +in possession of something, but Henrietta could not understand what it was and +she was vaguely afraid. +</p> + +<p> +It was Aunt Sophia who, in spite of her amazing courage, had an air of +desolation. And there was no rouge on her cheeks: its absence made Henrietta +want to cry. She did cry at intervals throughout that day and the ones that +followed. It was terrible without Aunt Caroline and pitiful to see Aunt Sophia +keeping up her dignity among black-clothed, black-beaded relatives who seemed +to appear out of the ground like snails after rain and who might have been part +of the undertaker’s permanent stock-in-trade. Henrietta hated the +mournful looks of these ancient cousins, the shaking of their black beads, +their sibilant whisperings, and in their presence she was dry-eyed and rather +rude. Aunt Caroline would have laughed at them and their dowdy clothes that +smelt of camphor, but it seemed as though no one would ever laugh again in +Nelson Lodge. +</p> + +<p> +And over the river, in the unsubdued country, where death was only the +repayment of a loan, there was another house with lowered blinds and voices +hushed. She was irritated by the thought of it, of the consolatory letters +Francis would receive, of the emotions he would display, or conceal, but at the +same time she was sorry that in death, as in life, Christabel should be lonely. +Her large and lively family was far away, even the cat had gone, and there were +only the nurse and Francis and the little dog to miss her. In a sense Henrietta +missed her too, and that fair region of fields and woods which had been as +though blocked by that helpless body now lay open, vast, full of possibilities, +inviting exploration; and when Henrietta looked at her Aunt Rose, it was with +the jealous eye of a rival adventurer. But that was absurd: there could be no +rivalry between them. Henrietta was sure of that and she tried to avoid these +speculations. +</p> + +<p> +And meanwhile necessary things were done and Christabel Sales and Caroline +Mallett were buried on the same day. The beaded relatives departed, not to +reappear until the next death in the family, and Rose and Henrietta, both +perhaps thinking of Francis Sales returning to his big empty house, returned +with Sophia to a Nelson Lodge oppressive in its desolation. It seemed now that +the whole business of life there, the servants, the fires, the delicate meals, +had proceeded solely for Caroline’s benefit; yet everything continued as +before: the machinery went on running smoothly; the dinner-table still +reflected in its rich surface the lights of candles, the sheen of silver, the +pallor of flowers. Nothing was neglected, everything was beautiful and exact, +and Susan had carefully arranged the chairs so that the vacant space should not +be emphasized. +</p> + +<p> +The three black-robed women slipped into their seats without a word. The soup +was very hot, according to Caroline’s instructions, but the cook, +inspired more by the desire to give pleasant nutriment than by tact, had chosen +to make the creamy variety which was Caroline’s favourite and, as each +Mallett took up her spoon, she had a vision of Caroline tasting the soup with +the thoughtfulness of a connoisseur and proclaiming it perfect to the last +grain of salt. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t eat it,” Sophia said faintly. In this almost comic +realization of her loss she showed the first sign of weakness. She rose, +trembling visibly, and Susan, anxious for the preservation of the decencies, +opened the door and closed it on her faltering figure before the first sob +shook her body. The others, without exchanging a single glance, proceeded with +the meal, eating little, each eager for solitude and each finding it unbearable +to picture Sophia up there in the bedroom alone. +</p> + +<p> +“But she doesn’t want us,” Rose said. +</p> + +<p> +“She might want me,” Henrietta replied provocatively, and for +answer Rose’s smile flickered disconcertingly across the candle-light, +and her voice, a little worn, said quietly, “Then go and see.” +</p> + +<p> +The bedroom had a dreadful neatness; it smelt of disinfectant, furniture polish +and soap, and Sophia, from the big armchair, said mournfully, “They might +have left it as it was. It feels like lodgings.” And as the very +feebleness of her outcry smote her sense and waked echoes of all she left +unsaid, her mouth fell shapeless, and she cried, “She’s +gone!” in a tone of astonishment and horror. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta, sitting on a little stool before the fire, listened to the weeping +which was too violent for Sophia’s strength, and the harsh sound reminded +her of Aunt Caroline’s difficult breathing. It seemed as though the noise +would go on for ever: she counted each separate sob, and when they had +gradually lessened and died away the relief was like the ceasing of physical +pain. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Sophia,” Henrietta said, “everybody has to die.” +</p> + +<p> +Sophia heard. Tears glistened on her cheeks, her hair was disordered, she +looked like a large flaxen doll that had been left out in the rain for a long +time. “But each person only once,” she whispered. “One +doesn’t get used to it, and Caroline—” She struggled to sit +up. “Caroline would be ashamed of me for this.” +</p> + +<p> +“She might pretend to be, but she’d like it really.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” Sophia murmured. “She had such +character. You never believed her, did you, Henrietta, when she made out she +had been—had been indiscreet?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I never believed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad of that. It was a fancy of hers. I encouraged her in it, +I’m afraid; but it made her happy, it pleased her and it did no harm. I +suppose nobody believed her, but she didn’t know. I don’t think +I’ll sit here doing nothing, Henrietta. I suppose I ought to go through +her papers. She never destroyed a letter. I might begin on them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, do you think you’d better? Don’t you like just to sit +here and talk to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, I must not give way. I’m not the only one. There’s +poor Francis Sales. If he’d married Rose—I always planned that he +should marry Rose—and of course, we ought not to think of such things so +soon, but the thought has come to me that they may marry after all.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta tightened the clasp of the hands on her knee and said, “Why do +you think that?” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be suitable,” Sophia said. +</p> + +<p> +“But she’s so old. Haven’t you noticed how old she has looked +lately?” +</p> + +<p> +“Old? Rose old?” Sophia’s manner became almost haughty. +“Rose has nothing to do with age. My only doubt is whether Francis Sales +is worthy of her. Dear Caroline used to say she ought to—to marry a +king.” +</p> + +<p> +“And she hasn’t married anybody,” Henrietta remarked +bitingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody,” Sophia said serenely. “The Malletts don’t +marry,” she sighed; “but I hope you will, Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Henrietta said sharply. “I shan’t. I don’t +want to. Men are hateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, dear child, not all of them. Perhaps none of them. When I was +eighteen—” She hesitated. “I must get on with her +papers.” She stood up and moved towards the bureau. “They’re +here. We shared the drawers. We shared everything.” She stretched out her +hands and they fell heavily, taking the weight of her body with them, against +the shining slope of wood. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta, who had been gazing moodily at the fire, was astonished to hear the +thud, to see her Aunt Sophia leaning drunkenly over the desk. Sophia’s +lips were blue, her eyes were glazed, and Henrietta thought, “She’s +dying, too. Shall I let her die?” but at the same moment she leapt up and +lowered her aunt into a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my heart,” Sophia said after a few minutes, and +Henrietta understood why poor Aunt Sophia always went upstairs so slowly. +“Don’t tell anybody. No one knows. I ought not to have cried like +that. There’s a little bottle—” She told Henrietta to fetch +it from a secret place. “I never let Caroline know. It would have worried +her, and, after all, she was the first to go. I’m glad to think I saved +her that anxiety. You remember how she teased me about getting tired? Well, it +didn’t matter and she liked to think she was so young. Wherever she is +now, I do hope she isn’t feeling angry with herself. She thought illness +was so vulgar.” +</p> + +<p> +“But not death,” Henrietta said. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not death,” and Henrietta fancied her aunt lingered lovingly +on the word. “This must be a secret between us.” She lay back +exhausted. “I only had two secrets from Caroline. This about my heart was +one. Henrietta, in that little drawer, at the very back, you’ll find a +photograph wrapped in tissue-paper. Find it for me, dear child. Thank +you.” She held it tenderly between her palms. “This was the other. +It’s the picture of my lover, Henrietta. Yes, I wanted you to know that +some one once loved me very dearly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Aunt Sophia, we all love you. I love you dearly now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear, yes, I know; I’m grateful, but I wanted somebody to +know that I had had my romance, and have it still—all these years. But I +was loved, Henrietta, till he died, and I was very young then, younger than you +are now. Yes, I wanted somebody to know that poor Sophia had a real lover once. +He went away to America to make a fortune for me, but he died. I have been +wondering, since Caroline went, if she and he have met. If so, perhaps she +knows, perhaps she blames me, but I don’t think she will laugh—not +now. I hope she laughs still, but not at that. And now, Henrietta, we’ll +put the photograph into the fire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, no, Aunt Sophia, keep it still!” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear child, I may die at any moment, and I have his dear face by heart. +I shouldn’t like any other eyes to look at it, not even yours. Stir the +fire, Henrietta. Now help me up. No, dear, I would rather do it myself.” +</p> + +<p> +She knelt, her faded face lighted by the flames which consumed her greatest +treasure, her back still girlish, her slim waist girdled with a black ribbon, +her thick knot of hair resting on her neck. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta went quietly out of the room, but on the landing she wrung her hands +together. She felt herself surrounded by death, decay, lost love, sad memories. +She was too young for this house. She had a longing to escape into sunshine, +gaiety and pleasure. It was Caroline who had laughed and planned, it was she +who had made the place a home. Rose was too remote, Sophia was living in the +past, and Henrietta felt herself alone. Even her father’s portrait looked +down at her with eyes too much like her own, and out there, beyond the +high-walled garden, the roofs and the river, there was only Francis Sales and +he was not a friend. He was, perhaps, a lover; he was a sensation, an accident; +but he was not a companion or a refuge. +</p> + +<p> +And the thought of Charles rose up, at that moment, like the thought of a +fireside. She wished he would come now and sit with her, asking for nothing, +but assuring her of service. That was what he was for, she decided. You could +not love Charles, but you could trust him for ever, and the more trust he was +given, the more he grew to it. She needed him: she must not lose him. Deep in +her heart she supposed she was going to marry Francis Sales, yes, in spite of +what Aunt Sophia said, and it was a prospect towards which she tiptoed, holding +her breath, not daring to look; but she, like Rose, had no illusions. She was +the daughter of her mother’s union with her father, and she was prepared +for trouble, for the need of Charles. Besides, she liked him: he was +companionable even when he scolded. One forgot about him, but he returned; he +was there. She went to bed in that comfortable assurance. +</p> + +<h3>§ 9</h3> + +<p> +There could be no more parties for Henrietta that winter, but Mrs. +Batty’s house was always open to her, and Mrs. Batty, like her son +Charles, could be relied upon for welcome and for relaxation. In her presence +Henrietta had a pleasant sense of superiority; she was applauded and not +criticized and she knew she could give comfort as well as get it. Mrs. Batty +liked to talk to her and Henrietta could sink into one of the superlatively +cushioned arm-chairs and listen or not as she chose. There she was relieved of +the slight but persistent strain she was under in Nelson Lodge, for Sophia and +Rose had standards of manner, conduct and speech beyond her own, while Mrs. +Batty’s, though they existed, were on another plane. Henrietta was sure +of herself in that luxurious, overcrowded drawing-room, decorated and scented +with the least precious of Mr. Batty’s hothouse flowers, and somewhat +overheated. +</p> + +<p> +On her first visit after Caroline’s death, Mrs. Batty received the +bereaved niece with unction. “Ah, poor dear,” she murmured, and +whether her sympathy was for Caroline or Henrietta, perhaps she did not know +herself. “Poor dear! I can’t get your aunt out of my head, +Henrietta, love. There she was at the party, looking like a queen— well, +you know what I mean—and Mr. Batty said she was the belle of the ball. It +was just his joke; but Mr. Batty never makes a joke that hasn’t something +in it. I could see it myself. And then for her to die like that—it seems +as if it was our fault. It was a beautiful ball, wasn’t it, dear? I do +think it was, but it’s spoilt for me. I can only be thankful it +wasn’t her stomach or I should have blamed the supper. As it is, there +must have been a draught. It was a cold night.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a lovely night,” Henrietta said, thinking of the terrace +and the dark river and the stars. She could remember it all without shame, for +he had not failed her and her personality had not failed. He had not deserted +her, and when they met there would be no need for explanations. He would look +at her, she would look at him—she had to rouse herself. “Yes, it +was a splendid ball, Mrs. Batty.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what did you think of my dress, dear?” Mrs. Batty asked, and +checked herself. “But we ought not to talk about such things with your +dear aunt just dead. You must miss her sadly. Did you—were you with her +at the end?” +</p> + +<p> +But this was a region in which Henrietta could not wander with Mrs. Batty. +“Don’t let us talk of it,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Batty gurgled a rich sympathy and after a due pause she was glad to resume +the topic of the dance. This was her first real opportunity for discussing it; +under Mr. Batty’s slightly ironical smile and his references to expense, +she had controlled herself; among her acquaintances it was necessary to treat +the affair as a mere bagatelle; but with Henrietta she could expand +unlimitedly. What she thought, what she felt, what she said, what other people +said to her, and what her guests were reported to have said to other people, +was repeated and enlarged upon to Henrietta who, leaning back, occasionally +nodding her head or uttering a sound of encouragement, lived through that night +again. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, out on the terrace he had been the real Francis Sales and that man in the +hollow looking at Aunt Rose and then turning to Henrietta in uncertainty was +the one evoked by that witch on horseback, the modern substitute for a +broomstick. Christabel Sales was right: Aunt Rose was a witch with her calm, +white face, riding swiftly and fearlessly on her messages of evil. He was never +himself in her presence: how could he be? He was under her spell and he must be +cleared of it and kept immune. But how? Through these thoughts, which were both +exciting and alarming, Henrietta heard Mrs. Batty uttering the name of Charles. +</p> + +<p> +“He seems to have taken a turn for the better, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has he been ill?” Henrietta asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Ill? No. Bad-tempered, what you might call melancholy. Not lately. Well, +since the dance he has been different. Not so irritable at breakfast. I told +you once before, love, how I dreaded breakfast, with John late half the time, +going out with the dogs, and Mr. Batty behind the paper with his eyebrows up, +and Charles looking as if he’d been dug up, like Lazarus, if it +isn’t wrong to say so, pale and pasty and sorry he was alive—sort +of damp, dear. Well, you know what I mean. But as I tell you, he’s been +more cheerful. That dance must have done him good, or something has. And Mr. +Batty tells me he takes more interest in his work. Still,” Mrs. Batty +admitted, “he does catch me up at times.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know. About music. I know. He’s queer. I hate it when he +gets angry and shouts, but he’s good really, in his heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course he is,” Mrs. Batty murmured, and, looking at the +plump hands on her silken lap, she added, “I wish he’d marry. Now, +John, he’s engaged; but he didn’t need to be. You know what I mean. +He was happy enough before, but Charles, if he could marry a nice +girl—” +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t,” Henrietta said at once, and Mrs. Batty, suddenly +alert, asked sharply, “Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know. Men are so easily deceived.” +</p> + +<p> +“We can’t help it. You wouldn’t neglect a baby. Well, then, +it’s the same thing. They never get out of their short frocks. Even Mr. +Batty,” his wife chuckled, “he’s very clever and all that, +but he’s like all the rest. The very minute you marry, you’ve got a +baby on your hands.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta sighed. “It isn’t fair,” she murmured, yet she +liked the notion. Francis Sales was a baby. He would have to be managed, to be +amused; he would tire of his toys. She knew that, and she saw herself +constantly dressing up the old ones and deceiving him into believing they were +new. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose they’re worth it,” she half questioned. +</p> + +<p> +“Men?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, babies,” Henrietta answered, meaning the same thing, but Mrs. +Batty took her up with fervour. She was reminiscent, and tears came into her +eyes; she was prophetic, she was embarrassing and faintly disgusting to +Henrietta, and when the door opened to let in Charles, she welcomed him with a +pleasure which was really the measure of her relief. +</p> + +<p> +She had not seen him since she had parted from him in the car. He did not +return her smile and it struck her that he never smiled. It was a good thing: +it would have made him look odder than ever, and somehow he contrived to show +his happiness without the display of teeth. His eyes, she decided, bulged most +when he was miserable, and now they hardly bulged at all. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re back early to-day, dear,” Mrs. Batty said. +“I’ll have some fresh tea made.” But Charles, without +averting his gaze from Henrietta, said, “I don’t want any +tea,” and to Henrietta he said quietly, “I haven’t seen you +for weeks.” +</p> + +<p> +To her annoyance, she felt the colour creeping over her cheeks. No doubt he +would account for that in his own way, and to disconcert him she added +casually, “It’s not long really.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems long,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +No one but Charles Batty would have said that in the presence of his mother; it +was ridiculous, and she looked at him with revengeful criticism. He was plain; +he was getting bald; his trousers bagged; his socks were wrinkled like +concertinas; his comparative self-assurance was quite unjustified. He had +looked at her consistently since he entered the room, and Henrietta was angrily +aware that Mrs. Batty was trying to make herself insignificant in her corner of +the sofa. Henrietta could hear the careful control of her breathing. She was +hoping to make the young people forget she was there. Henrietta frowned +warningly at Charles. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” he asked at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing.” She might have known it was useless to make signs. +</p> + +<p> +“But you frowned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, don’t you ever get a twinge?” she prevaricated. +</p> + +<p> +“Toothache, dear?” Mrs. Batty clucked her distress. +“I’ll get some laudanum. You just rub it on the gum—” +She rose. “I have some in my medicine cupboard. I’ll go and get +it.” She went out, and across her broad back she seemed to carry the +legend, “This is the consummation of tact.” +</p> + +<p> +Charles stood up and planted himself on the hearthrug and Henrietta wished Mrs. +Batty had not gone. “I’m sorry you’ve got toothache,” +he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t. I didn’t say I had. My teeth are perfect.” +With a vicious opening of her mouth, she let him see them. +</p> + +<p> +“Then why did you frown?” +</p> + +<p> +“I had to do something to stop your glaring at me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was I glaring? I didn’t know. I suppose I can’t help looking +at you.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta appreciated this remark. “I don’t mind so much when we +are alone.” From anybody else she would have expected a reminder that she +had once allowed more than that, but she was safe with Charles and half annoyed +by her safety. Her instinct was to run and dodge, but it was a poor game to +play at hide-and-seek with this roughly executed statue of a young man. +“Your mother must have noticed,” she explained. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, why not? She’ll have to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Know what?” she cried indignantly. +</p> + +<p> +“That we’re engaged.” +</p> + +<p> +She brightened angrily. After all, he was thinking of that night and she felt a +new, exasperated respect for him. “But I told you—I told you I +didn’t mean anything when I let you—when we were alone in that +car.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t thinking of that,” he said, and she felt a drop. He +had no business not to think of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Then what do you mean?” she asked coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been engaged to you,” he said, “for a long time. +I told you. But I’ve been thinking that it really doesn’t +work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it doesn’t. Anybody would have known that except you, +Charles Batty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but nobody tells me things. I have to find them out.” He +sighed. “It takes time. But now I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. You’re released from the engagement you made all by +yourself. I had nothing to do with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said mildly, “but I can’t be released, so the +only way out of it is for you to be engaged too.” He fumbled in a pocket. +“I’ve bought a ring.” +</p> + +<p> +She sneered. “Who told you about that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I remembered it. John got one. It’s always done and I think this +one is pretty.” +</p> + +<p> +She had a great curiosity to see his choice. She guessed it would be gaudy, +like a child’s, but she said, “It has nothing to do with me. I +don’t want to see it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do look.” +</p> + +<p> +“Charles, you’re hopeless.” “The man said he would +change it if you didn’t like it.” Into her hand he put the little +box, attractively small, no doubt lined with soft white velvet, and she longed +to open it. She had always wanted one of those little boxes and she remembered +how often she had gazed at them, holding glittering rings, in the windows of +jewellers’ shops. She looked up at Charles, her eyes bright, her lips a +little parted, so young and helpless in that moment that she drew from him his +first cry of passion. “Henrietta!” His hands trembled. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s only,” she faltered, “because I like looking at +pretty things.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know.” He dropped to the sofa beside her. “It +couldn’t be anything else.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned to him, her face close to his, and she asked plaintively, “But +why shouldn’t it be?” She seemed to blame him; she did blame him. +There was something in his presence seductively secure; there was peace: she +almost loved him; she loved her power to make him tremble, and if only he could +make her tremble too, she would be his. “But it isn’t anything +else,” she said below her breath. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it isn’t,” he echoed in the loud voice of his trouble. +He got up and moved away. “So just look at the ring and tell me if you +like it.” +</p> + +<p> +He heard the box unwrapped and a voice saying, “I do like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then keep it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you can. It’s for you. It’s pretty, isn’t it? And +you like pretty things.” +</p> + +<p> +“I could just look at it now and then, couldn’t I? But no, it +isn’t fair.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mind about that. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean fair to me.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned at that. “I don’t understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“A kind of hold,” she explained. +</p> + +<p> +“How could it be? I wasn’t trying to tempt you, but we’re +engaged and you must have a ring.” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her small, clenched fists. “We’re not, we’re not! +Oh, yes, you can be, if you like; but I didn’t mean it would hold me in +that way. I meant it would be like a sign—of you. I shouldn’t be +able to forget you; you would be there in the ring, in the box, in the drawer, +like the portrait of Aunt Sophia’s—” She stopped herself. +“And I can’t burn you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what you are talking about. I suppose I ought +to.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, you oughtn’t.” She sprang up, delivered from her +weakness. “This is nonsense. Of course, I can’t keep your ring. +Take it back, Charles. It’s beautiful. I thought it would be all red and +blue like a flag, but it’s lovely. It makes my mouth water. It’s +like white fire.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s like you,” he said. “You’re just as bright +and just as hard, and if only you were as small, I could put you in my pocket +and never let you go.” +</p> + +<p> +She opened her eyes very wide. “Then why do you let me go?” she +asked on an ascending note, and she did not mean to taunt him. It would be so +easy for him to keep her, if he knew how. She expected a despairing groan, she +half hoped for a violent embrace, but he answered quietly, “I don’t +really let you go. It’s you I love, not just your hair and your face and +the way your nose turns up, and your hands and feet, and your straight neck. I +have to let them go, but you don’t go. You stay with me all the time: you +always will. You’re like music, always in my head, but you’re more +than that. You go deeper: I suppose into my heart. Sometimes I think I’m +carrying you in my arms. I can’t see you but I can feel you’re +there, and sometimes I laugh because I think you’re laughing.” +</p> + +<p> +She listened, charmed into stillness. Here was an echo of his outpouring in the +darkness of that hour by the Monks’ Pool, but these words were closer, +dearer. She felt for that moment that he did indeed carry her in his arms and +that she was glad to be there. He spoke so quietly, he was so certain of his +love that she was exalted and abashed. She did not deserve all this, yet he +knew she was hard as well as bright, he knew her nose turned up. Perhaps there +was nothing he did not know. +</p> + +<p> +He went on simply, without effort. “And though I’m ugly and a fool, +I can’t be hurt whatever you choose to do. What you do isn’t +you.” He touched himself. “The you is here. So it doesn’t +matter about the ring. It doesn’t matter about Francis Sales.” +</p> + +<p> +She said on a caught breath and in a whisper, “What about him?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her and made a slight movement with the hands hanging at his +sides, a little flicking movement, as though he brushed something away. +“I think perhaps you are going to marry him,” he said deeply. +</p> + +<p> +Her head went up. “Who told you that?” she demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody. Nobody tells me anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because nobody knows,” she said scornfully. “I haven’t +seen him since—” She hesitated. This Charles knew everything, and +he said for her, rather wearily, very quietly, “Since his wife died. No. +But you will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said defiantly, “I expect I shall. I hope I +shall.” +</p> + +<p> +A shudder passed through Charles Batty’s big frame and the words, +“Don’t marry him,” reached her ears like a distant muttering +of a storm. “You would not be happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“What has happiness to do with it?” she asked with an astonishing +young bitterness. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, if you feel like that,” he said, “if you feel as I do +about you, if nothing he does and nothing he says—” +</p> + +<p> +“He says very little,” Henrietta interrupted gloomily, but Charles +seemed not to hear. +</p> + +<p> +“If his actions are only like the wind in the trees, fluttering the +leaves—yes, I suppose that’s love. The tree remains.” +</p> + +<p> +She dropped her face into her hands. “You’re making me +miserable,” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +He removed her hands and held them firmly. “But why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” she swayed towards him, but he kept her arms +rigid, like a bar between them, “but I don’t want to lose +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t,” he assured her. +</p> + +<p> +“And though you think you have me in your heart, the me that +doesn’t change, you’d like the other one too, wouldn’t you? I +mean, you’d really like to hold me? Not just the thought of me? Tell me +you love me in that way too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, “I love you in that way too, but I tell you +it doesn’t matter.” He dropped her hands as though he had no more +strength. “Marry your Francis Sales. You still belong to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But will you belong to me?” she asked softly. She could not lose +him, she wanted to have them both, and Charles, perhaps unwisely, perhaps from +the depth of his wisdom, which was truth, answered quietly, “I belonged +to you since the first day I saw you.” +</p> + +<p> +She let out a sigh of inexpressible relief. +</p> + +<h3>§ 10</h3> + +<p> +To Rose, the time between the death of Caroline and the coming of spring was +like an invalid’s convalescence. She felt a languor as though she had +been ill, and a kind of content as though she were temporarily free from cares. +She knew that Henrietta and Charles Batty often met, but she did not wish to +know how Charles had succeeded in preventing her escape: she did not try to +connect Christabel’s illness with Henrietta’s return; she enjoyed +unquestioningly her rich feeling of possession in the presence of the girl, who +was much on her dignity, very well behaved, but undeniably aloof. She had not +yet forgiven her aunt for that episode in the gipsies’ hollow, but it did +not matter. Rose could tell herself without any affectation of virtue that she +had hoped for no benefit for herself; looking back she saw that even what might +be called her sin had been committed chiefly for Francis’s sake, only she +had not sinned enough. +</p> + +<p> +But for the present she need not think of him. He had gone away, she heard, and +she could ride over the bridge without the fear of meeting him and with the +feeling that the place was more than ever hers. It was gloriously empty of any +claim but its own. To gallop across the fields, to ride more slowly on some +height with nothing between her and great massy clouds of unbelievable +whiteness, to feel herself relieved of an immense responsibility, was like +finding the new world she had longed for. She wished sincerely that Francis +would not come back; she wished that, riding one day, she might find Sales Hall +blotted out, leaving no sign, no trace, nothing but earth and fresh spikes of +green. +</p> + +<p> +Day by day she watched the advance of spring. The larches put out their little +tassels, celandines opened their yellow eyes, the smell of the gorse was her +youth wafted back to her and she shook her head and said she did not want it. +This maturity was better: she had reached the age when she could almost +dissociate things from herself and she found them better and more beautiful. +She needed this consolation, for it seemed that her personal relationships were +to be few and shadowy; conscious in herself of a capacity for crystallizing +them enduringly, they yet managed to evade her; it was some fault, some failure +in herself, but not knowing the cause she could not cure it and she accepted it +with the apparent impassivity which was, perhaps, the origin of the difficulty. +</p> + +<p> +And capable as she was of love, she was incapable of struggling for it. She +wanted Henrietta’s affection; she wanted to give every happiness to that +girl, but she could not be different from herself, she could not bait the trap. +And it seemed that Henrietta might be finding happiness without her help, or at +least without realizing that it was she who had given Charles his chance. She +had rejected her plan of taking Henrietta away: it was better to leave her in +the neighbourhood of Charles, for he was not a Francis Sales, and if Henrietta +could once see below his queer exterior, she would never see it again except to +laugh at it with an understanding beyond the power of irritation; and she was +made to have a home, to be busy about small, important things, to play with +children and tyrannize over a man in the matter of socks and collars, to be +tyrannized over by him in the bigger affairs of life. +</p> + +<p> +And with Henrietta settled, Rose would at last be free to take that journey +which, like everything else, had eluded her so far. She would be free but for +Sophia who seemed in these days pathetically subdued and frail; but Sophia, +Rose decided, could stay with Henrietta for a time, or one of the elderly +cousins would be glad to take up a temporary residence in Nelson Lodge. +</p> + +<p> +She was excited by the prospect of her freedom and sometimes, as though she +were doing something wrong, she secretly carried the big atlas to her bedroom +and pored over the maps. There were places with names like poetry and she meant +to see them all. She moved already in a world of greater space and fresher air; +her body was rejuvenated, her mind recovered from its weariness and when, on an +April day, she came across Francis Sales in one of his own fields, it was a +sign of her condition that her first thought was of Henrietta and not of +herself. He had returned and Henrietta was again in danger, though one of +another kind. +</p> + +<p> +She stopped her horse, thinking firmly, Whatever happens, she shall not marry +him: he is not good enough. She said: “Good morning,” in that cool +voice which made him think of churches, and he stood, stroking the +horse’s nose, looking down and making no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been away,” he said at last. +</p> + +<p> +“I know. When did you come back?” +</p> + +<p> +“Last night. I’ve been to Canada to see her people. I thought +they’d like to know about her and she would have liked it, too.” +</p> + +<p> +A small smile threatened Rose’s mouth. It seemed rather late to be trying +to please Christabel. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t hope,” he went on quietly, “to have this luck +so soon. I’ve been wanting to see you, to tell you something. I wanted to +get things cleared up.” +</p> + +<p> +“What things?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked up. “About Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no need for that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not for you, perhaps, but there is for me. You were quite right that +day. I went home and I made up my mind to break my word to her. I’d made +it up before Christabel became so ill. I wanted you to know that. I +couldn’t have left her that night—perhaps you hadn’t realized +I’d meant to—but anyhow I couldn’t have left her, and I +wouldn’t have done it if I could. You were perfectly right.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose moved a little in her saddle. “And yet I had no right to be,” +she said. “You and I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” he said quickly, “you and I were different. I +don’t blame myself for that, but with Henrietta it was just devilry, +sickness, misery. Don’t,” he commanded, “dare to compare +our—our love with that.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said, “no, I don’t think of it at all. It has +dropped back where it came from and I don’t know where that is. I +don’t think of it any more, but thank you for telling me about Henrietta. +Good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +She moved on, but his voice followed her. “I never loved her.” +</p> + +<p> +She stopped but did not turn. “I know that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but I wanted to tell you.” He was at the horse’s head +again. “I don’t think much of the way those people are keeping your +bridle. There’s rust on the curb chain. Look at it. It’s +disgraceful! And I’d like to tell you that I tried to make it up to +Christabel at the last. Too late—but she was happy. Good-bye. Tell those +people they ought to be ashamed of themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose we all ought to be,” Rose said wearily. +</p> + +<p> +“Some of us are,” he replied. “And,” he hesitated, +“you won’t stop riding here now I’ve come back?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not. It’s the habit of a lifetime.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t worry you.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed frankly. “I’m not afraid of that.” +</p> + +<p> +She was immune, she told herself, she could not be touched, yet she knew she +had been touched already: she was obliged to think of him. For the first time +in her knowledge of him he had not grumbled, he was like a repentant child, and +she realized that he had suffered an experience unknown to her, a sense of sin, +and the fact gave him a certain superiority and interest in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +She went home but not as she had set forth, for she seemed to hear the jingle +of her chains. +</p> + +<p> +At luncheon Henrietta appeared in a new hat and an amiable mood. She was going, +she said casually, to a concert with Charles Batty. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know there was one,” Rose said. “Where is +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not in Radstowe. We’re going,” Henrietta said +reluctantly, “to Wellsborough.” +</p> + +<p> +But that name seemed to have no association for Aunt Rose. She said, “Oh, +yes, they have very good concerts there, and I hope Charles will like your +hat.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose he will notice it,” Henrietta murmured. She +felt grateful for her aunt’s forgetfulness, and she said, with an +enthusiasm she had not shown for a long time, “You look lovely to-day, +Aunt Rose, as if something nice had happened.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose laughed and said, “Nonsense, Henrietta,” in a manner faintly +reminiscent of Caroline. And she added quickly, against the invasion of her own +thoughts, “And as for Charles, he notices much more than one would +think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ve found that out,” Henrietta grieved. “I +don’t think people ought to notice—well, that one’s nose +turns up.” +</p> + +<p> +“It depends how it does it. Yours is very satisfactory.” +</p> + +<p> +They sparkled at each other, pleased at the ease of their intercourse and quite +unaware that these personalities also were reminiscent of the Caroline and +Sophia tradition of compliment. +</p> + +<p> +Sophia, drooping over the table, said vaguely, “Yes, very +satisfactory,” but she hardly knew to what Rose had referred. She lived +in her own memories, but she tried to disguise her distraction and it was +always safe to agree with Rose: she had good judgment, unfailing taste. +“Rose,” she said more brightly, “I’d forgotten. Susan +tells me that Francis Sales has come home.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose said “Yes,” and after the slightest pause, she added, “I +saw him this morning.” She did not look at Henrietta. She felt with +something like despair that this had occurred at the very moment when they +seemed to be re-establishing their friendship, and now Henrietta would be +reminded of the unhappy past. She did not look across the table, but, to her +astonishment, she heard the girl’s voice with trouble, enmity and anger +concentrated in its control, saying quickly, “So that’s the nice +thing that’s happened!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very nice,” Sophia murmured. “Poor Francis! He must have +been glad to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose’s eyes glanced over Henrietta’s face with a look too proud to +be called disdain: she was doubly shocked, first by the girl’s effrontery +and then by the truth in her words. She had indeed been feeling indefinitely +happy and ignoring the cause. She was, even now, not sure of the cause. She did +not know whether it was the change in Francis or the jingling of the chains +still sounding in her ears, but there had been a lightness in her heart which +had nothing to do with the sense of that approaching freedom on which she had +been counting. +</p> + +<p> +She turned to Sophia as though Henrietta had not spoken. “Yes, I think he +was glad to see a friend. He has been to Canada to see Christabel’s +family. No, he didn’t say how he was, but I thought he looked rather +old.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, poor boy,” Sophia said. “I think, Rose dear, it would be +kind to ask him here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he knows he can come when he likes,” Rose said. +</p> + +<p> +On the other side of the table Henrietta was shaking delicately. She could only +have got relief by inarticulate noises and insanely violent movements. She +hated Francis Sales, she hated Rose and Sophia and Charles Batty. She would +not go to the concert—yes, she would go and make Charles miserable. She +was enraged at the folly of her own remark, at Rose’s self-possession, +and at her possible possession of Francis Sales. She could not unsay what she +had said and, having said it, she did not know how to go on living with Aunt +Rose; but she was going to Wellsborough again and this time she need not come +back: yet she must come back to see Francis Sales. And though there was no one +in the world to whom she could express the torment of her mind she could, at +least, make Charles unhappy. +</p> + +<p> +Rose and Sophia were chatting pleasantly, and Henrietta pushed back her chair. +“Will you excuse me? I have to catch a train.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose inclined her head: Sophia said, “Yes, dear, go. Where did you say +you were going?” +</p> + +<p> +“To Wellsborough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, yes. Caroline and I—Be careful to get into a ladies’ +carriage, Henrietta.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going with Charles Batty,” she said dully. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, then, you will be safe.” +</p> + +<p> +Safe! Yes, she was perfectly safe with Charles. He would sit with his hands +hanging between his knees and stare. She was sick of him and, if she dared, she +would whisper during the music; at any rate, she would shuffle her feet and +make a noise with the programme. And to-morrow she would emulate her aunt and +waylay Francis Sales. There would be no harm in copying Aunt Rose, a pattern of +conduct! She had done it before, she would do it again and they would see which +one of them was to be victorious at the last. +</p> + +<p> +She fulfilled her intentions. Charles, who had been flourishing under the +kindness of her friendship, was puzzled by her capriciousness, but he did not +question her. He was learning to accept mysteries calmly and to work at them in +his head. She shuffled her feet and he pretended not to hear: she crackled her +programme and he smiled down at her. This was maddening, yet it was a tribute +to her power. She could do what she liked and Charles would love her; he was a +great possession; she did not know what she would do without him. +</p> + +<p> +As they ate their rich cakes in a famous teashop, Charles talked incessantly +about the music, and when at last he paused, she said indifferently, “I +didn’t hear a note.” +</p> + +<p> +Mildly he advised her not to wear such tight shoes. +</p> + +<p> +“Tight!” She looked down at them. “I had them made for +me!” +</p> + +<p> +“You seemed to be uncomfortable,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinking, thinking, thinking.” +</p> + +<p> +“What about?” +</p> + +<p> +“Things you wouldn’t understand, Charles. You’re too +good.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say,” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve never wanted to murder anyone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” +</p> + +<p> +“That Sales fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyelids quivered, but she said boldly, “Because of me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, of course not. Making noises at concerts. Shooting birds. I’ve +told you so before.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s been to Canada.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he has come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I suppose he had to come back some day.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I hate Aunt Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a pity,” Charles said, taking another cake. +</p> + +<p> +“Why a pity?” +</p> + +<p> +“Beautiful woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, everybody thinks so, till they know her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know her and I think she’s adorable.” +</p> + +<p> +The word was startling from his lips. Charles, too, she exclaimed inwardly. Was +Aunt Rose even to come between her and Charles? +</p> + +<p> +“But of course”—he remembered his +lesson—“you’re the most beautiful and the best woman in the +world.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not a woman at all,” she said angrily: “I’m +a fiend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, to-day; but you won’t be to-morrow. You’ll feel +different to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +He had, she reflected, a gift of prophecy. “Yes, I shall,” she said +softly, “I’m stupid. It will be all right to-morrow. I shan’t +even be angry with Aunt Rose and you’ve been an angel to me. I shall +never forget you.” +</p> + +<p> +He said nothing. He seemed very much interested in his cake. +</p> + +<p> +And because she foresaw that her anger towards Aunt Rose would soon be changed +to pity, she apologized to her that night. “I’m afraid I was rude +to you at luncheon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were you? Oh, not rude, Henrietta. Perhaps rather foolish and +indiscreet. You should think before you speak.” +</p> + +<p> +This admonition was not what Henrietta expected, and she said, +“That’s just what I was doing. You mean I ought to be quiet when +I’m thinking.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, yes, that would be even better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, Aunt Rose, I should never speak at all when I’m with +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t talked to me for a long time.” +</p> + +<p> +She made a gesture like her father’s—impatient, hopeless. +“How can I?” she demanded. There was too much between them: the +figure of Francis Sales was too solid. +</p> + +<p> +She set out as she had intended the next afternoon. It was full spring-time now +and Radstowe was gay and sweet with flowering trees. The delicate rose of the +almond blossom had already faded to a fainting pink and fallen to the ground, +and the laburnum was weeping golden tears which would soon drop to the +pavements and blacken there; the red and white hawthorns were all out, and +Henrietta’s daily walks had been punctuated by ecstatic halts when she +stood under a canopy of flower and leaf and drenched herself in scent and +colour, or peeped over garden fences to see tall tulips springing up out of the +grass; but to-day she did not linger. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed a long time since she had crossed the river, yet the only change was +in the new green of the trees splashing the side of the gorge. The gulls were +still quarrelling for food on the muddy banks, children and perambulators, +horses and carts, were passing over the bridge as on her first day in Radstowe, +but there was now no Francis Sales on his fine horse. The sun was bright but +clouds were being blown by a wind with a sharp breath, and she went quickly +lest it should rain before her business was accomplished. She had no fear of +not finding Francis Sales: in such things her luck never failed her, and she +came upon him even sooner than she had expected in the outermost of his fields. +</p> + +<p> +He stood beside the gate, scrutinizing a flock of sheep and lambs and talking +to the shepherd, and he turned at the sound of her footsteps on the road. She +smiled sweetly: rather stiffly he raised his hand to his hat and in that moment +she recognized that he had no welcome for her. He had changed; he was grave +though he was not sullen, and she said to herself with her ready bitterness, +“Ah, he has reformed, now that there’s no need. That’s what +they all do.” +</p> + +<p> +But her smile did not fade. She leaned over the gate in a friendly manner and +asked him about the lambs. How old were they? She hoped he would not have them +killed: they were too sweet. She had never touched one in her life. Why did +they get so ugly afterwards? It was hard to believe those little things with +faces like kittens, or like flowers, were the children of their lumpy mothers. +“Do you think I could catch one if I came inside?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Come inside,” he said, “but the shepherd shall catch one for +you.” +</p> + +<p> +She stroked the curly wool, she pulled the apprehensive ears, she uttered +absurdities and, glancing up to see if Sales were laughing at her charming +folly, she saw that he was examining his flock with the practical interest of a +farmer. He was apparently considering some technical point; he had not been +listening to her at all. She hated that lamb, she hoped he would kill it and +all the rest, and she decided to eat mutton in future with voracity. +</p> + +<p> +“I was going to pick primroses,” she said. “Are there any in +these fields?” “I don’t know. Can you spare me a few +minutes? I want to speak to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Her heart, which had been thumping with a sickening slowness, quickened its +beats. Perhaps she had been mistaken, perhaps his serious manner was that of a +great occasion, and she saw herself returning to Nelson Lodge and treating her +Aunt Rose with gentle tact. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we sit on the gate?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather walk across the field. I’ve been wanting to see +you—since that night. I owe you an apology.” +</p> + +<p> +She dared not speak for fear of making a mistake, and she waited, walking +slowly beside him, her eyes downcast. +</p> + +<p> +“An apology—for the whole thing,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She looked up. “What whole thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“The way I behaved with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that! I don’t see why you should apologize,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t even decent.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it was a sort of habit with you, wasn’t it?” she said +commiseratingly, and had the happiness of seeing his face flush. “I quite +understand. And we were both amused.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t amused,” he said, “not a bit, and I’m +sorry I behaved as I did. You were so young—and so pretty. Well, +it’s no good making excuses, but I couldn’t rest until I’d +seen you and—humbled myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did Aunt Rose tell you to say this?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Rose? Of course not. Why should she?” +</p> + +<p> +“She seems to have an extraordinary power.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she has,” he said simply. +</p> + +<p> +“And have you humbled yourself to her, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. With her,” he said slowly, “there was no need.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see.” She laughed up at him frankly. “You know, I never +took it very seriously. I’m sorry the thought of it has troubled +you.” +</p> + +<p> +He went on, ignoring her lightness, and determined to say everything. “I +meant to meet you that night and tell you what I’m telling you now; but +Christabel was very ill and I couldn’t leave her. I hope”—this +was difficult—“I hope you didn’t get into any sort of +mess.” +</p> + +<p> +“That night?” She seemed to be thinking back to it. “That +night—no—I went to a concert with Charles Batty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—” He was bewildered. “Then it was all right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know,” he muttered. “And you forgive +me?” +</p> + +<p> +She was generous. “I was just as bad as you. The Malletts are all flirts. +Haven’t you heard Aunt Caroline say so? We can’t help doing silly +things, but we never take them seriously. Why, you must have noticed that with +Aunt Rose!” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said with dignity, “your Aunt Rose is like nobody +else in the world. I think I told you that once. She—” He hesitated +and was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I must be going back,” Henrietta said easily. “I +shan’t bother about the primroses. I think it’s going to rain. And +you won’t think about this any more, will you? You know, Aunt Caroline +says she nearly eloped several times, and I know my father did it once, with my +own mother, probably with other people beside. It’s in the blood. I must +try to settle down. We did behave rather badly, I suppose, but so much has +happened since. That was my first ball and I felt I wanted to do something +daring.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were not to blame,” he said; “but I’m nearly old +enough to be your father. I can’t forgive myself. I can’t forget +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear! And I never took it seriously at all. There was a train back +to Radstowe at ten o’clock. I looked it up. I was going to get that, but +as it happened I went to a concert with Charles Batty. You seem to have no idea +how to play a game. You have to pretend to yourself it’s a matter of life +and death; but you haven’t to let it be. That would spoil it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” he said. “I’m afraid I didn’t look at it +like that. I wish I had, and I’m glad you did. It makes it +easier—and harder—for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“We ought,” she said, “to have laid the rules down first. +Yes, we ought to have done that.” She laughed again. “I shall do +that another time. Good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye. You’ve been awfully good to me, Henrietta. Thank +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit,” she cried. “If I’d known you were +bothering about it, I would have reassured you.” She could not withhold a +parting shot. “I would have sent you a message by Aunt Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +She waved a hand and ran back to the road. She did not trouble to ask herself +whether or not he believed her. She was shaken by sobs without tears. She did +not love him, she had never loved him, but she could not bear the knowledge +that he did not love her. It was quite plain; she was not going to deceive +herself any more; his manner had been unmistakable and it was Aunt Rose he +loved. She had been beaten by Aunt Rose, and even Charles called her adorable. +She did not want Francis Sales; he was rather stupid, and as a legitimate lover +he would be dull, duller than Charles, who at least knew how to say things; but +something coloured and exciting and dramatic had been ravished from +her—by Aunt Rose. That was the sting, and she was humiliated, though she +would not own it. She had been good enough for an episode, but her charm had +not endured. +</p> + +<p> +Her little, rather inhuman teeth ground against each other. But she had been +clever, she had carried it off well; she had not given a sign, and she +determined to be equally clever with Aunt Rose. Some day she would refer +lightly to her folly and laugh at the susceptibility of Francis Sales. It would +hurt Aunt Rose to have her faithful lover disparaged! But, ah! if only she and +Aunt Rose were friends, what a conspiracy they could enjoy together! They had +both suffered, they might both laugh. How they might play into each +other’s hands with Francis Sales for the bewildered ball! It would be the +finest sport in the world; but they were not friends, and it was impossible to +imagine Aunt Rose at that game. No, she was alone in the world, and as she felt +the first drop of rain on her face she became aware of the aching of her heart. +</p> + +<p> +She stood for a moment on the bridge. A grey mist was being driven up the +river, blotting out the gorge and the trees. A gull, shrieking dismally, +cleaved the greyness with a white flash. It was cold and Henrietta shivered, +and once again she wished she could sit by a fireside with some one who was +kind and tender; but to-night there would only be Aunt Sophia and Aunt Rose +sitting with her in that drawing-room, where everything was too elegant and too +clear, where now no one ever laughed. +</p> + +<h3>§ 11</h3> + +<p> +They sat by the fire as she had foreseen, Sophia pretending to be busy with her +embroidery, Rose, in a straight-backed chair, reading a book. Henrietta sat on +a low stool with a book open on her knee, but she did not read it. The fire +talked to itself, said silly things and chuckled, or murmured sentimentally. +That chatter, vaguely insane, and the turning of Rose’s pages, the +drawing of Sophia’s silks through the stuff and the click of her +scissors, were the only sounds until, suddenly, Sophia gave a groan and fell +back in her chair. Rose, very much startled, glanced at Henrietta and jumped +up. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s her heart,” Henrietta said with the superiority of her +knowledge. “I’ll get her medicine.” She came back with it. +“She was like this when Aunt Caroline died, but I promised not to tell. +If she has this she will be better.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Henrietta who poured the liquid into the glass and applied it to +Sophia’s lips. She was, she felt, the practical person, and it was she, +and not Aunt Rose, who had been trusted by Aunt Sophia. “She told me +where she kept the stuff,” Henrietta continued calmly. “There, +that’s better.” +</p> + +<p> +Sophia recovered with apologies: a little faintness; it was nothing. In a few +minutes she would go to bed. They helped her there. +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to have told me, Henrietta,” Rose said on the landing. +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t. She wished it to be our secret.” It was pleasant +to feel that Aunt Rose was out of this affair. +</p> + +<p> +“We must have the doctor and she ought not to be alone to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +I’ll sleep on the sofa in her room.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Henrietta, you need more sleep than I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but I’m young enough to sleep anywhere—on the floor! But +let Aunt Sophia choose.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta went back to the drawing-room, and the housemaid was sent for the +doctor. Shortly afterwards there came a ring at the bell; no doubt it was the +doctor, and Henrietta wished she could go upstairs with him, for Aunt Rose, she +told herself again, was not a practical person and Henrietta was experienced in +illness. She had nursed her mother and she liked looking after people. She knew +how to arrange pillows; she was not afraid of sickness. However, she would have +to wait until Aunt Sophia sent for her; but it was not the doctor: it was +Charles Batty who appeared in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” Henrietta said, “what have you come for?” +</p> + +<p> +He put down the hat and stick he had forgotten to leave in the hall. “I +don’t know,” he said. “I had a kind of feeling you might like +to see me. It’s the first time I’ve had it,” he added +solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +He really had an extraordinary way of knowing things, but she said, +“Well, Aunt Sophia’s ill, so I don’t think you can +stay.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked round for her. “She’s not here. I shan’t do any +harm, shall I? We can whisper.” +</p> + +<p> +“She wouldn’t hear us anyhow. It’s my room above this +one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it?” He gazed at the ceiling with interest. “Oh, up +there!” +</p> + +<p> +“I should have thought you knew by instinct,” she said bitingly. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come and sit down, Charles, and don’t be disagreeable. I shall +have to go to Aunt Sophia soon, but then you will be able to talk to Aunt Rose. +That will do just as well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not quite,” he said. “I really came to tell +you—” +</p> + +<p> +“You said you came because you thought I wanted you.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I did, but there were several reasons. You said you were going to be +happy to-day, not murderous, do you remember? And I thought I’d like to +see how you looked. You don’t look happy a bit. What’s the +matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve told you Aunt Sophia’s ill. And would you be happy if +you had to sit in this prim room with two old women?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two? But your Aunt Caroline is dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“But my Aunt Rose is very much alive.” +</p> + +<p> +He wagged his head. “I see.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she isn’t lively. She sits like this—reading a book, and +Aunt Sophia, poor Aunt Sophia, sews like this, and I sit on this horrid little +stool, like this. That’s how we spend the evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“How would you like to spend it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know.” She dropped her black head to her knees. +“It’s so lonely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he began again, “I really came to tell you that +there’s a house to let on The Green: that little one with the red roof +like a cap and windows that squint; a little old house; but—” he +paused—“it has every modern convenience. Henrietta, there’s a +curl at the back of your neck.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. It’s always there.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t go on about the house unless you sit up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because of that curl.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I’m not interested in the house.” She did not move. +“Whose is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It belongs to a client of ours, but that doesn’t matter. The point +is that it’s to let. I’ve got an order to view. +Look!—‘<i>Please admit Mr. Charles Batty.</i>’ I went this +evening and we can both go to-morrow. It’s really a very cosy little +house. There’s a drawing-room opening on the garden at the back, with +plenty of room for a grand piano, and the dining-room—I liked the +dining-room very much. There was a fire in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that unusual?” +</p> + +<p> +“It looked so cosy, with a red carpet and everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the carpet to let, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. I dare say we could buy it. And mind you, Henrietta, +the kitchen is on the ground floor. That’s unusual, if you like, in an +old house. I made sure of that before I went any further.” +</p> + +<p> +“How far are you going?” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll go everywhere to-morrow, even into the coal cellar. To-day I +just peeped.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can imagine you. But what do you want a house for, Charles?” +</p> + +<p> +“For you,” he said. “You say you don’t like spending +the evenings here—well, let’s spend them in the little house. We +can’t go on being engaged indefinitely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” she said firmly, “and I should adore a +little house of my own. I believe that’s just what I want.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then that’s settled.” +</p> + +<p> +“But not with you, Charles.” +</p> + +<p> +He said nothing for a time. She was sitting up, her hands clasped on her lap, +and as she looked at him she half regretted her last words. This was how they +would sit in the little house, by the fire, surrounded by their own +possessions, with everything clean and bright and, as he had said, very cosy. +She had never had a home. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly she leaned towards him and put her head on his knee. His hand fell on +her hair. “This doesn’t mean anything,” she murmured; +“but I was just thinking. You’re tempting me again. First with the +ring because it was so pretty, and now with a house.” +</p> + +<p> +“How else am I to get you?” he cried out. “And you know you +were feeling lonely. That’s why I came.” +</p> + +<p> +“You thought it was your chance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said. “I don’t know the ordinary things, but +I know the others.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder how,” she said, and he answered with the one word, +“Love,” in a voice so deep and solemn that she laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” she said, “I have never had a home. I’ve +lived in other people’s houses, with their ugly furniture, their horrid +sticky curtains—” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall take that house to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you can’t go on collecting things like this. Houses and +rings—” +</p> + +<p> +“The ring’s in my pocket now.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must stay there, Charles. I ought not to keep my head on your knee; +but it’s comfortable and I have no conscience. None.” She sat up, +brushing his chin with her hair. “None!” she said emphatically. +“And here’s Aunt Rose coming to fetch me for Aunt Sophia. Mind, +I’ve promised nothing. Besides, you haven’t asked me to promise +anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” He blinked. “Well, there’s no time now. Good +evening, Miss Mallett.” He pulled himself out of his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening, Charles. I’m glad you’re here to keep +Henrietta company. The doctor has been, Henrietta—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, has he? I didn’t hear him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sophia is settled for the night, and I’m going to her now.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she’ll want me!” Henrietta cried. +</p> + +<p> +“No, she asked me to stay with her. Good night. Good night, +Charles.” +</p> + +<p> +“But did you say I wanted to be with her?” +</p> + +<p> +Rose, smiling but a little pitiful, said gently, “I gave her the choice +and she chose me.” +</p> + +<p> +She disappeared, and Henrietta turned to Charles. “You see, she gets +everything. She gets everything I ever wanted and she doesn’t +try—” Her hands dropped to her side. “She just gets +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what have you wanted?” +</p> + +<p> +She turned away. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she going to marry Francis Sales?” +</p> + +<p> +“What makes you ask that?” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. I just thought of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, your thoughts! Why, you suggested the same thing, for me! As if I +would look at him!” +</p> + +<p> +Charles blinked, his sign of agitation, but Henrietta did not see. +“He’s good to look at,” Charles muttered. “He knows how +to wear his clothes.” +</p> + +<p> +“That doesn’t matter.” +</p> + +<p> +Charles heaved a sigh. “One never knows what matters.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the Malletts don’t marry,” Henrietta said. “Aunt +Caroline and Aunt Sophia and Aunt Rose, and now me. There’s something in +us that can’t be satisfied. It was the same with my father, only it took +him the other way.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know he was married more than once. Nobody tells me +things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Charles, dear, you’re very stupid. He was only married once in a +church.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I see.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if I did marry, I should be like him.” She turned to him and +put her face close to his. “Unfaithful,” she pronounced clearly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, Henrietta, you would still be you.” +</p> + +<p> +She stepped backwards, shocked. “Charles, wouldn’t you mind?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so much,” he said stolidly, “as doing without you +altogether.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the other day you said you need never do that +because”—she tapped his waistcoat—“because I’m +here!” +</p> + +<p> +He showed a face she had never seen before. “You seem to think I’m +not made of flesh and blood!” he cried. “You’re wanton, +Henrietta, simply wanton!” And he rushed out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +She heard the front door bang; she saw his hat and stick, lying where he had +put them; she smiled at them politely and then, sinking to the floor beside the +fender, she let out a little moan of despair and delight. The fire chuckled and +chattered and she leaned forward, her face near the bars. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop talking for a minute! I want to tell you something. There’s +nobody else to tell. Listen! I’m in love with him now.” She nodded +her head. “Yes, with him. I know it’s ridiculous; but it’s +true. Did you hear? You can laugh if you like. I don’t care. I’m in +love with him. Oh, dear!” +</p> + +<p> +She circled her neck with her hands as though she must clasp something, and it +would have been too silly to fondle his ugly hat. And he would remember he had +forgotten it; he would come back. She dared not see him. “I love +him,” she cried out, “too much to want to see him!” She +paused, astonished. “I suppose that’s how he feels about me. How +wonderful!” She looked round at the furniture, so still and unmoved by +the happy bewilderment in which she found herself. The piano was mute; the +lamps burned steadily; the chair in which Charles had sat was unconscious of +its privilege; even the fire’s flames had subsided; and she was +intensely, madly, joyously alive. “It’s too much,” she said, +“too much!” And for the first time she was ashamed of her episode +with Francis Sales. “Playing at love,” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +But Charles would be coming back and, tiptoeing as though he might hear her +from the street, she picked up his hat and stick and laid them neatly on the +step outside the front door. +</p> + +<p> +She slept with the profundity of her happiness and descended to breakfast in a +dream. Only the sight of Rose’s tired face reminded her that Aunt Sophia +was ill. She had had a bad night, but she was better. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s not going to die, too, is she?” Henrietta asked, and +she had a sad vision of Aunt Rose living all alone in Nelson Lodge. +</p> + +<p> +“She may live for a long time, but the doctor says she may die at any +moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose she wants to live.” +</p> + +<p> +“What makes you think that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because of Aunt Caroline—and—other people. But if she dies, +whatever will you do?” +</p> + +<p> +The question amused Rose. “Go and see the world at last,” she said. +“Perhaps you will come, too.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta laughed and flushed and became serious. “She mustn’t +die.” +</p> + +<p> +For, after all, Aunt Sophia was not a true Mallett, according to Aunt +Caroline’s test; she believed in marriage, she would like to see +Henrietta in the little house; one of them would be able to call on the other +every day. It was wonderful of Charles to have known she would like that house: +she knew it well, with its red cap and its squinting eyes; but, then, he was +altogether wonderful. +</p> + +<p> +She supposed he would call for her that afternoon and they would present the +order to view together, but he did not come. With her hat and gloves lying +ready on the bed, she waited for his knock in vain. He must have been kept by +business; he would come later to explain. And then, when still he did not come, +she decided that he must be ill. If so, her place was by his side, and she saw +herself moving like an angel about his bed; and yet the thought of Charles in +bed was comic. +</p> + +<p> +At dinner she ate nothing and when Rose remarked on this, Henrietta murmured +that she had a headache; she thought she would go for a walk. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, if you are really going out, will you take a note to Mrs. Batty? +She sent some fruit and flowers to Sophia. I suppose Charles told her she was +ill.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta looked sharply at her aunt: she was suspicious of what seemed like +tact, but Rose wore an ordinary expression. +</p> + +<p> +“Is the note ready?” Henrietta asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I meant to post it, but I’d rather she had it to-night, and +there is the basket to return.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, I’ll take them both, and if I’m a little late, +you’ll know I have just gone for a walk or something.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t worry about you,” Rose said. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta walked up the yellow drive, trembling a little. She had decided to +ask for Mrs. Batty who was always pleased to see her, but when the door was +opened her ears were assailed by a blast of triumphant sound. It was Charles, +playing the piano; he was not ill, he was not busy, he was merely playing the +piano as though there were no Henrietta in the world, and her trembling changed +to the stiffness of great anger. +</p> + +<p> +She handed in the basket and the note without a word or a smile for the +friendly parlourmaid. She walked home in the awful realization that she had +worn Charles out. He had called her wanton; he must have meant it. It was that +word which had really made her love him, yet it was also the sign of his +exhaustion. Life was tragic: no, it was comic, it was playful. She had had +happiness in her hands, and it had slipped through them. She felt sick with +disappointment under her rage; but she was not without hope. It stirred in her +gently. Charles would come back. But would he? And she suddenly felt a terrible +distrust of that love of which he had boasted. It was too complete; he could do +without her. He would go on loving, but, she repeated it, she had worn him out, +and she could not love like that. She wanted tangible things. But he had said +that he, too, was flesh and blood, and that comforted her. He would come back, +but she could do nothing to invite him. +</p> + +<p> +This, she said firmly, was the real thing. It had been different with Francis +Sales: with him there had been no necessity for pride, but her love for Charles +must be wrapped round with reserve and kept holy; and at once, with her +unfailing dramatic sense, she saw herself moving quietly through life, tending +the sacred flame. And then, irritably, she told herself she could not spend her +days doing that: she did not know what to do! She hated him; she would go away; +yes, she would go away with Aunt Rose. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime she wept with a passion of disappointment, humiliation and +pain, but on each successive morning, for some weeks, she woke to hope, for +here was a new day with many possibilities in its hours; and each evening she +dropped on to her bed, disheartened. Nothing happened. Aunt Sophia was better, +Rose rode out every day, the little house on The Green stood empty, squinting +disconsolately, resignedly surprised at its own loneliness. It was strange that +nobody wanted a house like that; it was neglected and so was she: nobody +noticed the one or the other. +</p> + +<p> +Every morning Henrietta took Aunt Sophia for a stately walk; every afternoon +she went to a tea- or tennis-party, for the summer festivities were beginning +once more; and often, as she returned, she would meet Aunt Rose coming back +from her ride, always cool in her linen coat, however hot the day. Where did +she go? How often did she meet Francis Sales? Why should she be enjoying +adventures while Henrietta, at the only age worth having, was desperately +fulfilling the tedious round of her engagements? It was absurd, and Aunt Rose +would ask serenely, “Did you have a good game, Henrietta?” as +though there was nothing wrong. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta did not care for games. It was the big sport of life itself she +craved for, and she could not get it. All these young men, handsome and healthy +in their flannels and ready to be pleasant, she found dull, while the figure of +the loose-jointed Charles, his vague gestures, his unseeing eyes screening the +activity of his brain, became heroic in their difference. She never saw him; +she did not visit Mrs. Batty; she was afraid of falling tearfully on that +homely, sympathetic breast, but Mrs. Batty, as usual, issued invitations for a +garden-party. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall have to go,” Sophia sighed. “Such an old and so +kind a friend! But without Caroline—for the first tune!” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no need for you to go,” Rose said at once. “Mrs. +Batty will understand, and Henrietta and I will represent the family.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I must not give way. Caroline never gave way.” +</p> + +<p> +There was no excitement in dressing for this party. Without Caroline things +lost their zest, and they set out demurely, walking very slowly for +Sophia’s sake. +</p> + +<p> +It was a hot day and Mrs. Batty, standing at the garden door to greet her +guests, was obliged to wipe her face surreptitiously now and then, while the +statues in the hall, with their burdens of ferns and lamps, showed their cool +limbs beneath their scanty but still decent drapery. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Batty took Sophia to a seat under a tree and Henrietta stood for a moment +in the blazing sunlight alone. Where was Aunt Rose? Henrietta looked round and +had a glimpse of that slim black form moving among the rose-trees with Francis +Sales. He had simply carried her off! It was disgraceful, and things seemed to +repeat themselves for ever. Aunt Rose, with her look of having lost everything, +still succeeded in possessing, while Henrietta was alone. She had no place in +the world. John’s affianced bride was busy among the guests, like a +daughter of the house, a slobbering bulldog at her heels; and Henrietta, +isolated on the lawn, was overcome by her own forlornness. It had been very +different at the ball. And how queer life was! It was just a succession of +days, that was all: little things happened and the days went on; big things +happened and seemed to change the world, but nothing was really changed, and a +whole life could be spent with a moment’s happiness or despair for its +only marks. +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta, rather impressed by the depths of her own thoughts, moved through +the garden. Where was Charles? She wanted to see him and get their meeting +over, but there was not a sign of him and, avoiding the croquet players and +that shady corner where elderly ladies were clustered near the band, the same +band which had played at the ball, Henrietta found herself in the kitchen +garden. She examined the gooseberry bushes and strawberry beds with apparent +interest, unwilling to join the guests and still more unwilling to be found +alone in this deserted state. It was very hot. The open door of a little shed +showed her a dim and cool interior; she peeped in and stepped back with an +exclamation. Something had moved in there. It might be a rat or one of +John’s ferocious terriers, but a voice said quietly, “It’s +only me.” +</p> + +<p> +She stepped forward. “What are you doing in there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Getting cool,” Charles said. “I thought nobody would find +me. Won’t you come in? It’s rather dirty in here, but it’s +cool, and you can’t hear the band. I’ve been sitting on the handle +of the wheelbarrow, so that’s clean, anyhow. I’ll wipe it with my +handkerchief to make sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“But where are you going to sit?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s room on the other handle.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta sat with her knees between the shafts, and he sat on the other handle +with his back to her. +</p> + +<p> +“We can’t stay here long,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Charles agreed. +</p> + +<p> +The place smelt musty, but of heaven. It was draped with cobwebs like celestial +clouds; it was dark, but gradually the forms of rakes, hoes, spades and a +watering-pot cleared themselves from the gloom and Charles’s head bloomed +above his coat like a great pale flower. +</p> + +<p> +She put out her hand and drew it back again. She found nothing to say. Outside +the sun poured down its rays like fire. Henrietta’s head drooped under +her big hat. She was content to stay here for ever if Charles would stay, too. +Her body felt as though it were imponderable, she had no feet, she could not +feel the hard handle of the wheelbarrow; she seemed to be floating blissfully, +aware of nothing but that floating, yet a threat of laughter began to tickle +her. It was absurd to sit like this, like strangers in an omnibus. The laughter +rose to her throat and escaped: she floated no longer, but she was no less +happy. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” asked the voice of Charles. +</p> + +<p> +“So funny, sitting like this.” +</p> + +<p> +“What else can we do?” +</p> + +<p> +“You could turn round.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s not room for all our knees.” +</p> + +<p> +She stood up with a little rustle and walked to the door. “No, it’s +too hot out there,” she said, and returned to face him. +“Charles,” she said in rather a high voice, “did you find +your hat and stick that night?” +</p> + +<p> +“What? Oh, yes,” and then irrelevantly he added, “I’ve +just been made a partner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really?” She was always interested in practical things. “In +Mr. Batty’s firm? How splendid! I didn’t know you were any good at +business.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been improving, and you don’t know anything about +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do, Charles,” she said earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, nothing. You haven’t time to think of anybody but yourself. +And now I must go and look after all these people. You’d better come and +have an ice.” +</p> + +<p> +There was ice at her heart and she realized now that her past unhappiness had +been half false; she had been waiting for him all the time and trusting to his +next sight of her to put things right, but she had failed with him, too. +</p> + +<p> +In that dim tool-house she had stood before him in her pretty dress, smiling +down at him, surely irresistible, and he had resisted. Well, she could resist, +too, and she walked calmly by his side, holding her head very high, and when he +parted from her with a grave bow, she felt a great, an awed respect for him. +</p> + +<p> +She went to find her Aunt Sophia, who was still sitting under the tree, +surrounded by a chattering group. She looked tired, and, signalling for +Henrietta to approach, she said, “I’m afraid this is too much for +me, dear child. Can you find Rose and ask her to take me home? But I +don’t want to spoil your pleasure, Henrietta. There is no need for you to +come.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta’s lip twisted with dramatic bitterness. There was no pleasure +left for her. “I would rather go back with you, Aunt Sophia. Let us go +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no. Find Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +There was another buffet in the face. It was Rose who was wanted and Henrietta, +walking swiftly, crossed the lawn again, casting quick glances right and left. +Rose was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, for their ways had an odd habit of +following the same path, she was in the tool-house with Francis Sales, but as +she turned to go there, the voice of Mrs. Batty, husky with exhaustion and +heat, said in her ear, “Is it your Aunt Rose you are looking for, love? I +think I saw her go into the house, and I wish I could go myself. It’s so +hot that I really feel I may have a fit.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta went into the cool, shaded drawing-room on light feet, and there, +against the window, she saw her Aunt Rose in an attitude startlingly +unfamiliar. She was standing with her hands clasped before her, and she gazed +down at them lost in thought—or prayer. Her body, so upright and strong, +seemed limp and broken, and her face, which was calm, yet had the look of +having composed itself after pain. +</p> + +<p> +There was no one else in the room, but Henrietta had the strong impression that +someone had lately passed through the door. She was afraid to disturb that +moment in which an escaped soul seemed to be fluttering back into its place, +but Rose looked up and saw her and Henrietta, advancing softly as though +towards a person who was dead, stopped within a foot of her. Then, without +thought and obeying an uncontrollable impulse, she stepped forward and laid her +cheek against her aunt’s. Rose’s hands dropped apart and, one arm +encircling Henrietta’s waist, she held her close, but only for a minute. +It was Henrietta who broke away, saying, “Aunt Sophia sent me to look for +you. She doesn’t feel well.” +</p> + +<h3>§ 12</h3> + +<p> +Mrs. Batty was cured of giving parties. It was after her ball that Miss +Caroline died, and it was after her garden-party that Miss Sophia finally +collapsed. The heat, the emotion of her memories and the effort of disguising +it had been too much for her. She died the following day and Mrs. Batty felt +that the largest and most expensive wreath procurable could not approach the +expression of her grief. It was no good talking to Mr. Batty about it; he would +only say he had been against the ball and garden-party from the first, but Mrs. +Batty found Charles unexpectedly soothing. He was certainly much improved of +late, and when she heard that he was to go to Nelson Lodge on business +connected with the estate, she burdened him with a number of incoherent +messages for Rose. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps he delivered them; he certainly stayed in the drawing-room for some +time, and Henrietta, sitting sorrowfully in her bedroom, could hear his voice +“rolling on monotonously. Then there was a laugh and Henrietta was +indignant. Nobody ought to laugh with Aunt Sophia lying dead, and she did not +know how to stay in her room while those two, Aunt Rose and her Charles, talked +and laughed together. She thought of pretending not to know he was there and of +entering the drawing-room in a careless manner, but she could not allow Aunt +Rose to witness Charles’s indifference. All she could do was to steal on +to the landing and lean over the banisters to watch him depart. She had the +painful consolation of seeing the top of his head and of hearing him say, +“The day after to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +Rose answered, “Yes, it’s most important.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta waited until the front door had closed behind him and then, seeing +Rose at the foot of the stairs, she said, “What’s important, Aunt +Rose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, are you there, Henrietta? What a pity you didn’t come down. +That was Charles Batty.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. What’s important?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a lot of complicated business to get through.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might let me help.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would. When Charles comes again—his father isn’t +very well—you had better be present.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not with Charles,” Henrietta said firmly. “Does he +understand wills and things?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly, I think. He’s very clever and quite interesting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” Henrietta said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad he’s coming again. And now, Henrietta,” she +sighed, “we must get ready for the cousins.” +</p> + +<p> +The female relatives returned in dingy cabs. They had not yet laid aside their +black and beads for Caroline, and, as though they thought Sophia had been +unfairly cheated of new mourning, they had adorned themselves with a fresh +black ribbon here and there, or a larger brooch of jet, and these additions +gave to the older garments a rusty look, a sort of blush. +</p> + +<p> +Across these half-animated heaps of woe and dye, the glances of Rose and +Henrietta met in an understanding pleasing to both. This mourning had a +professional, almost a rapacious quality, and if these women had no hope of +material pickings, they were getting all possible nourishment from emotional +ones. Their eyes, very sharp, but veiled by seemly gloom, criticized the slim, +upright figures of these young women who could wear black gracefully, sorrow +with dignity, and who had, as they insisted, so much the look of sisters. +</p> + +<p> +The air seemed freer for their departure, but the house was very empty, and +though Sophia had never made much noise the place was heavy with a final +silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know why we’re here!” Henrietta cried +passionately across the dinner-table when Susan had left the ladies to their +dessert. +</p> + +<p> +“Why were we ever here?” Rose asked. “If one could answer +that question—” +</p> + +<p> +They faced each other in their old places. The curved ends of the shining table +were vacant, the Chippendale armchairs were pushed back against the wall, yet +the ghosts of Caroline and Sophia, gaily dressed, with dangling earrings, the +sparkle of jewels, the movements of their beringed fingers, seemed to be in the +room. +</p> + +<p> +“But we shall never forget them,” Henrietta said. “They were +persons. Aunt Rose, do you think you and I will go on as they did, until just +one of us is left?” +</p> + +<p> +“We could never be like them.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, they were happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will be happy again, Henrietta. We shall get used to this +silence.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t think either of us is meant to be happy. No, +we’re not like them. We’re tragic. But all the same, we might get +really fond of one another, mightn’t we?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am fond of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see how you can be”—Henrietta looked down at +the fruit on her plate—“considering what has happened,” she +almost whispered. +</p> + +<p> +Rose made no answer. The steady, pale flames of the candles stood up like +golden fingers, the shadows behind the table seemed to listen. +</p> + +<p> +“But how fond are you?” Henrietta asked in a loud voice, and Rose, +peeling her apple delicately, said vaguely, “I don’t know how you +measure.” +</p> + +<p> +“By what you would do for a person.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well, I think I have stood that test.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta leaned over the table, and a candle flame, as though startled by her +gesture, gave a leap, and the shadows behind were stirred. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Henrietta said, “I hated you for a long time, but now +I don’t. You’ve been unhappy, too. And you were right +about—that man. I didn’t love him. How could I? How could I? How +could anybody? If you hadn’t come that day—” +</p> + +<p> +Rose closed her eyes for a moment and then said wearily, “It +wouldn’t have made any difference. I never made any difference. You +didn’t love him; but he never loved you either, child. You were quite +safe.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta’s face flushed hotly. This might be true, but it was not for +Aunt Rose to say it. Once more she leaned across the table and said clearly, +“Then you’re still jealous.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose smiled. It seemed impossible to move her. “No, Henrietta. I left +jealousy behind years ago. We won’t discuss this any further. It +doesn’t bear discussion. It’s beyond it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it’s very unpleasant,” Henrietta said politely, +“but if we are to go on living together, we ought to clear things +up.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are not going on living together,” Rose said. She left the +table and stood before the fire, one hand on the mantelshelf and one foot on +the fender. The long, soft lines of her dark dress were merged into the +shadows, and the white arm, the white face and neck seemed to be disembodied. +Henrietta, struck dumb by that announcement, and feeling the situation wrested +from the control of her young hands, stared at the slight figure which had +typified beauty for her since she first saw it. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you don’t like me,” she faltered. +</p> + +<p> +Rose did not move, but she began to speak. “Henrietta, I have loved you +very dearly, almost as if you were my daughter, but you didn’t seem to +want my love. I couldn’t force it on you, but it has been here: it is +still here. I think you have the power of making people love you, yet you do +nothing for it except, perhaps, exist. One ought not to ask any more; I +don’t ask it, but you ought to learn to give. You’ll find +it’s the only thing worth doing. Taking—taking—one becomes +atrophied. No, it isn’t that I don’t care for you, it isn’t +that. I am going to be married.” +</p> + +<p> +Very carefully, Henrietta put her plate aside, and, supporting her face in her +hands, she pressed her elbows into the table; she pressed hard until they hurt. +So Aunt Rose was going to be married while Henrietta was deserved. “Not +to Francis Sales?” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, to Francis Sales.” +</p> + +<p> +She had a wild moment of anger, succeeded by horror for Aunt Rose. Was she +stupid? Was she insensible? And Henrietta said, “But you can’t, +Aunt Rose, you can’t.” Her distress and a kind of envy gave her +courage. “He isn’t good enough. He played with you and then with me +and you said there was some one else.” The figure by the mantelpiece was +so still that Henrietta became convinced of the potency of her own words, and +she went on: “You know everything about him and you can’t marry +him. How can you marry him?” +</p> + +<p> +A sound, like the faint and distant wailing of the wind, came out of the +shadows into which Rose had retreated: “Ah, how?” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’re going to leave me—for him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Rose, you would be happier with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Again there came that faint sound. “Perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d try to be kinder to you. I don’t understand you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, you don’t understand me. Do you understand yourself?” +She left her place and put her hands on Henrietta’s shoulders. “Say +no more,” she said with unmistakable authority. “Say no more, +neither to me nor to anybody else. This is beyond you. And now come into the +drawing-room. Don’t cry, Henrietta. I’m not going to be married for +some time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I’d known you loved me,” Henrietta sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +“I tried to show you.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I’d known, everything might have been different.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose laughed. “But we don’t want it to be different.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t be happy,” Henrietta wailed. +</p> + +<p> +“You, at least,” Rose said sternly, “have done nothing to +make me so.” +</p> + +<p> +Henrietta stilled her sobbing. It was quite true. She had taken +everything—Aunt Rose’s money, Aunt Rose’s love, her wonderful +forbearance and the love of Charles. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what to do,” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Come into the drawing-room and we’ll talk about it.” +</p> + +<p> +But they did not talk. Rose played the piano in the candlelight for a little +while before she slipped out of the room. Henrietta sat on the little stool +without even the fire to keep her company. She was too dazed to think. She did +not understand why Aunt Rose should choose to marry Francis Sales and she gave +it up, but loneliness stretched before her like a long, hard road. +</p> + +<p> +If only Charles would come! He always came when he was wanted. A memory reached +her weary mind. This was “the day after to-morrow,” and Aunt Rose +expected him. She leapt up and examined herself in the mirror. She was one of +those lucky people who can cry and leave no trace; colour had sprung into her +cheeks, but it faded quickly. She had waited for him before and he had not +come, and she was tired of waiting. She sank into Aunt Caroline’s chair +and shut her eyes; she almost slept. She was on the verge of dreams when the +bell jangled harshly. She did not move. She sat in an agony of fear that this +would not be Charles; but the door opened and he entered. Susan pronounced his +name, and he stood on the threshold, thinking the room was empty. +</p> + +<p> +A very small voice pierced the stillness. “Charles, I’m +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t come a step farther,” Charles said severely, +“until you tell me if you love me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you’d come to see Aunt Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Henrietta—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I love you, I love you,” she said hurriedly. “I’m +nodding my head hard. No, stay where you are, stay where you are. I’ve +been loving you for weeks and you’ve treated me shamefully. No, no, +I’ve got to be different, I’ve got to give. You didn’t treat +me shamefully.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said stolidly, “I didn’t. Here’s the +ring, and I took that house. I’ve been renting it ever since I knew we +were going to live in it. Here’s the ring.” He dropped it into her +lap. +</p> + +<p> +She looked down at the stones, hard and bright like herself. “Aunt Rose +will be very much surprised,” she said, and she was too happy to wonder +why he laughed. +</p> + +<p> +Standing on the stair, Rose heard that laughter and went on very slowly to her +room. She had, at least, done something for Henrietta. She had given Charles +his chance, and now she was to go on doing things for Francis Sales. She owed +him something: she owed him the romance of her youth, she owed him the care +which was all she had left to give him. Things had come to her too late, her +eyes were too wide open, yet perhaps it was better so. She had no illusions and +she wanted to justify her early faith and Christabel’s sufferings and her +own. There was nothing else to do. Besides, he needed her, and with him she +would not be more unhappy; he would be happier, he said. She had to protect him +against himself, yet even there she was frustrated, for he had, in a measure, +found himself, and now that she was ready and able to serve him there would be +less for her to do. But she had no choice: there was the old debt, there were +the old chains, and as she faced the future she was stirred by hope. She could +tell herself that something of her dead love had waked to life, yet when she +tried to get back the old rapture, she knew it had gone for ever. +</p> + +<p> +She entered her room and did not turn on the light. There seemed to be a +strange weight in her body, pressing her down, but, as she looked through her +open window at the summer sky deepening to night and letting out the stars, +which seemed to be much amused, there was a lightness in her mind and, smiling +back at them, she was able to share their appreciation of the joke. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSES MALLETT ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 8131-h.htm or 8131-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/8/1/3/8131/</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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