THE VOYAGE OUT (1915)

by Virginia Woolf (1882-1941)

Chapter I

As the streets that lead from the Strand to the Embankment are verynarrow, it is better not to walk down them arm-in-arm. If you persist, lawyers' clerks will have to make flying leaps into the mud; young ladytypists will have to fidget behind you. In the streets of London wherebeauty goes unregarded, eccentricity must pay the penalty, and it isbetter not to be very tall, to wear a long blue cloak, or to beat theair with your left hand. 

One afternoon in the beginning of October when the traffic was becomingbrisk a tall man strode along the edge of the pavement with a lady onhis arm. Angry glances struck upon their backs. The small, agitatedfigures--for in comparison with this couple most people lookedsmall--decorated with fountain pens, and burdened with despatch-boxes, had appointments to keep, and drew a weekly salary, so that therewas some reason for the unfriendly stare which was bestowed upon Mr. Ambrose's height and upon Mrs. Ambrose's cloak. But some enchantment hadput both man and woman beyond the reach of malice and unpopularity. Inhis guess one might guess from the moving lips that it was thought; andin hers from the eyes fixed stonily straight in front of her at a levelabove the eyes of most that it was sorrow. It was only by scorning allshe met that she kept herself from tears, and the friction of peoplebrushing past her was evidently painful. After watching the traffic onthe Embankment for a minute or two with a stoical gaze she twitched herhusband's sleeve, and they crossed between the swift discharge of motorcars. When they were safe on the further side, she gently withdrew herarm from his, allowing her mouth at the same time to relax, to tremble;then tears rolled down, and leaning her elbows on the balustrade, sheshielded her face from the curious. Mr. Ambrose attempted consolation;he patted her shoulder; but she showed no signs of admitting him, andfeeling it awkward to stand beside a grief that was greater than his, hecrossed his arms behind him, and took a turn along the pavement. 

The embankment juts out in angles here and there, like pulpits; insteadof preachers, however, small boys occupy them, dangling string, droppingpebbles, or launching wads of paper for a cruise. With their sharp eyefor eccentricity, they were inclined to think Mr. Ambrose awful; butthe quickest witted cried "Bluebeard!" as he passed. In case they shouldproceed to tease his wife, Mr. Ambrose flourished his stick at them, upon which they decided that he was grotesque merely, and four insteadof one cried "Bluebeard!" in chorus. 

Although Mrs. Ambrose stood quite still, much longer than is natural, the little boys let her be. Some one is always looking into the rivernear Waterloo Bridge; a couple will stand there talking for half an houron a fine afternoon; most people, walking for pleasure, contemplate forthree minutes; when, having compared the occasion with other occasions, or made some sentence, they pass on. Sometimes the flats and churchesand hotels of Westminster are like the outlines of Constantinople in amist; sometimes the river is an opulent purple, sometimes mud-coloured, sometimes sparkling blue like the sea. It is always worth while to lookdown and see what is happening. But this lady looked neither up nordown; the only thing she had seen, since she stood there, was a circulariridescent patch slowly floating past with a straw in the middle of it. The straw and the patch swam again and again behind the tremulous mediumof a great welling tear, and the tear rose and fell and dropped into theriver. Then there struck close upon her ears--

 Lars Porsena of Clusium By the nine Gods he swore--

and then more faintly, as if the speaker had passed her on his walk--

 That the Great House of Tarquin Should suffer wrong no more. 

Yes, she knew she must go back to all that, but at present she mustweep. Screening her face she sobbed more steadily than she had yet done, her shoulders rising and falling with great regularity. It was thisfigure that her husband saw when, having reached the polished Sphinx, having entangled himself with a man selling picture postcards, heturned; the stanza instantly stopped. He came up to her, laid his handon her shoulder, and said, "Dearest. " His voice was supplicating. Butshe shut her face away from him, as much as to say, "You can't possiblyunderstand. "

As he did not leave her, however, she had to wipe her eyes, and to raisethem to the level of the factory chimneys on the other bank. She sawalso the arches of Waterloo Bridge and the carts moving across them, like the line of animals in a shooting gallery. They were seen blankly, but to see anything was of course to end her weeping and begin to walk. 

"I would rather walk, " she said, her husband having hailed a cab alreadyoccupied by two city men. 

The fixity of her mood was broken by the action of walking. The shootingmotor cars, more like spiders in the moon than terrestrial objects, thethundering drays, the jingling hansoms, and little black broughams, made her think of the world she lived in. Somewhere up there above thepinnacles where the smoke rose in a pointed hill, her children werenow asking for her, and getting a soothing reply. As for the mass ofstreets, squares, and public buildings which parted them, she only feltat this moment how little London had done to make her love it, althoughthirty of her forty years had been spent in a street. She knew howto read the people who were passing her; there were the rich who wererunning to and from each others' houses at this hour; there were thebigoted workers driving in a straight line to their offices; there werethe poor who were unhappy and rightly malignant. Already, though therewas sunlight in the haze, tattered old men and women were nodding offto sleep upon the seats. When one gave up seeing the beauty that clothedthings, this was the skeleton beneath. 

A fine rain now made her still more dismal; vans with the odd namesof those engaged in odd industries--Sprules, Manufacturer of Saw-dust;Grabb, to whom no piece of waste paper comes amiss--fell flat as a badjoke; bold lovers, sheltered behind one cloak, seemed to her sordid, past their passion; the flower women, a contented company, whose talkis always worth hearing, were sodden hags; the red, yellow, and blueflowers, whose heads were pressed together, would not blaze. Moreover, her husband walking with a quick rhythmic stride, jerking his free handoccasionally, was either a Viking or a stricken Nelson; the sea-gullshad changed his note. 

"Ridley, shall we drive? Shall we drive, Ridley?"

Mrs. Ambrose had to speak sharply; by this time he was far away. 

The cab, by trotting steadily along the same road, soon withdrew themfrom the West End, and plunged them into London. It appeared that thiswas a great manufacturing place, where the people were engaged inmaking things, as though the West End, with its electric lamps, its vastplate-glass windows all shining yellow, its carefully-finished houses, and tiny live figures trotting on the pavement, or bowled along onwheels in the road, was the finished work. It appeared to her a verysmall bit of work for such an enormous factory to have made. For somereason it appeared to her as a small golden tassel on the edge of a vastblack cloak. 

Observing that they passed no other hansom cab, but only vans andwaggons, and that not one of the thousand men and women she saw waseither a gentleman or a lady, Mrs. Ambrose understood that after allit is the ordinary thing to be poor, and that London is the city ofinnumerable poor people. Startled by this discovery and seeing herselfpacing a circle all the days of her life round Picadilly Circus she wasgreatly relieved to pass a building put up by the London County Councilfor Night Schools. 

"Lord, how gloomy it is!" her husband groaned. "Poor creatures!"

What with the misery for her children, the poor, and the rain, her mindwas like a wound exposed to dry in the air. 

At this point the cab stopped, for it was in danger of being crushedlike an egg-shell. The wide Embankment which had had room forcannonballs and squadrons, had now shrunk to a cobbled lane steamingwith smells of malt and oil and blocked by waggons. While her husbandread the placards pasted on the brick announcing the hours at whichcertain ships would sail for Scotland, Mrs. Ambrose did her best to findinformation. From a world exclusively occupied in feeding waggons withsacks, half obliterated too in a fine yellow fog, they got neither helpnor attention. It seemed a miracle when an old man approached, guessedtheir condition, and proposed to row them out to their ship in thelittle boat which he kept moored at the bottom of a flight of steps. With some hesitation they trusted themselves to him, took their places, and were soon waving up and down upon the water, London having shrunkto two lines of buildings on either side of them, square buildings andoblong buildings placed in rows like a child's avenue of bricks. 

The river, which had a certain amount of troubled yellow light in it, ran with great force; bulky barges floated down swiftly escorted bytugs; police boats shot past everything; the wind went with the current. The open rowing-boat in which they sat bobbed and curtseyed across theline of traffic. In mid-stream the old man stayed his hands upon theoars, and as the water rushed past them, remarked that once he had takenmany passengers across, where now he took scarcely any. He seemed torecall an age when his boat, moored among rushes, carried delicate feetacross to lawns at Rotherhithe. 

"They want bridges now, " he said, indicating the monstrous outline ofthe Tower Bridge. Mournfully Helen regarded him, who was putting waterbetween her and her children. Mournfully she gazed at the ship they wereapproaching; anchored in the middle of the stream they could dimly readher name--_Euphrosyne_. 

Very dimly in the falling dusk they could see the lines of the rigging, the masts and the dark flag which the breeze blew out squarely behind. 

As the little boat sidled up to the steamer, and the old man shippedhis oars, he remarked once more pointing above, that ships all theworld over flew that flag the day they sailed. In the minds of both thepassengers the blue flag appeared a sinister token, and this the momentfor presentiments, but nevertheless they rose, gathered their thingstogether, and climbed on deck. 

Down in the saloon of her father's ship, Miss Rachel Vinrace, agedtwenty-four, stood waiting her uncle and aunt nervously. To begin with, though nearly related, she scarcely remembered them; to go on with, theywere elderly people, and finally, as her father's daughter she must bein some sort prepared to entertain them. She looked forward to seeingthem as civilised people generally look forward to the first sight ofcivilised people, as though they were of the nature of an approachingphysical discomfort--a tight shoe or a draughty window. She was alreadyunnaturally braced to receive them. As she occupied herself in layingforks severely straight by the side of knives, she heard a man's voicesaying gloomily:

"On a dark night one would fall down these stairs head foremost, " towhich a woman's voice added, "And be killed. "

As she spoke the last words the woman stood in the doorway. Tall, large-eyed, draped in purple shawls, Mrs. Ambrose was romantic andbeautiful; not perhaps sympathetic, for her eyes looked straight andconsidered what they saw. Her face was much warmer than a Greek face;on the other hand it was much bolder than the face of the usual prettyEnglishwoman. 

"Oh, Rachel, how d'you do, " she said, shaking hands. 

"How are you, dear, " said Mr. Ambrose, inclining his forehead to bekissed. His niece instinctively liked his thin angular body, and the bighead with its sweeping features, and the acute, innocent eyes. 

"Tell Mr. Pepper, " Rachel bade the servant. Husband and wife then satdown on one side of the table, with their niece opposite to them. 

"My father told me to begin, " she explained. "He is very busy with themen. . . . You know Mr. Pepper?"

A little man who was bent as some trees are by a gale on one side ofthem had slipped in. Nodding to Mr. Ambrose, he shook hands with Helen. 

"Draughts, " he said, erecting the collar of his coat. 

"You are still rheumatic?" asked Helen. Her voice was low and seductive, though she spoke absently enough, the sight of town and river beingstill present to her mind. 

"Once rheumatic, always rheumatic, I fear, " he replied. "To some extentit depends on the weather, though not so much as people are apt tothink. "

"One does not die of it, at any rate, " said Helen. 

"As a general rule--no, " said Mr. Pepper. 

"Soup, Uncle Ridley?" asked Rachel. 

"Thank you, dear, " he said, and, as he held his plate out, sighedaudibly, "Ah! she's not like her mother. " Helen was just too late inthumping her tumbler on the table to prevent Rachel from hearing, andfrom blushing scarlet with embarrassment. 

"The way servants treat flowers!" she said hastily. She drew a greenvase with a crinkled lip towards her, and began pulling out the tightlittle chrysanthemums, which she laid on the table-cloth, arranging themfastidiously side by side. 

There was a pause. 

"You knew Jenkinson, didn't you, Ambrose?" asked Mr. Pepper across thetable. 

"Jenkinson of Peterhouse?"

"He's dead, " said Mr. Pepper. 

"Ah, dear!--I knew him--ages ago, " said Ridley. "He was the hero of thepunt accident, you remember? A queer card. Married a young woman out ofa tobacconist's, and lived in the Fens--never heard what became of him. "

"Drink--drugs, " said Mr. Pepper with sinister conciseness. "He left acommentary. Hopeless muddle, I'm told. "

"The man had really great abilities, " said Ridley. 

"His introduction to Jellaby holds its own still, " went on Mr. Pepper, "which is surprising, seeing how text-books change. "

"There was a theory about the planets, wasn't there?" asked Ridley. 

"A screw loose somewhere, no doubt of it, " said Mr. Pepper, shaking hishead. 

Now a tremor ran through the table, and a light outside swerved. At thesame time an electric bell rang sharply again and again. 

"We're off, " said Ridley. 

A slight but perceptible wave seemed to roll beneath the floor; then itsank; then another came, more perceptible. Lights slid right across theuncurtained window. The ship gave a loud melancholy moan. 

"We're off!" said Mr. Pepper. Other ships, as sad as she, answeredher outside on the river. The chuckling and hissing of water could beplainly heard, and the ship heaved so that the steward bringing plateshad to balance himself as he drew the curtain. There was a pause. 

"Jenkinson of Cats--d'you still keep up with him?" asked Ambrose. 

"As much as one ever does, " said Mr. Pepper. "We meet annually. Thisyear he has had the misfortune to lose his wife, which made it painful, of course. "

"Very painful, " Ridley agreed. 

"There's an unmarried daughter who keeps house for him, I believe, butit's never the same, not at his age. "

Both gentlemen nodded sagely as they carved their apples. 

"There was a book, wasn't there?" Ridley enquired. 

"There _was_ a book, but there never _will_ be a book, " said Mr. Pepperwith such fierceness that both ladies looked up at him. 

"There never will be a book, because some one else has written it forhim, " said Mr. Pepper with considerable acidity. "That's what comes ofputting things off, and collecting fossils, and sticking Norman archeson one's pigsties. "

"I confess I sympathise, " said Ridley with a melancholy sigh. "I have aweakness for people who can't begin. "

". . . The accumulations of a lifetime wasted, " continued Mr. Pepper. "He had accumulations enough to fill a barn. "

"It's a vice that some of us escape, " said Ridley. "Our friend Miles hasanother work out to-day. "

Mr. Pepper gave an acid little laugh. "According to my calculations, " hesaid, "he has produced two volumes and a half annually, which, allowing for time spent in the cradle and so forth, shows a commendableindustry. "

"Yes, the old Master's saying of him has been pretty well realised, "said Ridley. 

"A way they had, " said Mr. Pepper. "You know the Bruce collection?--notfor publication, of course. "

"I should suppose not, " said Ridley significantly. "For a Divine hewas--remarkably free. "

"The Pump in Neville's Row, for example?" enquired Mr. Pepper. 

"Precisely, " said Ambrose. 

Each of the ladies, being after the fashion of their sex, highly trainedin promoting men's talk without listening to it, could think--about theeducation of children, about the use of fog sirens in an opera--withoutbetraying herself. Only it struck Helen that Rachel was perhaps toostill for a hostess, and that she might have done something with herhands. 

"Perhaps--?" she said at length, upon which they rose and left, vaguelyto the surprise of the gentlemen, who had either thought them attentiveor had forgotten their presence. 

"Ah, one could tell strange stories of the old days, " they heard Ridleysay, as he sank into his chair again. Glancing back, at the doorway, they saw Mr. Pepper as though he had suddenly loosened his clothes, andhad become a vivacious and malicious old ape. 

Winding veils round their heads, the women walked on deck. They werenow moving steadily down the river, passing the dark shapes of shipsat anchor, and London was a swarm of lights with a pale yellow canopydrooping above it. There were the lights of the great theatres, thelights of the long streets, lights that indicated huge squares ofdomestic comfort, lights that hung high in air. No darkness wouldever settle upon those lamps, as no darkness had settled upon them forhundreds of years. It seemed dreadful that the town should blazefor ever in the same spot; dreadful at least to people going away toadventure upon the sea, and beholding it as a circumscribed mound, eternally burnt, eternally scarred. From the deck of the ship the greatcity appeared a crouched and cowardly figure, a sedentary miser. 

Leaning over the rail, side by side, Helen said, "Won't you be cold?"Rachel replied, "No. . . . How beautiful!" she added a moment later. Very little was visible--a few masts, a shadow of land here, a line ofbrilliant windows there. They tried to make head against the wind. 

"It blows--it blows!" gasped Rachel, the words rammed down her throat. Struggling by her side, Helen was suddenly overcome by the spirit ofmovement, and pushed along with her skirts wrapping themselves roundher knees, and both arms to her hair. But slowly the intoxication ofmovement died down, and the wind became rough and chilly. They lookedthrough a chink in the blind and saw that long cigars were being smokedin the dining-room; they saw Mr. Ambrose throw himself violently againstthe back of his chair, while Mr. Pepper crinkled his cheeks as thoughthey had been cut in wood. The ghost of a roar of laughter came out tothem, and was drowned at once in the wind. In the dry yellow-lightedroom Mr. Pepper and Mr. Ambrose were oblivious of all tumult; they werein Cambridge, and it was probably about the year 1875. 

"They're old friends, " said Helen, smiling at the sight. "Now, is therea room for us to sit in?"

Rachel opened a door. 

"It's more like a landing than a room, " she said. Indeed it had nothingof the shut stationary character of a room on shore. A table was rootedin the middle, and seats were stuck to the sides. Happily the tropicalsuns had bleached the tapestries to a faded blue-green colour, and themirror with its frame of shells, the work of the steward's love, whenthe time hung heavy in the southern seas, was quaint rather thanugly. Twisted shells with red lips like unicorn's horns ornamentedthe mantelpiece, which was draped by a pall of purple plush from whichdepended a certain number of balls. Two windows opened on to the deck, and the light beating through them when the ship was roasted on theAmazons had turned the prints on the opposite wall to a faint yellowcolour, so that "The Coliseum" was scarcely to be distinguished fromQueen Alexandra playing with her Spaniels. A pair of wicker arm-chairsby the fireside invited one to warm one's hands at a grate full of giltshavings; a great lamp swung above the table--the kind of lamp whichmakes the light of civilisation across dark fields to one walking in thecountry. 

"It's odd that every one should be an old friend of Mr. Pepper's, "Rachel started nervously, for the situation was difficult, the roomcold, and Helen curiously silent. 

"I suppose you take him for granted?" said her aunt. 

"He's like this, " said Rachel, lighting on a fossilised fish in a basin, and displaying it. 

"I expect you're too severe, " Helen remarked. 

Rachel immediately tried to qualify what she had said against herbelief. 

"I don't really know him, " she said, and took refuge in facts, believingthat elderly people really like them better than feelings. She producedwhat she knew of William Pepper. She told Helen that he always called onSundays when they were at home; he knew about a great many things--aboutmathematics, history, Greek, zoology, economics, and the IcelandicSagas. He had turned Persian poetry into English prose, and Englishprose into Greek iambics; he was an authority upon coins; and--one otherthing--oh yes, she thought it was vehicular traffic. 

He was here either to get things out of the sea, or to write upon theprobable course of Odysseus, for Greek after all was his hobby. 

"I've got all his pamphlets, " she said. "Little pamphlets. Little yellowbooks. " It did not appear that she had read them. 

"Has he ever been in love?" asked Helen, who had chosen a seat. 

This was unexpectedly to the point. 

"His heart's a piece of old shoe leather, " Rachel declared, dropping thefish. But when questioned she had to own that she had never asked him. 

"I shall ask him, " said Helen. 

"The last time I saw you, you were buying a piano, " she continued. "Doyou remember--the piano, the room in the attic, and the great plantswith the prickles?"

"Yes, and my aunts said the piano would come through the floor, but attheir age one wouldn't mind being killed in the night?" she enquired. 

"I heard from Aunt Bessie not long ago, " Helen stated. "She is afraidthat you will spoil your arms if you insist upon so much practising. "

"The muscles of the forearm--and then one won't marry?"

"She didn't put it quite like that, " replied Mrs. Ambrose. 

"Oh, no--of course she wouldn't, " said Rachel with a sigh. 

Helen looked at her. Her face was weak rather than decided, saved frominsipidity by the large enquiring eyes; denied beauty, now that she wassheltered indoors, by the lack of colour and definite outline. Moreover, a hesitation in speaking, or rather a tendency to use the wrong words, made her seem more than normally incompetent for her years. Mrs. Ambrose, who had been speaking much at random, now reflected that shecertainly did not look forward to the intimacy of three or four weekson board ship which was threatened. Women of her own age usually boringher, she supposed that girls would be worse. She glanced at Rachelagain. Yes! how clear it was that she would be vacillating, emotional, and when you said something to her it would make no more lastingimpression than the stroke of a stick upon water. There was nothingto take hold of in girls--nothing hard, permanent, satisfactory. DidWilloughby say three weeks, or did he say four? She tried to remember. 

At this point, however, the door opened and a tall burly man enteredthe room, came forward and shook Helen's hand with an emotional kind ofheartiness, Willoughby himself, Rachel's father, Helen's brother-in-law. As a great deal of flesh would have been needed to make a fat man ofhim, his frame being so large, he was not fat; his face was a largeframework too, looking, by the smallness of the features and the glowin the hollow of the cheek, more fitted to withstand assaults of theweather than to express sentiments and emotions, or to respond to themin others. 

"It is a great pleasure that you have come, " he said, "for both of us. "

Rachel murmured in obedience to her father's glance. 

"We'll do our best to make you comfortable. And Ridley. We think itan honour to have charge of him. Pepper'll have some one to contradicthim--which I daren't do. You find this child grown, don't you? A youngwoman, eh?"

Still holding Helen's hand he drew his arm round Rachel's shoulder, thusmaking them come uncomfortably close, but Helen forbore to look. 

"You think she does us credit?" he asked. 

"Oh yes, " said Helen. 

"Because we expect great things of her, " he continued, squeezing hisdaughter's arm and releasing her. "But about you now. " They sat downside by side on the little sofa. "Did you leave the children well?They'll be ready for school, I suppose. Do they take after you orAmbrose? They've got good heads on their shoulders, I'll be bound?"

At this Helen immediately brightened more than she had yet done, andexplained that her son was six and her daughter ten. Everybody said thather boy was like her and her girl like Ridley. As for brains, they werequick brats, she thought, and modestly she ventured on a little storyabout her son, --how left alone for a minute he had taken the pat ofbutter in his fingers, run across the room with it, and put it onthe fire--merely for the fun of the thing, a feeling which she couldunderstand. 

"And you had to show the young rascal that these tricks wouldn't do, eh?"

"A child of six? I don't think they matter. "

"I'm an old-fashioned father. "

"Nonsense, Willoughby; Rachel knows better. "

Much as Willoughby would doubtless have liked his daughter to praisehim she did not; her eyes were unreflecting as water, her fingers stilltoying with the fossilised fish, her mind absent. The elder people wenton to speak of arrangements that could be made for Ridley's comfort--atable placed where he couldn't help looking at the sea, far fromboilers, at the same time sheltered from the view of people passing. Unless he made this a holiday, when his books were all packed, hewould have no holiday whatever; for out at Santa Marina Helen knew, byexperience, that he would work all day; his boxes, she said, were packedwith books. 

"Leave it to me--leave it to me!" said Willoughby, obviously intendingto do much more than she asked of him. But Ridley and Mr. Pepper wereheard fumbling at the door. 

"How are you, Vinrace?" said Ridley, extending a limp hand as he camein, as though the meeting were melancholy to both, but on the whole moreso to him. 

Willoughby preserved his heartiness, tempered by respect. For the momentnothing was said. 

"We looked in and saw you laughing, " Helen remarked. "Mr. Pepper hadjust told a very good story. "

"Pish. None of the stories were good, " said her husband peevishly. 

"Still a severe judge, Ridley?" enquired Mr. Vinrace. 

"We bored you so that you left, " said Ridley, speaking directly to hiswife. 

As this was quite true Helen did not attempt to deny it, and her nextremark, "But didn't they improve after we'd gone?" was unfortunate, forher husband answered with a droop of his shoulders, "If possible theygot worse. "

The situation was now one of considerable discomfort for every oneconcerned, as was proved by a long interval of constraint and silence. Mr. Pepper, indeed, created a diversion of a kind by leaping on to hisseat, both feet tucked under him, with the action of a spinster whodetects a mouse, as the draught struck at his ankles. Drawn up there, sucking at his cigar, with his arms encircling his knees, he lookedlike the image of Buddha, and from this elevation began a discourse, addressed to nobody, for nobody had called for it, upon the unplumbeddepths of ocean. He professed himself surprised to learn that althoughMr. Vinrace possessed ten ships, regularly plying between London andBuenos Aires, not one of them was bidden to investigate the great whitemonsters of the lower waters. 

"No, no, " laughed Willoughby, "the monsters of the earth are too manyfor me!"

Rachel was heard to sigh, "Poor little goats!"

"If it weren't for the goats there'd be no music, my dear; music dependsupon goats, " said her father rather sharply, and Mr. Pepper went on todescribe the white, hairless, blind monsters lying curled on the ridgesof sand at the bottom of the sea, which would explode if you broughtthem to the surface, their sides bursting asunder and scatteringentrails to the winds when released from pressure, with considerabledetail and with such show of knowledge, that Ridley was disgusted, andbegged him to stop. 

From all this Helen drew her own conclusions, which were gloomy enough. Pepper was a bore; Rachel was an unlicked girl, no doubt prolific ofconfidences, the very first of which would be: "You see, I don't get onwith my father. " Willoughby, as usual, loved his business and built hisEmpire, and between them all she would be considerably bored. Being awoman of action, however, she rose, and said that for her part she wasgoing to bed. At the door she glanced back instinctively at Rachel, expecting that as two of the same sex they would leave the roomtogether. Rachel rose, looked vaguely into Helen's face, and remarkedwith her slight stammer, "I'm going out to t-t-triumph in the wind. "

Mrs. Ambrose's worst suspicions were confirmed; she went down thepassage lurching from side to side, and fending off the wall nowwith her right arm, now with her left; at each lurch she exclaimedemphatically, "Damn!"

Chapter II

Uncomfortable as the night, with its rocking movement, and salt smells, may have been, and in one case undoubtedly was, for Mr. Pepper hadinsufficient clothes upon his bed, the breakfast next morning wore akind of beauty. The voyage had begun, and had begun happily with a softblue sky, and a calm sea. The sense of untapped resources, things to sayas yet unsaid, made the hour significant, so that in future years theentire journey perhaps would be represented by this one scene, with thesound of sirens hooting in the river the night before, somehow mixingin. 

The table was cheerful with apples and bread and eggs. Helen handedWilloughby the butter, and as she did so cast her eye on him andreflected, "And she married you, and she was happy, I suppose. "

She went off on a familiar train of thought, leading on to all kindsof well-known reflections, from the old wonder, why Theresa had marriedWilloughby?

"Of course, one sees all that, " she thought, meaning that one sees thathe is big and burly, and has a great booming voice, and a fist and awill of his own; "but--" here she slipped into a fine analysis of himwhich is best represented by one word, "sentimental, " by which she meantthat he was never simple and honest about his feelings. For example, heseldom spoke of the dead, but kept anniversaries with singular pomp. She suspected him of nameless atrocities with regard to his daughter, asindeed she had always suspected him of bullying his wife. Naturally shefell to comparing her own fortunes with the fortunes of her friend, forWilloughby's wife had been perhaps the one woman Helen called friend, and this comparison often made the staple of their talk. Ridley was ascholar, and Willoughby was a man of business. Ridley was bringing outthe third volume of Pindar when Willoughby was launching his first ship. They built a new factory the very year the commentary on Aristotle--wasit?--appeared at the University Press. "And Rachel, " she looked ather, meaning, no doubt, to decide the argument, which was otherwise tooevenly balanced, by declaring that Rachel was not comparable to herown children. "She really might be six years old, " was all she said, however, this judgment referring to the smooth unmarked outline of thegirl's face, and not condemning her otherwise, for if Rachel were everto think, feel, laugh, or express herself, instead of dropping milkfrom a height as though to see what kind of drops it made, she might beinteresting though never exactly pretty. She was like her mother, as theimage in a pool on a still summer's day is like the vivid flushed facethat hangs over it. 

Meanwhile Helen herself was under examination, though not from either ofher victims. Mr. Pepper considered her; and his meditations, carriedon while he cut his toast into bars and neatly buttered them, took himthrough a considerable stretch of autobiography. One of his penetratingglances assured him that he was right last night in judging that Helenwas beautiful. Blandly he passed her the jam. She was talking nonsense, but not worse nonsense than people usually do talk at breakfast, thecerebral circulation, as he knew to his cost, being apt to give troubleat that hour. He went on saying "No" to her, on principle, for he neveryielded to a woman on account of her sex. And here, dropping his eyesto his plate, he became autobiographical. He had not married himself forthe sufficient reason that he had never met a woman who commanded hisrespect. Condemned to pass the susceptible years of youth in a railwaystation in Bombay, he had seen only coloured women, military women, official women; and his ideal was a woman who could read Greek, if notPersian, was irreproachably fair in the face, and able to understand thesmall things he let fall while undressing. As it was he had contractedhabits of which he was not in the least ashamed. Certain odd minutesevery day went to learning things by heart; he never took a ticketwithout noting the number; he devoted January to Petronius, February toCatullus, March to the Etruscan vases perhaps; anyhow he had done goodwork in India, and there was nothing to regret in his life except thefundamental defects which no wise man regrets, when the present is stillhis. So concluding he looked up suddenly and smiled. Rachel caught hiseye. 

"And now you've chewed something thirty-seven times, I suppose?" shethought, but said politely aloud, "Are your legs troubling you to-day, Mr. Pepper?"

"My shoulder blades?" he asked, shifting them painfully. "Beauty has noeffect upon uric acid that I'm aware of, " he sighed, contemplating theround pane opposite, through which the sky and sea showed blue. At thesame time he took a little parchment volume from his pocket and laid iton the table. As it was clear that he invited comment, Helen asked himthe name of it. She got the name; but she got also a disquisition uponthe proper method of making roads. Beginning with the Greeks, whohad, he said, many difficulties to contend with, he continued with theRomans, passed to England and the right method, which speedily becamethe wrong method, and wound up with such a fury of denunciationdirected against the road-makers of the present day in general, and theroad-makers of Richmond Park in particular, where Mr. Pepper had thehabit of cycling every morning before breakfast, that the spoons fairlyjingled against the coffee cups, and the insides of at least four rollsmounted in a heap beside Mr. Pepper's plate. 

"Pebbles!" he concluded, viciously dropping another bread pellet uponthe heap. "The roads of England are mended with pebbles! 'With the firstheavy rainfall, ' I've told 'em, 'your road will be a swamp. ' Again andagain my words have proved true. But d'you suppose they listen to mewhen I tell 'em so, when I point out the consequences, the consequencesto the public purse, when I recommend 'em to read Coryphaeus? No, Mrs. Ambrose, you will form no just opinion of the stupidity of mankind untilyou have sat upon a Borough Council!" The little man fixed her with aglance of ferocious energy. 

"I have had servants, " said Mrs. Ambrose, concentrating her gaze. "Atthis moment I have a nurse. She's a good woman as they go, but she'sdetermined to make my children pray. So far, owing to great care onmy part, they think of God as a kind of walrus; but now that my back'sturned--Ridley, " she demanded, swinging round upon her husband, "whatshall we do if we find them saying the Lord's Prayer when we get homeagain?"

Ridley made the sound which is represented by "Tush. " But Willoughby, whose discomfort as he listened was manifested by a slight movementrocking of his body, said awkwardly, "Oh, surely, Helen, a littlereligion hurts nobody. "

"I would rather my children told lies, " she replied, and whileWilloughby was reflecting that his sister-in-law was even more eccentricthan he remembered, pushed her chair back and swept upstairs. In asecond they heard her calling back, "Oh, look! We're out at sea!"

They followed her on to the deck. All the smoke and the houses haddisappeared, and the ship was out in a wide space of sea very fresh andclear though pale in the early light. They had left London sitting onits mud. A very thin line of shadow tapered on the horizon, scarcelythick enough to stand the burden of Paris, which nevertheless restedupon it. They were free of roads, free of mankind, and the sameexhilaration at their freedom ran through them all. The ship was makingher way steadily through small waves which slapped her and then fizzledlike effervescing water, leaving a little border of bubbles and foam oneither side. The colourless October sky above was thinly clouded as ifby the trail of wood-fire smoke, and the air was wonderfully salt andbrisk. Indeed it was too cold to stand still. Mrs. Ambrose drew her armwithin her husband's, and as they moved off it could be seen from theway in which her sloping cheek turned up to his that she had somethingprivate to communicate. They went a few paces and Rachel saw them kiss. 

Down she looked into the depth of the sea. While it was slightlydisturbed on the surface by the passage of the _Euphrosyne_, beneath itwas green and dim, and it grew dimmer and dimmer until the sand at thebottom was only a pale blur. One could scarcely see the black ribs ofwrecked ships, or the spiral towers made by the burrowings of greateels, or the smooth green-sided monsters who came by flickering this wayand that. 

--"And, Rachel, if any one wants me, I'm busy till one, " said herfather, enforcing his words as he often did, when he spoke to hisdaughter, by a smart blow upon the shoulder. 

"Until one, " he repeated. "And you'll find yourself some employment, eh?Scales, French, a little German, eh? There's Mr. Pepper who knows moreabout separable verbs than any man in Europe, eh?" and he went offlaughing. Rachel laughed, too, as indeed she had laughed ever since shecould remember, without thinking it funny, but because she admired herfather. 

But just as she was turning with a view perhaps to finding someemployment, she was intercepted by a woman who was so broad and so thickthat to be intercepted by her was inevitable. The discreet tentative wayin which she moved, together with her sober black dress, showed thatshe belonged to the lower orders; nevertheless she took up a rock-likeposition, looking about her to see that no gentry were near before shedelivered her message, which had reference to the state of the sheets, and was of the utmost gravity. 

"How ever we're to get through this voyage, Miss Rachel, I really can'ttell, " she began with a shake of her head. "There's only just sheetsenough to go round, and the master's has a rotten place you couldput your fingers through. And the counterpanes. Did you notice thecounterpanes? I thought to myself a poor person would have been ashamedof them. The one I gave Mr. Pepper was hardly fit to cover a dog. . . . No, Miss Rachel, they could _not_ be mended; they're only fit for dustsheets. Why, if one sewed one's finger to the bone, one would have one'swork undone the next time they went to the laundry. "

Her voice in its indignation wavered as if tears were near. 

There was nothing for it but to descend and inspect a large pile oflinen heaped upon a table. Mrs. Chailey handled the sheets as if sheknew each by name, character, and constitution. Some had yellow stains, others had places where the threads made long ladders; but to theordinary eye they looked much as sheets usually do look, very chill, white, cold, and irreproachably clean. 

Suddenly Mrs. Chailey, turning from the subject of sheets, dismissingthem entirely, clenched her fists on the top of them, and proclaimed, "And you couldn't ask a living creature to sit where I sit!"

Mrs. Chailey was expected to sit in a cabin which was large enough, but too near the boilers, so that after five minutes she could hear herheart "go, " she complained, putting her hand above it, which was a stateof things that Mrs. Vinrace, Rachel's mother, would never have dreamtof inflicting--Mrs. Vinrace, who knew every sheet in her house, andexpected of every one the best they could do, but no more. 

It was the easiest thing in the world to grant another room, and theproblem of sheets simultaneously and miraculously solved itself, thespots and ladders not being past cure after all, but--

"Lies! Lies! Lies!" exclaimed the mistress indignantly, as she ran up onto the deck. "What's the use of telling me lies?"

In her anger that a woman of fifty should behave like a child and comecringing to a girl because she wanted to sit where she had not leave tosit, she did not think of the particular case, and, unpacking her music, soon forgot all about the old woman and her sheets. 

Mrs. Chailey folded her sheets, but her expression testified to flatnesswithin. The world no longer cared about her, and a ship was not a home. When the lamps were lit yesterday, and the sailors went tumbling aboveher head, she had cried; she would cry this evening; she would cryto-morrow. It was not home. Meanwhile she arranged her ornaments in theroom which she had won too easily. They were strange ornaments tobring on a sea voyage--china pugs, tea-sets in miniature, cups stampedfloridly with the arms of the city of Bristol, hair-pin boxes crustedwith shamrock, antelopes' heads in coloured plaster, together with amultitude of tiny photographs, representing downright workmen in theirSunday best, and women holding white babies. But there was one portraitin a gilt frame, for which a nail was needed, and before she sought itMrs. Chailey put on her spectacles and read what was written on a slipof paper at the back:

"This picture of her mistress is given to Emma Chailey by WilloughbyVinrace in gratitude for thirty years of devoted service. "

Tears obliterated the words and the head of the nail. 

"So long as I can do something for your family, " she was saying, as shehammered at it, when a voice called melodiously in the passage:

"Mrs. Chailey! Mrs. Chailey!"

Chailey instantly tidied her dress, composed her face, and opened thedoor. 

"I'm in a fix, " said Mrs. Ambrose, who was flushed and out of breath. "You know what gentlemen are. The chairs too high--the tables toolow--there's six inches between the floor and the door. What I want'sa hammer, an old quilt, and have you such a thing as a kitchen table?Anyhow, between us"--she now flung open the door of her husband'ssitting room, and revealed Ridley pacing up and down, his forehead allwrinkled, and the collar of his coat turned up. 

"It's as though they'd taken pains to torment me!" he cried, stoppingdead. "Did I come on this voyage in order to catch rheumatism andpneumonia? Really one might have credited Vinrace with more sense. My dear, " Helen was on her knees under a table, "you are only makingyourself untidy, and we had much better recognise the fact that we arecondemned to six weeks of unspeakable misery. To come at all was theheight of folly, but now that we are here I suppose that I can faceit like a man. My diseases of course will be increased--I feel alreadyworse than I did yesterday, but we've only ourselves to thank, and thechildren happily--"

"Move! Move! Move!" cried Helen, chasing him from corner to corner witha chair as though he were an errant hen. "Out of the way, Ridley, and inhalf an hour you'll find it ready. "

She turned him out of the room, and they could hear him groaning andswearing as he went along the passage. 

"I daresay he isn't very strong, " said Mrs. Chailey, looking at Mrs. Ambrose compassionately, as she helped to shift and carry. 

"It's books, " sighed Helen, lifting an armful of sad volumes from thefloor to the shelf. "Greek from morning to night. If ever Miss Rachelmarries, Chailey, pray that she may marry a man who doesn't know hisABC. "

The preliminary discomforts and harshnesses, which generally make thefirst days of a sea voyage so cheerless and trying to the temper, beingsomehow lived through, the succeeding days passed pleasantly enough. October was well advanced, but steadily burning with a warmth that madethe early months of the summer appear very young and capricious. Greattracts of the earth lay now beneath the autumn sun, and the whole ofEngland, from the bald moors to the Cornish rocks, was lit up from dawnto sunset, and showed in stretches of yellow, green, and purple. Underthat illumination even the roofs of the great towns glittered. Inthousands of small gardens, millions of dark-red flowers were blooming, until the old ladies who had tended them so carefully came down thepaths with their scissors, snipped through their juicy stalks, and laidthem upon cold stone ledges in the village church. Innumerable partiesof picnickers coming home at sunset cried, "Was there ever such a dayas this?" "It's you, " the young men whispered; "Oh, it's you, " the youngwomen replied. All old people and many sick people were drawn, were itonly for a foot or two, into the open air, and prognosticated pleasantthings about the course of the world. As for the confidences andexpressions of love that were heard not only in cornfields but inlamplit rooms, where the windows opened on the garden, and men withcigars kissed women with grey hairs, they were not to be counted. Somesaid that the sky was an emblem of the life to come. Long-tailed birdsclattered and screamed, and crossed from wood to wood, with golden eyesin their plumage. 

But while all this went on by land, very few people thought about thesea. They took it for granted that the sea was calm; and there was noneed, as there is in many houses when the creeper taps on the bedroomwindows, for the couples to murmur before they kiss, "Think of the shipsto-night, " or "Thank Heaven, I'm not the man in the lighthouse!" For allthey imagined, the ships when they vanished on the sky-line dissolved, like snow in water. The grown-up view, indeed, was not much clearer thanthe view of the little creatures in bathing drawers who were trottingin to the foam all along the coasts of England, and scooping up bucketsfull of water. They saw white sails or tufts of smoke pass across thehorizon, and if you had said that these were waterspouts, or the petalsof white sea flowers, they would have agreed. 

The people in ships, however, took an equally singular view of England. Not only did it appear to them to be an island, and a very small island, but it was a shrinking island in which people were imprisoned. Onefigured them first swarming about like aimless ants, and almost pressingeach other over the edge; and then, as the ship withdrew, one figuredthem making a vain clamour, which, being unheard, either ceased, or roseinto a brawl. Finally, when the ship was out of sight of land, it becameplain that the people of England were completely mute. The diseaseattacked other parts of the earth; Europe shrank, Asia shrank, Africaand America shrank, until it seemed doubtful whether the ship would everrun against any of those wrinkled little rocks again. But, on the otherhand, an immense dignity had descended upon her; she was an inhabitantof the great world, which has so few inhabitants, travelling all dayacross an empty universe, with veils drawn before her and behind. Shewas more lonely than the caravan crossing the desert; she was infinitelymore mysterious, moving by her own power and sustained by her ownresources. The sea might give her death or some unexampled joy, and nonewould know of it. She was a bride going forth to her husband, a virginunknown of men; in her vigor and purity she might be likened to allbeautiful things, for as a ship she had a life of her own. 

Indeed if they had not been blessed in their weather, one blue day beingbowled up after another, smooth, round, and flawless. Mrs. Ambrose wouldhave found it very dull. As it was, she had her embroidery frame setup on deck, with a little table by her side on which lay open a blackvolume of philosophy. She chose a thread from the vari-coloured tanglethat lay in her lap, and sewed red into the bark of a tree, or yellowinto the river torrent. She was working at a great design of a tropicalriver running through a tropical forest, where spotted deer wouldeventually browse upon masses of fruit, bananas, oranges, and giantpomegranates, while a troop of naked natives whirled darts into the air. Between the stitches she looked to one side and read a sentence aboutthe Reality of Matter, or the Nature of Good. Round her men in bluejerseys knelt and scrubbed the boards, or leant over the rails andwhistled, and not far off Mr. Pepper sat cutting up roots with apenknife. The rest were occupied in other parts of the ship: Ridley athis Greek--he had never found quarters more to his liking; Willoughby athis documents, for he used a voyage to work of arrears of business; andRachel--Helen, between her sentences of philosophy, wondered sometimeswhat Rachel _did_ do with herself? She meant vaguely to go and see. Theyhad scarcely spoken two words to each other since that first evening;they were polite when they met, but there had been no confidence of anykind. Rachel seemed to get on very well with her father--much better, Helen thought, than she ought to--and was as ready to let Helen alone asHelen was to let her alone. 

At that moment Rachel was sitting in her room doing absolutely nothing. When the ship was full this apartment bore some magnificent title andwas the resort of elderly sea-sick ladies who left the deck to theiryoungsters. By virtue of the piano, and a mess of books on the floor, Rachel considered it her room, and there she would sit for hours playingvery difficult music, reading a little German, or a little English whenthe mood took her, and doing--as at this moment--absolutely nothing. 

The way she had been educated, joined to a fine natural indolence, wasof course partly the reason of it, for she had been educated as themajority of well-to-do girls in the last part of the nineteenth centurywere educated. Kindly doctors and gentle old professors had taught herthe rudiments of about ten different branches of knowledge, but theywould as soon have forced her to go through one piece of drudgerythoroughly as they would have told her that her hands were dirty. Theone hour or the two hours weekly passed very pleasantly, partly owingto the other pupils, partly to the fact that the window looked uponthe back of a shop, where figures appeared against the red windows inwinter, partly to the accidents that are bound to happen when more thantwo people are in the same room together. But there was no subject inthe world which she knew accurately. Her mind was in the state of anintelligent man's in the beginning of the reign of Queen Elizabeth;she would believe practically anything she was told, invent reasons foranything she said. The shape of the earth, the history of the world, how trains worked, or money was invested, what laws were in force, whichpeople wanted what, and why they wanted it, the most elementary idea ofa system in modern life--none of this had been imparted to her by any ofher professors or mistresses. But this system of education had one greatadvantage. It did not teach anything, but it put no obstacle in the wayof any real talent that the pupil might chance to have. Rachel, beingmusical, was allowed to learn nothing but music; she became a fanaticabout music. All the energies that might have gone into languages, science, or literature, that might have made her friends, or shown herthe world, poured straight into music. Finding her teachers inadequate, she had practically taught herself. At the age of twenty-four she knewas much about music as most people do when they are thirty; and couldplay as well as nature allowed her to, which, as became daily moreobvious, was a really generous allowance. If this one definite giftwas surrounded by dreams and ideas of the most extravagant and foolishdescription, no one was any the wiser. 

Her education being thus ordinary, her circumstances were no more out ofthe common. She was an only child and had never been bullied and laughedat by brothers and sisters. Her mother having died when she was eleven, two aunts, the sisters of her father, brought her up, and they livedfor the sake of the air in a comfortable house in Richmond. She wasof course brought up with excessive care, which as a child was for herhealth; as a girl and a young woman was for what it seems almost crudeto call her morals. Until quite lately she had been completely ignorantthat for women such things existed. She groped for knowledge in oldbooks, and found it in repulsive chunks, but she did not naturally carefor books and thus never troubled her head about the censorship whichwas exercised first by her aunts, later by her father. Friends mighthave told her things, but she had few of her own age, --Richmond beingan awkward place to reach, --and, as it happened, the only girl she knewwell was a religious zealot, who in the fervour of intimacy talked aboutGod, and the best ways of taking up one's cross, a topic only fitfullyinteresting to one whose mind reached other stages at other times. 

But lying in her chair, with one hand behind her head, the othergrasping the knob on the arm, she was clearly following her thoughtsintently. Her education left her abundant time for thinking. Her eyeswere fixed so steadily upon a ball on the rail of the ship that shewould have been startled and annoyed if anything had chanced to obscureit for a second. She had begun her meditations with a shout of laughter, caused by the following translation from _Tristan_:

 In shrinking trepidation His shame he seems to hide While to the king his relation He brings the corpse-like Bride. Seems it so senseless what I say?

She cried that it did, and threw down the book. Next she had picked up_Cowper's_ _Letters_, the classic prescribed by her father which hadbored her, so that one sentence chancing to say something about thesmell of broom in his garden, she had thereupon seen the little hall atRichmond laden with flowers on the day of her mother's funeral, smellingso strong that now any flower-scent brought back the sickly horriblesensation; and so from one scene she passed, half-hearing, half-seeing, to another. She saw her Aunt Lucy arranging flowers in the drawing-room. 

"Aunt Lucy, " she volunteered, "I don't like the smell of broom; itreminds me of funerals. "

"Nonsense, Rachel, " Aunt Lucy replied; "don't say such foolish things, dear. I always think it a particularly cheerful plant. "

Lying in the hot sun her mind was fixed upon the characters of heraunts, their views, and the way they lived. Indeed this was a subjectthat lasted her hundreds of morning walks round Richmond Park, andblotted out the trees and the people and the deer. Why did they do thethings they did, and what did they feel, and what was it all about?Again she heard Aunt Lucy talking to Aunt Eleanor. She had been thatmorning to take up the character of a servant, "And, of course, athalf-past ten in the morning one expects to find the housemaid brushingthe stairs. " How odd! How unspeakably odd! But she could not explain toherself why suddenly as her aunt spoke the whole system in which theylived had appeared before her eyes as something quite unfamiliar andinexplicable, and themselves as chairs or umbrellas dropped abouthere and there without any reason. She could only say with her slightstammer, "Are you f-f-fond of Aunt Eleanor, Aunt Lucy?" to which heraunt replied, with her nervous hen-like twitter of a laugh, "My dearchild, what questions you do ask!"

"How fond? Very fond!" Rachel pursued. 

"I can't say I've ever thought 'how, '" said Miss Vinrace. "If one caresone doesn't think 'how, ' Rachel, " which was aimed at the niece who hadnever yet "come" to her aunts as cordially as they wished. 

"But you know I care for you, don't you, dear, because you're yourmother's daughter, if for no other reason, and there _are_ plenty ofother reasons"--and she leant over and kissed her with some emotion, andthe argument was spilt irretrievably about the place like a bucket ofmilk. 

By these means Rachel reached that stage in thinking, if thinking it canbe called, when the eyes are intent upon a ball or a knob and the lipscease to move. Her efforts to come to an understanding had only hurther aunt's feelings, and the conclusion must be that it is better notto try. To feel anything strongly was to create an abyss between oneselfand others who feel strongly perhaps but differently. It was far betterto play the piano and forget all the rest. The conclusion was verywelcome. Let these odd men and women--her aunts, the Hunts, Ridley, Helen, Mr. Pepper, and the rest--be symbols, --featureless but dignified, symbols of age, of youth, of motherhood, of learning, and beautifuloften as people upon the stage are beautiful. It appeared that nobodyever said a thing they meant, or ever talked of a feeling they felt, butthat was what music was for. Reality dwelling in what one saw and felt, but did not talk about, one could accept a system in which things wentround and round quite satisfactorily to other people, without oftentroubling to think about it, except as something superficially strange. Absorbed by her music she accepted her lot very complacently, blazinginto indignation perhaps once a fortnight, and subsiding as she subsidednow. Inextricably mixed in dreamy confusion, her mind seemed to enterinto communion, to be delightfully expanded and combined with the spiritof the whitish boards on deck, with the spirit of the sea, with thespirit of Beethoven Op. 112, even with the spirit of poor William Cowperthere at Olney. Like a ball of thistledown it kissed the sea, rose, kissed it again, and thus rising and kissing passed finally out ofsight. The rising and falling of the ball of thistledown was representedby the sudden droop forward of her own head, and when it passed out ofsight she was asleep. 

Ten minutes later Mrs. Ambrose opened the door and looked at her. It didnot surprise her to find that this was the way in which Rachel passedher mornings. She glanced round the room at the piano, at the books, at the general mess. In the first place she considered Rachelaesthetically; lying unprotected she looked somehow like a victimdropped from the claws of a bird of prey, but considered as a woman, a young woman of twenty-four, the sight gave rise to reflections. Mrs. Ambrose stood thinking for at least two minutes. She then smiled, turnednoiselessly away and went, lest the sleeper should waken, and thereshould be the awkwardness of speech between them. 

Chapter III

Early next morning there was a sound as of chains being drawn roughlyoverhead; the steady heart of the _Euphrosyne_ slowly ceased to beat;and Helen, poking her nose above deck, saw a stationary castle upon astationary hill. They had dropped anchor in the mouth of the Tagus, andinstead of cleaving new waves perpetually, the same waves kept returningand washing against the sides of the ship. 

As soon as breakfast was done, Willoughby disappeared over the vessel'sside, carrying a brown leather case, shouting over his shoulder thatevery one was to mind and behave themselves, for he would be kept inLisbon doing business until five o'clock that afternoon. 

At about that hour he reappeared, carrying his case, professing himselftired, bothered, hungry, thirsty, cold, and in immediate need of histea. Rubbing his hands, he told them the adventures of the day: how hehad come upon poor old Jackson combing his moustache before the glassin the office, little expecting his descent, had put him through sucha morning's work as seldom came his way; then treated him to a lunch ofchampagne and ortolans; paid a call upon Mrs. Jackson, who was fatterthan ever, poor woman, but asked kindly after Rachel--and O Lord, littleJackson had confessed to a confounded piece of weakness--well, well, noharm was done, he supposed, but what was the use of his giving orders ifthey were promptly disobeyed? He had said distinctly that he would takeno passengers on this trip. Here he began searching in his pockets andeventually discovered a card, which he planked down on the table beforeRachel. On it she read, "Mr. And Mrs. Richard Dalloway, 23 BrowneStreet, Mayfair. "

"Mr. Richard Dalloway, " continued Vinrace, "seems to be a gentleman whothinks that because he was once a member of Parliament, and his wife'sthe daughter of a peer, they can have what they like for the asking. They got round poor little Jackson anyhow. Said they must havepassages--produced a letter from Lord Glenaway, asking me as a personalfavour--overruled any objections Jackson made (I don't believe they cameto much), and so there's nothing for it but to submit, I suppose. "

But it was evident that for some reason or other Willoughby was quitepleased to submit, although he made a show of growling. 

The truth was that Mr. And Mrs. Dalloway had found themselves strandedin Lisbon. They had been travelling on the Continent for some weeks, chiefly with a view to broadening Mr. Dalloway's mind. Unable for aseason, by one of the accidents of political life, to serve his countryin Parliament, Mr. Dalloway was doing the best he could to serve itout of Parliament. For that purpose the Latin countries did very well, although the East, of course, would have done better. 

"Expect to hear of me next in Petersburg or Teheran, " he had said, turning to wave farewell from the steps of the Travellers'. But adisease had broken out in the East, there was cholera in Russia, andhe was heard of, not so romantically, in Lisbon. They had been throughFrance; he had stopped at manufacturing centres where, producing lettersof introduction, he had been shown over works, and noted facts in apocket-book. In Spain he and Mrs. Dalloway had mounted mules, for theywished to understand how the peasants live. Are they ripe for rebellion, for example? Mrs. Dalloway had then insisted upon a day or two at Madridwith the pictures. Finally they arrived in Lisbon and spent six dayswhich, in a journal privately issued afterwards, they described as of"unique interest. " Richard had audiences with ministers, and foretolda crisis at no distant date, "the foundations of government beingincurably corrupt. Yet how blame, etc. "; while Clarissa inspected theroyal stables, and took several snapshots showing men now exiled andwindows now broken. Among other things she photographed Fielding'sgrave, and let loose a small bird which some ruffian had trapped, "because one hates to think of anything in a cage where English peoplelie buried, " the diary stated. Their tour was thoroughly unconventional, and followed no meditated plan. The foreign correspondents of the_Times_ decided their route as much as anything else. Mr. Dallowaywished to look at certain guns, and was of opinion that the Africancoast is far more unsettled than people at home were inclined tobelieve. For these reasons they wanted a slow inquisitive kind of ship, comfortable, for they were bad sailors, but not extravagant, which wouldstop for a day or two at this port and at that, taking in coal whilethe Dalloways saw things for themselves. Meanwhile they found themselvesstranded in Lisbon, unable for the moment to lay hands upon the precisevessel they wanted. They heard of the _Euphrosyne_, but heard also thatshe was primarily a cargo boat, and only took passengers by specialarrangement, her business being to carry dry goods to the Amazons, andrubber home again. "By special arrangement, " however, were words of highencouragement to them, for they came of a class where almost everythingwas specially arranged, or could be if necessary. On this occasion allthat Richard did was to write a note to Lord Glenaway, the head of theline which bears his title; to call on poor old Jackson; to represent tohim how Mrs. Dalloway was so-and-so, and he had been something or otherelse, and what they wanted was such and such a thing. It was done. Theyparted with compliments and pleasure on both sides, and here, aweek later, came the boat rowing up to the ship in the dusk with theDalloways on board of it; in three minutes they were standing togetheron the deck of the _Euphrosyne_. Their arrival, of course, created somestir, and it was seen by several pairs of eyes that Mrs. Dalloway wasa tall slight woman, her body wrapped in furs, her head in veils, whileMr. Dalloway appeared to be a middle-sized man of sturdy build, dressedlike a sportsman on an autumnal moor. Many solid leather bags of arich brown hue soon surrounded them, in addition to which Mr. Dallowaycarried a despatch box, and his wife a dressing-case suggestive of adiamond necklace and bottles with silver tops. 

"It's so like Whistler!" she exclaimed, with a wave towards the shore, as she shook Rachel by the hand, and Rachel had only time to look at thegrey hills on one side of her before Willoughby introduced Mrs. Chailey, who took the lady to her cabin. 

Momentary though it seemed, nevertheless the interruption was upsetting;every one was more or less put out by it, from Mr. Grice, the steward, to Ridley himself. A few minutes later Rachel passed the smoking-room, and found Helen moving arm-chairs. She was absorbed in her arrangements, and on seeing Rachel remarked confidentially:

"If one can give men a room to themselves where they will sit, it's allto the good. Arm-chairs are _the_ important things--" She began wheelingthem about. "Now, does it still look like a bar at a railway station?"

She whipped a plush cover off a table. The appearance of the place wasmarvellously improved. 

Again, the arrival of the strangers made it obvious to Rachel, as thehour of dinner approached, that she must change her dress; and theringing of the great bell found her sitting on the edge of her berth insuch a position that the little glass above the washstand reflectedher head and shoulders. In the glass she wore an expression of tensemelancholy, for she had come to the depressing conclusion, since thearrival of the Dalloways, that her face was not the face she wanted, andin all probability never would be. 

However, punctuality had been impressed on her, and whatever face shehad, she must go in to dinner. 

These few minutes had been used by Willoughby in sketching to theDalloways the people they were to meet, and checking them upon hisfingers. 

"There's my brother-in-law, Ambrose, the scholar (I daresay you've heardhis name), his wife, my old friend Pepper, a very quiet fellow, butknows everything, I'm told. And that's all. We're a very small party. I'm dropping them on the coast. "

Mrs. Dalloway, with her head a little on one side, did her best torecollect Ambrose--was it a surname?--but failed. She was made slightlyuneasy by what she had heard. She knew that scholars married anyone--girls they met in farms on reading parties; or little suburbanwomen who said disagreeably, "Of course I know it's my husband you want;not _me_. "

But Helen came in at that point, and Mrs. Dalloway saw with reliefthat though slightly eccentric in appearance, she was not untidy, heldherself well, and her voice had restraint in it, which she held to bethe sign of a lady. Mr. Pepper had not troubled to change his neat uglysuit. 

"But after all, " Clarissa thought to herself as she followed Vinrace into dinner, "_every_ _one's_ interesting really. "

When seated at the table she had some need of that assurance, chieflybecause of Ridley, who came in late, looked decidedly unkempt, and tookto his soup in profound gloom. 

An imperceptible signal passed between husband and wife, meaning thatthey grasped the situation and would stand by each other loyally. Withscarcely a pause Mrs. Dalloway turned to Willoughby and began:

"What I find so tiresome about the sea is that there are no flowers init. Imagine fields of hollyhocks and violets in mid-ocean! How divine!"

"But somewhat dangerous to navigation, " boomed Richard, in the bass, like the bassoon to the flourish of his wife's violin. "Why, weedscan be bad enough, can't they, Vinrace? I remember crossing in the_Mauretania_ once, and saying to the Captain--Richards--did you knowhim?--'Now tell me what perils you really dread most for your ship, Captain Richards?' expecting him to say icebergs, or derelicts, or fog, or something of that sort. Not a bit of it. I've always remembered hisanswer. '_Sedgius_ _aquatici_, ' he said, which I take to be a kind ofduck-weed. "

Mr. Pepper looked up sharply, and was about to put a question whenWilloughby continued:

"They've an awful time of it--those captains! Three thousand souls onboard!"

"Yes, indeed, " said Clarissa. She turned to Helen with an air ofprofundity. "I'm convinced people are wrong when they say it's work thatwears one; it's responsibility. That's why one pays one's cook more thanone's housemaid, I suppose. "

"According to that, one ought to pay one's nurse double; but onedoesn't, " said Helen. 

"No; but think what a joy to have to do with babies, instead ofsaucepans!" said Mrs. Dalloway, looking with more interest at Helen, aprobable mother. 

"I'd much rather be a cook than a nurse, " said Helen. "Nothing wouldinduce me to take charge of children. "

"Mothers always exaggerate, " said Ridley. "A well-bred child is noresponsibility. I've travelled all over Europe with mine. You just wrap'em up warm and put 'em in the rack. "

Helen laughed at that. Mrs. Dalloway exclaimed, looking at Ridley:

"How like a father! My husband's just the same. And then one talks ofthe equality of the sexes!"

"Does one?" said Mr. Pepper. 

"Oh, some do!" cried Clarissa. "My husband had to pass an irate ladyevery afternoon last session who said nothing else, I imagine. "

"She sat outside the house; it was very awkward, " said Dalloway. "Atlast I plucked up courage and said to her, 'My good creature, you'reonly in the way where you are. You're hindering me, and you're doing nogood to yourself. '"

"And then she caught him by the coat, and would have scratched his eyesout--" Mrs. Dalloway put in. 

"Pooh--that's been exaggerated, " said Richard. "No, I pity them, Iconfess. The discomfort of sitting on those steps must be awful. "

"Serve them right, " said Willoughby curtly. 

"Oh, I'm entirely with you there, " said Dalloway. "Nobody can condemnthe utter folly and futility of such behaviour more than I do; and asfor the whole agitation, well! may I be in my grave before a woman hasthe right to vote in England! That's all I say. "

The solemnity of her husband's assertion made Clarissa grave. 

"It's unthinkable, " she said. "Don't tell me you're a suffragist?" sheturned to Ridley. 

"I don't care a fig one way or t'other, " said Ambrose. "If any creatureis so deluded as to think that a vote does him or her any good, let himhave it. He'll soon learn better. "

"You're not a politician, I see, " she smiled. 

"Goodness, no, " said Ridley. 

"I'm afraid your husband won't approve of me, " said Dalloway aside, toMrs. Ambrose. She suddenly recollected that he had been in Parliament. 

"Don't you ever find it rather dull?" she asked, not knowing exactlywhat to say. 

Richard spread his hands before him, as if inscriptions were to be readin the palms of them. 

"If you ask me whether I ever find it rather dull, " he said, "I am boundto say yes; on the other hand, if you ask me what career do you consideron the whole, taking the good with the bad, the most enjoyable andenviable, not to speak of its more serious side, of all careers, for aman, I am bound to say, 'The Politician's. '"

"The Bar or politics, I agree, " said Willoughby. "You get more run foryour money. "

"All one's faculties have their play, " said Richard. "I may be treadingon dangerous ground; but what I feel about poets and artists in generalis this: on your own lines, you can't be beaten--granted; but off yourown lines--puff--one has to make allowances. Now, I shouldn't like tothink that any one had to make allowances for me. "

"I don't quite agree, Richard, " said Mrs. Dalloway. "Think of Shelley. Ifeel that there's almost everything one wants in 'Adonais. '"

"Read 'Adonais' by all means, " Richard conceded. "But whenever I hearof Shelley I repeat to myself the words of Matthew Arnold, 'What a set!What a set!'"

This roused Ridley's attention. "Matthew Arnold? A detestable prig!" hesnapped. 

"A prig--granted, " said Richard; "but, I think a man of the world. That's where my point comes in. We politicians doubtless seem to you"(he grasped somehow that Helen was the representative of the arts)"a gross commonplace set of people; but we see both sides; we may beclumsy, but we do our best to get a grasp of things. Now your artists_find_ things in a mess, shrug their shoulders, turn aside to theirvisions--which I grant may be very beautiful--and _leave_ things in amess. Now that seems to me evading one's responsibilities. Besides, wearen't all born with the artistic faculty. "

"It's dreadful, " said Mrs. Dalloway, who, while her husband spoke, hadbeen thinking. "When I'm with artists I feel so intensely the delightsof shutting oneself up in a little world of one's own, with pictures andmusic and everything beautiful, and then I go out into the streets andthe first child I meet with its poor, hungry, dirty little face makes meturn round and say, 'No, I _can't_ shut myself up--I _won't_ live in aworld of my own. I should like to stop all the painting and writing andmusic until this kind of thing exists no longer. ' Don't you feel, " shewound up, addressing Helen, "that life's a perpetual conflict?" Helenconsidered for a moment. "No, " she said. "I don't think I do. "

There was a pause, which was decidedly uncomfortable. Mrs. Dalloway thengave a little shiver, and asked whether she might have her fur cloakbrought to her. As she adjusted the soft brown fur about her neck afresh topic struck her. 

"I own, " she said, "that I shall never forget the _Antigone_. I saw itat Cambridge years ago, and it's haunted me ever since. Don't you thinkit's quite the most modern thing you ever saw?" she asked Ridley. "Itseemed to me I'd known twenty Clytemnestras. Old Lady Ditchling for one. I don't know a word of Greek, but I could listen to it for ever--"

Here Mr. Pepper struck up:

 {Some editions of the work contain a brief passage from Antigone, in Greek, at this spot. Ed. }

Mrs. Dalloway looked at him with compressed lips. 

"I'd give ten years of my life to know Greek, " she said, when he haddone. 

"I could teach you the alphabet in half an hour, " said Ridley, "andyou'd read Homer in a month. I should think it an honour to instructyou. "

Helen, engaged with Mr. Dalloway and the habit, now fallen intodecline, of quoting Greek in the House of Commons, noted, in the greatcommonplace book that lies open beside us as we talk, the fact that allmen, even men like Ridley, really prefer women to be fashionable. 

Clarissa exclaimed that she could think of nothing more delightful. Foran instant she saw herself in her drawing-room in Browne Street with aPlato open on her knees--Plato in the original Greek. She could not helpbelieving that a real scholar, if specially interested, could slip Greekinto her head with scarcely any trouble. 

Ridley engaged her to come to-morrow. 

"If only your ship is going to treat us kindly!" she exclaimed, drawing Willoughby into play. For the sake of guests, and these weredistinguished, Willoughby was ready with a bow of his head to vouch forthe good behaviour even of the waves. 

"I'm dreadfully bad; and my husband's not very good, " sighed Clarissa. 

"I am never sick, " Richard explained. "At least, I have only beenactually sick once, " he corrected himself. "That was crossing theChannel. But a choppy sea, I confess, or still worse, a swell, makes medistinctly uncomfortable. The great thing is never to miss a meal. Youlook at the food, and you say, 'I can't'; you take a mouthful, andLord knows how you're going to swallow it; but persevere, and you oftensettle the attack for good. My wife's a coward. "

They were pushing back their chairs. The ladies were hesitating at thedoorway. 

"I'd better show the way, " said Helen, advancing. 

Rachel followed. She had taken no part in the talk; no one had spokento her; but she had listened to every word that was said. She had lookedfrom Mrs. Dalloway to Mr. Dalloway, and from Mr. Dalloway back again. Clarissa, indeed, was a fascinating spectacle. She wore a white dressand a long glittering necklace. What with her clothes, and her archdelicate face, which showed exquisitely pink beneath hair turning grey, she was astonishingly like an eighteenth-century masterpiece--a Reynoldsor a Romney. She made Helen and the others look coarse and slovenlybeside her. Sitting lightly upright she seemed to be dealing with theworld as she chose; the enormous solid globe spun round this way andthat beneath her fingers. And her husband! Mr. Dalloway rolling thatrich deliberate voice was even more impressive. He seemed to come fromthe humming oily centre of the machine where the polished rods aresliding, and the pistons thumping; he grasped things so firmly but soloosely; he made the others appear like old maids cheapening remnants. Rachel followed in the wake of the matrons, as if in a trance; a curiousscent of violets came back from Mrs. Dalloway, mingling with the softrustling of her skirts, and the tinkling of her chains. As she followed, Rachel thought with supreme self-abasement, taking in the whole courseof her life and the lives of all her friends, "She said we lived in aworld of our own. It's true. We're perfectly absurd. "

"We sit in here, " said Helen, opening the door of the saloon. 

"You play?" said Mrs. Dalloway to Mrs. Ambrose, taking up the score of_Tristan_ which lay on the table. 

"My niece does, " said Helen, laying her hand on Rachel's shoulder. 

"Oh, how I envy you!" Clarissa addressed Rachel for the first time. "D'you remember this? Isn't it divine?" She played a bar or two withringed fingers upon the page. 

"And then Tristan goes like this, and Isolde--oh!--it's all toothrilling! Have you been to Bayreuth?"

"No, I haven't, " said Rachel. `"Then that's still to come. I shall neverforget my first _Parsifal_--a grilling August day, and those fat oldGerman women, come in their stuffy high frocks, and then the darktheatre, and the music beginning, and one couldn't help sobbing. A kindman went and fetched me water, I remember; and I could only cry onhis shoulder! It caught me here" (she touched her throat). "It's likenothing else in the world! But where's your piano?" "It's in anotherroom, " Rachel explained. 

"But you will play to us?" Clarissa entreated. "I can't imagine anythingnicer than to sit out in the moonlight and listen to music--only thatsounds too like a schoolgirl! You know, " she said, turning to Helen, "Idon't think music's altogether good for people--I'm afraid not. "

"Too great a strain?" asked Helen. 

"Too emotional, somehow, " said Clarissa. "One notices it at once when aboy or girl takes up music as a profession. Sir William Broadley told mejust the same thing. Don't you hate the kind of attitudes people go intoover Wagner--like this--" She cast her eyes to the ceiling, clasped herhands, and assumed a look of intensity. "It really doesn't mean thatthey appreciate him; in fact, I always think it's the other way round. The people who really care about an art are always the least affected. D'you know Henry Philips, the painter?" she asked. 

"I have seen him, " said Helen. 

"To look at, one might think he was a successful stockbroker, and notone of the greatest painters of the age. That's what I like. "

"There are a great many successful stockbrokers, if you like looking atthem, " said Helen. 

Rachel wished vehemently that her aunt would not be so perverse. 

"When you see a musician with long hair, don't you know instinctivelythat he's bad?" Clarissa asked, turning to Rachel. "Watts andJoachim--they looked just like you and me. "

"And how much nicer they'd have looked with curls!" said Helen. "Thequestion is, are you going to aim at beauty or are you not?"

"Cleanliness!" said Clarissa, "I do want a man to look clean!"

"By cleanliness you really mean well-cut clothes, " said Helen. 

"There's something one knows a gentleman by, " said Clarissa, "but onecan't say what it is. "

"Take my husband now, does he look like a gentleman?"

The question seemed to Clarissa in extraordinarily bad taste. "One ofthe things that can't be said, " she would have put it. She could find noanswer, but a laugh. 

"Well, anyhow, " she said, turning to Rachel, "I shall insist upon yourplaying to me to-morrow. "

There was that in her manner that made Rachel love her. 

Mrs. Dalloway hid a tiny yawn, a mere dilation of the nostrils. 

"D'you know, " she said, "I'm extraordinarily sleepy. It's the sea air. Ithink I shall escape. "

A man's voice, which she took to be that of Mr. Pepper, strident indiscussion, and advancing upon the saloon, gave her the alarm. 

"Good-night--good-night!" she said. "Oh, I know my way--do pray forcalm! Good-night!"

Her yawn must have been the image of a yawn. Instead of letting hermouth droop, dropping all her clothes in a bunch as though they dependedon one string, and stretching her limbs to the utmost end of her berth, she merely changed her dress for a dressing-gown, with innumerablefrills, and wrapping her feet in a rug, sat down with a writing-pad onher knee. Already this cramped little cabin was the dressing room ofa lady of quality. There were bottles containing liquids; there weretrays, boxes, brushes, pins. Evidently not an inch of her person lackedits proper instrument. The scent which had intoxicated Rachel pervadedthe air. Thus established, Mrs. Dalloway began to write. A pen in herhands became a thing one caressed paper with, and she might have beenstroking and tickling a kitten as she wrote:

Picture us, my dear, afloat in the very oddest ship you can imagine. It's not the ship, so much as the people. One does come across queersorts as one travels. I must say I find it hugely amusing. There's themanager of the line--called Vinrace--a nice big Englishman, doesn't saymuch--you know the sort. As for the rest--they might have come trailingout of an old number of _Punch_. They're like people playing croquetin the 'sixties. How long they've all been shut up in this ship I don'tknow--years and years I should say--but one feels as though one hadboarded a little separate world, and they'd never been on shore, ordone ordinary things in their lives. It's what I've always said aboutliterary people--they're far the hardest of any to get on with. Theworst of it is, these people--a man and his wife and a niece--might havebeen, one feels, just like everybody else, if they hadn't got swallowedup by Oxford or Cambridge or some such place, and been made cranks of. The man's really delightful (if he'd cut his nails), and the woman hasquite a fine face, only she dresses, of course, in a potato sack, andwears her hair like a Liberty shopgirl's. They talk about art, and thinkus such poops for dressing in the evening. However, I can't help that;I'd rather die than come in to dinner without changing--wouldn't you? Itmatters ever so much more than the soup. (It's odd how things like that_do_ matter so much more than what's generally supposed to matter. I'd rather have my head cut off than wear flannel next the skin. ) Thenthere's a nice shy girl--poor thing--I wish one could rake her outbefore it's too late. She has quite nice eyes and hair, only, of course, she'll get funny too. We ought to start a society for broadening theminds of the young--much more useful than missionaries, Hester! Oh, I'dforgotten there's a dreadful little thing called Pepper. He's just likehis name. He's indescribably insignificant, and rather queer inhis temper, poor dear. It's like sitting down to dinner with anill-conditioned fox-terrier, only one can't comb him out, and sprinklehim with powder, as one would one's dog. It's a pity, sometimes, onecan't treat people like dogs! The great comfort is that we're away fromnewspapers, so that Richard will have a real holiday this time. Spainwasn't a holiday. . . . 

"You coward!" said Richard, almost filling the room with his sturdyfigure. 

"I did my duty at dinner!" cried Clarissa. 

"You've let yourself in for the Greek alphabet, anyhow. "

"Oh, my dear! Who _is_ Ambrose?"

"I gather that he was a Cambridge don; lives in London now, and editsclassics. "

"Did you ever see such a set of cranks? The woman asked me if I thoughther husband looked like a gentleman!"

"It was hard to keep the ball rolling at dinner, certainly, " saidRichard. "Why is it that the women, in that class, are so much queererthan the men?"

"They're not half bad-looking, really--only--they're so odd!"

They both laughed, thinking of the same things, so that there was noneed to compare their impressions. 

"I see I shall have quite a lot to say to Vinrace, " said Richard. "Heknows Sutton and all that set. He can tell me a good deal about theconditions of ship-building in the North. "

"Oh, I'm glad. The men always _are_ so much better than the women. "

"One always has something to say to a man certainly, " said Richard. "But I've no doubt you'll chatter away fast enough about the babies, Clarice. "

"Has she got children? She doesn't look like it somehow. "

"Two. A boy and girl. "

A pang of envy shot through Mrs. Dalloway's heart. 

"We _must_ have a son, Dick, " she said. 

"Good Lord, what opportunities there are now for young men!" saidDalloway, for his talk had set him thinking. "I don't suppose there'sbeen so good an opening since the days of Pitt. "

"And it's yours!" said Clarissa. 

"To be a leader of men, " Richard soliloquised. "It's a fine career. MyGod--what a career!"

The chest slowly curved beneath his waistcoat. 

"D'you know, Dick, I can't help thinking of England, " said his wifemeditatively, leaning her head against his chest. "Being on this shipseems to make it so much more vivid--what it really means to be English. One thinks of all we've done, and our navies, and the people in Indiaand Africa, and how we've gone on century after century, sending outboys from little country villages--and of men like you, Dick, and itmakes one feel as if one couldn't bear _not_ to be English! Think ofthe light burning over the House, Dick! When I stood on deck just now Iseemed to see it. It's what one means by London. "

"It's the continuity, " said Richard sententiously. A vision of Englishhistory, King following King, Prime Minister Prime Minister, and Law Lawhad come over him while his wife spoke. He ran his mind along the lineof conservative policy, which went steadily from Lord Salisbury toAlfred, and gradually enclosed, as though it were a lasso that openedand caught things, enormous chunks of the habitable globe. 

"It's taken a long time, but we've pretty nearly done it, " he said; "itremains to consolidate. "

"And these people don't see it!" Clarissa exclaimed. 

"It takes all sorts to make a world, " said her husband. "There wouldnever be a government if there weren't an opposition. "

"Dick, you're better than I am, " said Clarissa. "You see round, where Ionly see _there_. " She pressed a point on the back of his hand. 

"That's my business, as I tried to explain at dinner. "

"What I like about you, Dick, " she continued, "is that you're always thesame, and I'm a creature of moods. "

"You're a pretty creature, anyhow, " he said, gazing at her with deepereyes. 

"You think so, do you? Then kiss me. "

He kissed her passionately, so that her half-written letter slid to theground. Picking it up, he read it without asking leave. 

"Where's your pen?" he said; and added in his little masculine hand:

R. D. _loquitur_: Clarice has omitted to tell you that she lookedexceedingly pretty at dinner, and made a conquest by which she has boundherself to learn the Greek alphabet. I will take this occasion of addingthat we are both enjoying ourselves in these outlandish parts, and onlywish for the presence of our friends (yourself and John, to wit) to makethe trip perfectly enjoyable as it promises to be instructive. . . . 

Voices were heard at the end of the corridor. Mrs. Ambrose was speakinglow; William Pepper was remarking in his definite and rather acid voice, "That is the type of lady with whom I find myself distinctly out ofsympathy. She--"

But neither Richard nor Clarissa profited by the verdict, for directlyit seemed likely that they would overhear, Richard crackled a sheet ofpaper. 

"I often wonder, " Clarissa mused in bed, over the little white volume ofPascal which went with her everywhere, "whether it is really good fora woman to live with a man who is morally her superior, as Richard ismine. It makes one so dependent. I suppose I feel for him what my motherand women of her generation felt for Christ. It just shows that onecan't do without _something_. " She then fell into a sleep, which was asusual extremely sound and refreshing, but visited by fantastic dreamsof great Greek letters stalking round the room, when she woke up andlaughed to herself, remembering where she was and that the Greek letterswere real people, lying asleep not many yards away. Then, thinkingof the black sea outside tossing beneath the moon, she shuddered, andthought of her husband and the others as companions on the voyage. The dreams were not confined to her indeed, but went from one brainto another. They all dreamt of each other that night, as was natural, considering how thin the partitions were between them, and how strangelythey had been lifted off the earth to sit next each other in mid-ocean, and see every detail of each other's faces, and hear whatever theychanced to say. 

Chapter IV

Next morning Clarissa was up before anyone else. She dressed, and wasout on deck, breathing the fresh air of a calm morning, and, making thecircuit of the ship for the second time, she ran straight into the leanperson of Mr. Grice, the steward. She apologised, and at the same timeasked him to enlighten her: what were those shiny brass stands for, halfglass on the top? She had been wondering, and could not guess. When hehad done explaining, she cried enthusiastically:

"I do think that to be a sailor must be the finest thing in the world!"

"And what d'you know about it?" said Mr. Grice, kindling in a strangemanner. "Pardon me. What does any man or woman brought up in Englandknow about the sea? They profess to know; but they don't. "

The bitterness with which he spoke was ominous of what was to come. He led her off to his own quarters, and, sitting on the edge of abrass-bound table, looking uncommonly like a sea-gull, with her whitetapering body and thin alert face, Mrs. Dalloway had to listen to thetirade of a fanatical man. Did she realise, to begin with, what a verysmall part of the world the land was? How peaceful, how beautiful, howbenignant in comparison the sea? The deep waters could sustain Europeunaided if every earthly animal died of the plague to-morrow. Mr. Gricerecalled dreadful sights which he had seen in the richest city of theworld--men and women standing in line hour after hour to receive a mugof greasy soup. "And I thought of the good flesh down here waitingand asking to be caught. I'm not exactly a Protestant, and I'm nota Catholic, but I could almost pray for the days of popery to comeagain--because of the fasts. "

As he talked he kept opening drawers and moving little glass jars. Herewere the treasures which the great ocean had bestowed upon him--palefish in greenish liquids, blobs of jelly with streaming tresses, fishwith lights in their heads, they lived so deep. 

"They have swum about among bones, " Clarissa sighed. 

"You're thinking of Shakespeare, " said Mr. Grice, and taking down a copyfrom a shelf well lined with books, recited in an emphatic nasal voice:

"Full fathom five thy father lies, "A grand fellow, Shakespeare, " he said, replacing the volume. 

Clarissa was so glad to hear him say so. 

"Which is your favourite play? I wonder if it's the same as mine?"

"_Henry the Fifth_, " said Mr. Grice. 

"Joy!" cried Clarissa. "It is!"

_Hamlet_ was what you might call too introspective for Mr. Grice, thesonnets too passionate; Henry the Fifth was to him the model of anEnglish gentleman. But his favourite reading was Huxley, HerbertSpencer, and Henry George; while Emerson and Thomas Hardy he read forrelaxation. He was giving Mrs. Dalloway his views upon the present stateof England when the breakfast bell rung so imperiously that she had totear herself away, promising to come back and be shown his sea-weeds. 

The party, which had seemed so odd to her the night before, was alreadygathered round the table, still under the influence of sleep, andtherefore uncommunicative, but her entrance sent a little flutter like abreath of air through them all. 

"I've had the most interesting talk of my life!" she exclaimed, takingher seat beside Willoughby. "D'you realise that one of your men is aphilosopher and a poet?"

"A very interesting fellow--that's what I always say, " said Willoughby, distinguishing Mr. Grice. "Though Rachel finds him a bore. "

"He's a bore when he talks about currents, " said Rachel. Her eyes werefull of sleep, but Mrs. Dalloway still seemed to her wonderful. 

"I've never met a bore yet!" said Clarissa. 

"And I should say the world was full of them!" exclaimed Helen. But herbeauty, which was radiant in the morning light, took the contrarinessfrom her words. 

"I agree that it's the worst one can possibly say of any one, " saidClarissa. "How much rather one would be a murderer than a bore!" sheadded, with her usual air of saying something profound. "One can fancyliking a murderer. It's the same with dogs. Some dogs are awful bores, poor dears. "

It happened that Richard was sitting next to Rachel. She was curiouslyconscious of his presence and appearance--his well-cut clothes, hiscrackling shirt-front, his cuffs with blue rings round them, and thesquare-tipped, very clean fingers with the red stone on the littlefinger of the left hand. 

"We had a dog who was a bore and knew it, " he said, addressing her incool, easy tones. "He was a Skye terrier, one of those long chaps, withlittle feet poking out from their hair like--like caterpillars--no, likesofas I should say. Well, we had another dog at the same time, a blackbrisk animal--a Schipperke, I think, you call them. You can't imaginea greater contrast. The Skye so slow and deliberate, looking up atyou like some old gentleman in the club, as much as to say, 'You don'treally mean it, do you?' and the Schipperke as quick as a knife. I likedthe Skye best, I must confess. There was something pathetic about him. "

The story seemed to have no climax. 

"What happened to him?" Rachel asked. 

"That's a very sad story, " said Richard, lowering his voice and peelingan apple. "He followed my wife in the car one day and got run over by abrute of a cyclist. "

"Was he killed?" asked Rachel. 

But Clarissa at her end of the table had overheard. 

"Don't talk of it!" she cried. "It's a thing I can't bear to think of tothis day. "

Surely the tears stood in her eyes?

"That's the painful thing about pets, " said Mr. Dalloway; "they die. Thefirst sorrow I can remember was for the death of a dormouse. I regret tosay that I sat upon it. Still, that didn't make one any the less sorry. Here lies the duck that Samuel Johnson sat on, eh? I was big for myage. "

"Then we had canaries, " he continued, "a pair of ring-doves, a lemur, and at one time a martin. "

"Did you live in the country?" Rachel asked him. 

"We lived in the country for six months of the year. When I say 'we' Imean four sisters, a brother, and myself. There's nothing like coming ofa large family. Sisters particularly are delightful. "

"Dick, you were horribly spoilt!" cried Clarissa across the table. 

"No, no. Appreciated, " said Richard. 

Rachel had other questions on the tip of her tongue; or rather oneenormous question, which she did not in the least know how to put intowords. The talk appeared too airy to admit of it. 

"Please tell me--everything. " That was what she wanted to say. He haddrawn apart one little chink and showed astonishing treasures. It seemedto her incredible that a man like that should be willing to talk to her. He had sisters and pets, and once lived in the country. She stirred hertea round and round; the bubbles which swam and clustered in the cupseemed to her like the union of their minds. 

The talk meanwhile raced past her, and when Richard suddenly stated in ajocular tone of voice, "I'm sure Miss Vinrace, now, has secret leaningstowards Catholicism, " she had no idea what to answer, and Helen couldnot help laughing at the start she gave. 

However, breakfast was over and Mrs. Dalloway was rising. "I alwaysthink religion's like collecting beetles, " she said, summing up thediscussion as she went up the stairs with Helen. "One person has apassion for black beetles; another hasn't; it's no good arguing aboutit. What's _your_ black beetle now?"

"I suppose it's my children, " said Helen. 

"Ah--that's different, " Clarissa breathed. "Do tell me. You have a boy, haven't you? Isn't it detestable, leaving them?"

It was as though a blue shadow had fallen across a pool. Their eyesbecame deeper, and their voices more cordial. Instead of joining themas they began to pace the deck, Rachel was indignant with the prosperousmatrons, who made her feel outside their world and motherless, andturning back, she left them abruptly. She slammed the door of her room, and pulled out her music. It was all old music--Bach and Beethoven, Mozart and Purcell--the pages yellow, the engraving rough to the finger. In three minutes she was deep in a very difficult, very classical fuguein A, and over her face came a queer remote impersonal expression ofcomplete absorption and anxious satisfaction. Now she stumbled; now shefaltered and had to play the same bar twice over; but an invisibleline seemed to string the notes together, from which rose a shape, a building. She was so far absorbed in this work, for it was reallydifficult to find how all these sounds should stand together, and drewupon the whole of her faculties, that she never heard a knock at thedoor. It was burst impulsively open, and Mrs. Dalloway stood in the roomleaving the door open, so that a strip of the white deck and of the bluesea appeared through the opening. The shape of the Bach fugue crashed tothe ground. 

"Don't let me interrupt, " Clarissa implored. "I heard you playing, and Icouldn't resist. I adore Bach!"

Rachel flushed and fumbled her fingers in her lap. She stood upawkwardly. 

"It's too difficult, " she said. 

"But you were playing quite splendidly! I ought to have stayed outside. "

"No, " said Rachel. 

She slid _Cowper's_ _Letters_ and _Wuthering_ _Heights_ out of thearm-chair, so that Clarissa was invited to sit there. 

"What a dear little room!" she said, looking round. "Oh, _Cowper'sLetters_! I've never read them. Are they nice?"

"Rather dull, " said Rachel. 

"He wrote awfully well, didn't he?" said Clarissa; "--if one likesthat kind of thing--finished his sentences and all that. _Wuthering__Heights_! Ah--that's more in my line. I really couldn't exist withoutthe Brontes! Don't you love them? Still, on the whole, I'd rather livewithout them than without Jane Austen. "

Lightly and at random though she spoke, her manner conveyed anextraordinary degree of sympathy and desire to befriend. 

"Jane Austen? I don't like Jane Austen, " said Rachel. 

"You monster!" Clarissa exclaimed. "I can only just forgive you. Tell mewhy?"

"She's so--so--well, so like a tight plait, " Rachel floundered. "Ah--Isee what you mean. But I don't agree. And you won't when you're older. At your age I only liked Shelley. I can remember sobbing over him in thegarden. 

 He has outsoared the shadow of our night, Envy and calumny and hate and pain-- you remember?

 Can touch him not and torture not again From the contagion of the world's slow stain. 

How divine!--and yet what nonsense!" She looked lightly round the room. "I always think it's _living_, not dying, that counts. I really respectsome snuffy old stockbroker who's gone on adding up column after columnall his days, and trotting back to his villa at Brixton with some oldpug dog he worships, and a dreary little wife sitting at the end of thetable, and going off to Margate for a fortnight--I assure you I knowheaps like that--well, they seem to me _really_ nobler than poets whomevery one worships, just because they're geniuses and die young. But Idon't expect _you_ to agree with me!"

She pressed Rachel's shoulder. 

"Um-m-m--" she went on quoting--

Unrest which men miscall delight--

"When you're my age you'll see that the world is _crammed_ withdelightful things. I think young people make such a mistake aboutthat--not letting themselves be happy. I sometimes think that happinessis the only thing that counts. I don't know you well enough to say, butI should guess you might be a little inclined to--when one's young andattractive--I'm going to say it!--_every_thing's at one's feet. " Sheglanced round as much as to say, "not only a few stuffy books and Bach. "

"I long to ask questions, " she continued. "You interest me so much. IfI'm impertinent, you must just box my ears. "

"And I--I want to ask questions, " said Rachel with such earnestness thatMrs. Dalloway had to check her smile. 

"D'you mind if we walk?" she said. "The air's so delicious. "

She snuffed it like a racehorse as they shut the door and stood on deck. 

"Isn't it good to be alive?" she exclaimed, and drew Rachel's arm withinhers. 

"Look, look! How exquisite!"

The shores of Portugal were beginning to lose their substance; butthe land was still the land, though at a great distance. They coulddistinguish the little towns that were sprinkled in the folds of thehills, and the smoke rising faintly. The towns appeared to be very smallin comparison with the great purple mountains behind them. 

"Honestly, though, " said Clarissa, having looked, "I don't like views. They're too inhuman. " They walked on. 

"How odd it is!" she continued impulsively. "This time yesterday we'dnever met. I was packing in a stuffy little room in the hotel. We knowabsolutely nothing about each other--and yet--I feel as if I _did_ knowyou!"

"You have children--your husband was in Parliament?"

"You've never been to school, and you live--?"

"With my aunts at Richmond. "

"Richmond?"

"You see, my aunts like the Park. They like the quiet. "

"And you don't! I understand!" Clarissa laughed. 

"I like walking in the Park alone; but not--with the dogs, " shefinished. 

"No; and some people _are_ dogs; aren't they?" said Clarissa, as if shehad guessed a secret. "But not every one--oh no, not every one. "

"Not every one, " said Rachel, and stopped. 

"I can quite imagine you walking alone, " said Clarissa: "andthinking--in a little world of your own. But how you will enjoy it--someday!"

"I shall enjoy walking with a man--is that what you mean?" said Rachel, regarding Mrs. Dalloway with her large enquiring eyes. 

"I wasn't thinking of a man particularly, " said Clarissa. "But youwill. "

"No. I shall never marry, " Rachel determined. 

"I shouldn't be so sure of that, " said Clarissa. Her sidelong glancetold Rachel that she found her attractive although she was inexplicablyamused. 

"Why do people marry?" Rachel asked. 

"That's what you're going to find out, " Clarissa laughed. 

Rachel followed her eyes and found that they rested for a second, on therobust figure of Richard Dalloway, who was engaged in striking a matchon the sole of his boot; while Willoughby expounded something, whichseemed to be of great interest to them both. 

"There's nothing like it, " she concluded. "Do tell me about theAmbroses. Or am I asking too many questions?"

"I find you easy to talk to, " said Rachel. 

The short sketch of the Ambroses was, however, somewhat perfunctory, andcontained little but the fact that Mr. Ambrose was her uncle. 

"Your mother's brother?"

When a name has dropped out of use, the lightest touch upon it tells. Mrs. Dalloway went on:

"Are you like your mother?"

"No; she was different, " said Rachel. 

She was overcome by an intense desire to tell Mrs. Dalloway things shehad never told any one--things she had not realised herself until thismoment. 

"I am lonely, " she began. "I want--" She did not know what she wanted, so that she could not finish the sentence; but her lip quivered. 

But it seemed that Mrs. Dalloway was able to understand without words. 

"I know, " she said, actually putting one arm round Rachel's shoulder. "When I was your age I wanted too. No one understood until I metRichard. He gave me all I wanted. He's man and woman as well. " Her eyesrested upon Mr. Dalloway, leaning upon the rail, still talking. "Don'tthink I say that because I'm his wife--I see his faults more clearlythan I see any one else's. What one wants in the person one lives withis that they should keep one at one's best. I often wonder what I'vedone to be so happy!" she exclaimed, and a tear slid down her cheek. Shewiped it away, squeezed Rachel's hand, and exclaimed:

"How good life is!" At that moment, standing out in the fresh breeze, with the sun upon the waves, and Mrs. Dalloway's hand upon her arm, itseemed indeed as if life which had been unnamed before was infinitelywonderful, and too good to be true. 

Here Helen passed them, and seeing Rachel arm-in-arm with a comparativestranger, looking excited, was amused, but at the same time slightlyirritated. But they were immediately joined by Richard, who had enjoyeda very interesting talk with Willoughby and was in a sociable mood. 

"Observe my Panama, " he said, touching the brim of his hat. "Are youaware, Miss Vinrace, how much can be done to induce fine weather byappropriate headdress? I have determined that it is a hot summer day; Iwarn you that nothing you can say will shake me. Therefore I am goingto sit down. I advise you to follow my example. " Three chairs in a rowinvited them to be seated. 

Leaning back, Richard surveyed the waves. 

"That's a very pretty blue, " he said. "But there's a little too much ofit. Variety is essential to a view. Thus, if you have hills you oughtto have a river; if a river, hills. The best view in the world in myopinion is that from Boars Hill on a fine day--it must be a fine day, mark you--A rug?--Oh, thank you, my dear . . . In that case you havealso the advantage of associations--the Past. "

"D'you want to talk, Dick, or shall I read aloud?"

Clarissa had fetched a book with the rugs. 

"_Persuasion_, " announced Richard, examining the volume. 

"That's for Miss Vinrace, " said Clarissa. "She can't bear our belovedJane. "

"That--if I may say so--is because you have not read her, " said Richard. "She is incomparably the greatest female writer we possess. "

"She is the greatest, " he continued, "and for this reason: she does notattempt to write like a man. Every other woman does; on that account, Idon't read 'em. "

"Produce your instances, Miss Vinrace, " he went on, joining hisfinger-tips. "I'm ready to be converted. "

He waited, while Rachel vainly tried to vindicate her sex from theslight he put upon it. 

"I'm afraid he's right, " said Clarissa. "He generally is--the wretch!"

"I brought _Persuasion_, " she went on, "because I thought it was alittle less threadbare than the others--though, Dick, it's no good_your_ pretending to know Jane by heart, considering that she alwayssends you to sleep!"

"After the labours of legislation, I deserve sleep, " said Richard. 

"You're not to think about those guns, " said Clarissa, seeing that hiseye, passing over the waves, still sought the land meditatively, "orabout navies, or empires, or anything. " So saying she opened the bookand began to read:

"'Sir Walter Elliott, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a manwho, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the_Baronetage_'--don't you know Sir Walter?--'There he found occupationfor an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one. ' She does writewell, doesn't she? 'There--'" She read on in a light humorous voice. Shewas determined that Sir Walter should take her husband's mind off theguns of Britain, and divert him in an exquisite, quaint, sprightly, andslightly ridiculous world. After a time it appeared that the sun wassinking in that world, and the points becoming softer. Rachel lookedup to see what caused the change. Richard's eyelids were closing andopening; opening and closing. A loud nasal breath announced that he nolonger considered appearances, that he was sound asleep. 

"Triumph!" Clarissa whispered at the end of a sentence. Suddenly sheraised her hand in protest. A sailor hesitated; she gave the book toRachel, and stepped lightly to take the message--"Mr. Grice wishedto know if it was convenient, " etc. She followed him. Ridley, who hadprowled unheeded, started forward, stopped, and, with a gesture ofdisgust, strode off to his study. The sleeping politician was left inRachel's charge. She read a sentence, and took a look at him. In sleephe looked like a coat hanging at the end of a bed; there were all thewrinkles, and the sleeves and trousers kept their shape though no longerfilled out by legs and arms. You can then best judge the age and stateof the coat. She looked him all over until it seemed to her that he mustprotest. 

He was a man of forty perhaps; and here there were lines round his eyes, and there curious clefts in his cheeks. Slightly battered he appeared, but dogged and in the prime of life. 

"Sisters and a dormouse and some canaries, " Rachel murmured, nevertaking her eyes off him. "I wonder, I wonder" she ceased, her chin uponher hand, still looking at him. A bell chimed behind them, and Richardraised his head. Then he opened his eyes which wore for a second thequeer look of a shortsighted person's whose spectacles are lost. Ittook him a moment to recover from the impropriety of having snored, andpossibly grunted, before a young lady. To wake and find oneself leftalone with one was also slightly disconcerting. 

"I suppose I've been dozing, " he said. "What's happened to everyone?Clarissa?"

"Mrs. Dalloway has gone to look at Mr. Grice's fish, " Rachel replied. 

"I might have guessed, " said Richard. "It's a common occurrence. And howhave you improved the shining hour? Have you become a convert?"

"I don't think I've read a line, " said Rachel. 

"That's what I always find. There are too many things to look at. I findnature very stimulating myself. My best ideas have come to me out ofdoors. "

"When you were walking?"

"Walking--riding--yachting--I suppose the most momentous conversationsof my life took place while perambulating the great court at Trinity. I was at both universities. It was a fad of my father's. He thought itbroadening to the mind. I think I agree with him. I can remember--whatan age ago it seems!--settling the basis of a future state with thepresent Secretary for India. We thought ourselves very wise. I'm notsure we weren't. We were happy, Miss Vinrace, and we were young--giftswhich make for wisdom. "

"Have you done what you said you'd do?" she asked. 

"A searching question! I answer--Yes and No. If on the one hand I havenot accomplished what I set out to accomplish--which of us does!--on theother I can fairly say this: I have not lowered my ideal. "

He looked resolutely at a sea-gull, as though his ideal flew on thewings of the bird. 

"But, " said Rachel, "what _is_ your ideal?"

"There you ask too much, Miss Vinrace, " said Richard playfully. 

She could only say that she wanted to know, and Richard was sufficientlyamused to answer. 

"Well, how shall I reply? In one word--Unity. Unity of aim, of dominion, of progress. The dispersion of the best ideas over the greatest area. "

"The English?"

"I grant that the English seem, on the whole, whiter than most men, their records cleaner. But, good Lord, don't run away with the idea thatI don't see the drawbacks--horrors--unmentionable things done in ourvery midst! I'm under no illusions. Few people, I suppose, havefewer illusions than I have. Have you ever been in a factory, MissVinrace!--No, I suppose not--I may say I hope not. "

As for Rachel, she had scarcely walked through a poor street, and alwaysunder the escort of father, maid, or aunts. 

"I was going to say that if you'd ever seen the kind of thing that'sgoing on round you, you'd understand what it is that makes me and menlike me politicians. You asked me a moment ago whether I'd done what Iset out to do. Well, when I consider my life, there is one fact Iadmit that I'm proud of; owing to me some thousands of girls inLancashire--and many thousands to come after them--can spend an hourevery day in the open air which their mothers had to spend over theirlooms. I'm prouder of that, I own, than I should be of writing Keats andShelley into the bargain!"

It became painful to Rachel to be one of those who write Keats andShelley. She liked Richard Dalloway, and warmed as he warmed. He seemedto mean what he said. 

"I know nothing!" she exclaimed. 

"It's far better that you should know nothing, " he said paternally, "andyou wrong yourself, I'm sure. You play very nicely, I'm told, and I'veno doubt you've read heaps of learned books. "

Elderly banter would no longer check her. 

"You talk of unity, " she said. "You ought to make me understand. "

"I never allow my wife to talk politics, " he said seriously. "For thisreason. It is impossible for human beings, constituted as they are, bothto fight and to have ideals. If I have preserved mine, as I am thankfulto say that in great measure I have, it is due to the fact that I havebeen able to come home to my wife in the evening and to find that shehas spent her day in calling, music, play with the children, domesticduties--what you will; her illusions have not been destroyed. She givesme courage to go on. The strain of public life is very great, " he added. 

This made him appear a battered martyr, parting every day with some ofthe finest gold, in the service of mankind. 

"I can't think, " Rachel exclaimed, "how any one does it!"

"Explain, Miss Vinrace, " said Richard. "This is a matter I want to clearup. "

His kindness was genuine, and she determined to take the chance he gaveher, although to talk to a man of such worth and authority made herheart beat. 

"It seems to me like this, " she began, doing her best first to recollectand then to expose her shivering private visions. 

"There's an old widow in her room, somewhere, let us suppose in thesuburbs of Leeds. "

Richard bent his head to show that he accepted the widow. 

"In London you're spending your life, talking, writing things, gettingbills through, missing what seems natural. The result of it all is thatshe goes to her cupboard and finds a little more tea, a few lumps ofsugar, or a little less tea and a newspaper. Widows all over the countryI admit do this. Still, there's the mind of the widow--the affections;those you leave untouched. But you waste you own. "

"If the widow goes to her cupboard and finds it bare, " Richard answered, "her spiritual outlook we may admit will be affected. If I may pickholes in your philosophy, Miss Vinrace, which has its merits, I wouldpoint out that a human being is not a set of compartments, but anorganism. Imagination, Miss Vinrace; use your imagination; that's whereyou young Liberals fail. Conceive the world as a whole. Now for yoursecond point; when you assert that in trying to set the house inorder for the benefit of the young generation I am wasting my highercapabilities, I totally disagree with you. I can conceive no moreexalted aim--to be the citizen of the Empire. Look at it in this way, Miss Vinrace; conceive the state as a complicated machine; we citizensare parts of that machine; some fulfil more important duties; others(perhaps I am one of them) serve only to connect some obscure parts ofthe mechanism, concealed from the public eye. Yet if the meanest screwfails in its task, the proper working of the whole is imperilled. "

It was impossible to combine the image of a lean black widow, gazing outof her window, and longing for some one to talk to, with the image of avast machine, such as one sees at South Kensington, thumping, thumping, thumping. The attempt at communication had been a failure. 

"We don't seem to understand each other, " she said. 

"Shall I say something that will make you very angry?" he replied. 

"It won't, " said Rachel. 

"Well, then; no woman has what I may call the political instinct. Youhave very great virtues; I am the first, I hope, to admit that; but Ihave never met a woman who even saw what is meant by statesmanship. I amgoing to make you still more angry. I hope that I never shall meet sucha woman. Now, Miss Vinrace, are we enemies for life?"

Vanity, irritation, and a thrusting desire to be understood, urged herto make another attempt. 

"Under the streets, in the sewers, in the wires, in the telephones, there is something alive; is that what you mean? In things likedust-carts, and men mending roads? You feel that all the time when youwalk about London, and when you turn on a tap and the water comes?"

"Certainly, " said Richard. "I understand you to mean that the whole ofmodern society is based upon cooperative effort. If only more peoplewould realise that, Miss Vinrace, there would be fewer of your oldwidows in solitary lodgings!"

Rachel considered. 

"Are you a Liberal or are you a Conservative?" she asked. 

"I call myself a Conservative for convenience sake, " said Richard, smiling. "But there is more in common between the two parties thanpeople generally allow. "

There was a pause, which did not come on Rachel's side from any lack ofthings to say; as usual she could not say them, and was further confusedby the fact that the time for talking probably ran short. She washaunted by absurd jumbled ideas--how, if one went back far enough, everything perhaps was intelligible; everything was in common; for themammoths who pastured in the fields of Richmond High Street had turnedinto paving stones and boxes full of ribbon, and her aunts. 

"Did you say you lived in the country when you were a child?" she asked. 

Crude as her manners seemed to him, Richard was flattered. There couldbe no doubt that her interest was genuine. 

"I did, " he smiled. 

"And what happened?" she asked. "Or do I ask too many questions?"

"I'm flattered, I assure you. But--let me see--what happened? Well, riding, lessons, sisters. There was an enchanted rubbish heap, Iremember, where all kinds of queer things happened. Odd, what thingsimpress children! I can remember the look of the place to this day. It's a fallacy to think that children are happy. They're not; they'reunhappy. I've never suffered so much as I did when I was a child. "

"Why?" she asked. 

"I didn't get on well with my father, " said Richard shortly. "He wasa very able man, but hard. Well--it makes one determined not to sin inthat way oneself. Children never forget injustice. They forgive heaps ofthings grown-up people mind; but that sin is the unpardonable sin. Mindyou--I daresay I was a difficult child to manage; but when I think whatI was ready to give! No, I was more sinned against than sinning. Andthen I went to school, where I did very fairly well; and and then, asI say, my father sent me to both universities. . . . D'you know, MissVinrace, you've made me think? How little, after all, one can tellanybody about one's life! Here I sit; there you sit; both, I doubt not, chock-full of the most interesting experiences, ideas, emotions; yet howcommunicate? I've told you what every second person you meet might tellyou. "

"I don't think so, " she said. "It's the way of saying things, isn't it, not the things?"

"True, " said Richard. "Perfectly true. " He paused. "When I look backover my life--I'm forty-two--what are the great facts that stand out?What were the revelations, if I may call them so? The misery of the poorand--" (he hesitated and pitched over) "love!"

Upon that word he lowered his voice; it was a word that seemed to unveilthe skies for Rachel. 

"It's an odd thing to say to a young lady, " he continued. "But have youany idea what--what I mean by that? No, of course not. I don't use theword in a conventional sense. I use it as young men use it. Girls arekept very ignorant, aren't they? Perhaps it's wise--perhaps--You _don't_know?"

He spoke as if he had lost consciousness of what he was saying. 

"No; I don't, " she said, scarcely speaking above her breath. 

"Warships, Dick! Over there! Look!" Clarissa, released from Mr. Grice, appreciative of all his seaweeds, skimmed towards them, gesticulating. 

She had sighted two sinister grey vessels, low in the water, and baldas bone, one closely following the other with the look of eyeless beastsseeking their prey. Consciousness returned to Richard instantly. 

"By George!" he exclaimed, and stood shielding his eyes. 

"Ours, Dick?" said Clarissa. 

"The Mediterranean Fleet, " he answered. 

"The _Euphrosyne_ was slowly dipping her flag. Richard raised his hat. Convulsively Clarissa squeezed Rachel's hand. 

"Aren't you glad to be English!" she said. 

The warships drew past, casting a curious effect of discipline andsadness upon the waters, and it was not until they were again invisiblethat people spoke to each other naturally. At lunch the talk was allof valour and death, and the magnificent qualities of British admirals. Clarissa quoted one poet, Willoughby quoted another. Life on board aman-of-war was splendid, so they agreed, and sailors, whenever one metthem, were quite especially nice and simple. 

This being so, no one liked it when Helen remarked that it seemed to heras wrong to keep sailors as to keep a Zoo, and that as for dying on abattle-field, surely it was time we ceased to praise courage--"or towrite bad poetry about it, " snarled Pepper. 

But Helen was really wondering why Rachel, sitting silent, looked soqueer and flushed. 

Chapter V

She was not able to follow up her observations, however, or to come toany conclusion, for by one of those accidents which are liable to happenat sea, the whole course of their lives was now put out of order. 

Even at tea the floor rose beneath their feet and pitched too low again, and at dinner the ship seemed to groan and strain as though a lashwere descending. She who had been a broad-backed dray-horse, upon whosehind-quarters pierrots might waltz, became a colt in a field. The platesslanted away from the knives, and Mrs. Dalloway's face blanched fora second as she helped herself and saw the potatoes roll this way andthat. Willoughby, of course, extolled the virtues of his ship, and quoted what had been said of her by experts and distinguishedpassengers, for he loved his own possessions. Still, dinner was uneasy, and directly the ladies were alone Clarissa owned that she would bebetter off in bed, and went, smiling bravely. 

Next morning the storm was on them, and no politeness could ignore it. Mrs. Dalloway stayed in her room. Richard faced three meals, eatingvaliantly at each; but at the third, certain glazed asparagus swimmingin oil finally conquered him. 

"That beats me, " he said, and withdrew. 

"Now we are alone once more, " remarked William Pepper, looking round thetable; but no one was ready to engage him in talk, and the meal ended insilence. 

On the following day they met--but as flying leaves meet in the air. Sick they were not; but the wind propelled them hastily into rooms, violently downstairs. They passed each other gasping on deck; theyshouted across tables. They wore fur coats; and Helen was never seenwithout a bandanna on her head. For comfort they retreated to theircabins, where with tightly wedged feet they let the ship bounce andtumble. Their sensations were the sensations of potatoes in a sack on agalloping horse. The world outside was merely a violent grey tumult. For two days they had a perfect rest from their old emotions. Rachel hadjust enough consciousness to suppose herself a donkey on the summit of amoor in a hail-storm, with its coat blown into furrows; then she becamea wizened tree, perpetually driven back by the salt Atlantic gale. 

Helen, on the other hand, staggered to Mrs. Dalloway's door, knocked, could not be heard for the slamming of doors and the battering of wind, and entered. 

There were basins, of course. Mrs. Dalloway lay half-raised on a pillow, and did not open her eyes. Then she murmured, "Oh, Dick, is that you?"

Helen shouted--for she was thrown against the washstand--"How are you?"

Clarissa opened one eye. It gave her an incredibly dissipatedappearance. "Awful!" she gasped. Her lips were white inside. 

Planting her feet wide, Helen contrived to pour champagne into a tumblerwith a tooth-brush in it. 

"Champagne, " she said. 

"There's a tooth-brush in it, " murmured Clarissa, and smiled; it mighthave been the contortion of one weeping. She drank. 

"Disgusting, " she whispered, indicating the basins. Relics of humourstill played over her face like moonshine. 

"Want more?" Helen shouted. Speech was again beyond Clarissa's reach. The wind laid the ship shivering on her side. Pale agonies crossed Mrs. Dalloway in waves. When the curtains flapped, grey lights puffed acrossher. Between the spasms of the storm, Helen made the curtain fast, shookthe pillows, stretched the bed-clothes, and smoothed the hot nostrilsand forehead with cold scent. 

"You _are_ good!" Clarissa gasped. "Horrid mess!"

She was trying to apologise for white underclothes fallen and scatteredon the floor. For one second she opened a single eye, and saw that theroom was tidy. 

"That's nice, " she gasped. 

Helen left her; far, far away she knew that she felt a kind of likingfor Mrs. Dalloway. She could not help respecting her spirit andher desire, even in the throes of sickness, for a tidy bedroom. Herpetticoats, however, rose above her knees. 

Quite suddenly the storm relaxed its grasp. It happened at tea; theexpected paroxysm of the blast gave out just as it reached its climaxand dwindled away, and the ship instead of taking the usual plungewent steadily. The monotonous order of plunging and rising, roaring andrelaxing, was interfered with, and every one at table looked up andfelt something loosen within them. The strain was slackened and humanfeelings began to peep again, as they do when daylight shows at the endof a tunnel. 

"Try a turn with me, " Ridley called across to Rachel. 

"Foolish!" cried Helen, but they went stumbling up the ladder. Chokedby the wind their spirits rose with a rush, for on the skirts of all thegrey tumult was a misty spot of gold. Instantly the world dropped intoshape; they were no longer atoms flying in the void, but people ridinga triumphant ship on the back of the sea. Wind and space were banished;the world floated like an apple in a tub, and the mind of man, which hadbeen unmoored also, once more attached itself to the old beliefs. 

Having scrambled twice round the ship and received many sound cuffs fromthe wind, they saw a sailor's face positively shine golden. They looked, and beheld a complete yellow circle of sun; next minute it was traversedby sailing stands of cloud, and then completely hidden. By breakfastthe next morning, however, the sky was swept clean, the waves, althoughsteep, were blue, and after their view of the strange under-world, inhabited by phantoms, people began to live among tea-pots and loaves ofbread with greater zest than ever. 

Richard and Clarissa, however, still remained on the borderland. She didnot attempt to sit up; her husband stood on his feet, contemplated hiswaistcoat and trousers, shook his head, and then lay down again. Theinside of his brain was still rising and falling like the sea on thestage. At four o'clock he woke from sleep and saw the sunlight make avivid angle across the red plush curtains and the grey tweed trousers. The ordinary world outside slid into his mind, and by the time he wasdressed he was an English gentleman again. 

He stood beside his wife. She pulled him down to her by the lapel of hiscoat, kissed him, and held him fast for a minute. 

"Go and get a breath of air, Dick, " she said. "You look quite washedout. . . . How nice you smell! . . . And be polite to that woman. Shewas so kind to me. "

Thereupon Mrs. Dalloway turned to the cool side of her pillow, terriblyflattened but still invincible. 

Richard found Helen talking to her brother-in-law, over two dishes ofyellow cake and smooth bread and butter. 

"You look very ill!" she exclaimed on seeing him. "Come and have sometea. "

He remarked that the hands that moved about the cups were beautiful. 

"I hear you've been very good to my wife, " he said. "She's had an awfultime of it. You came in and fed her with champagne. Were you among thesaved yourself?"

"I? Oh, I haven't been sick for twenty years--sea-sick, I mean. "

"There are three stages of convalescence, I always say, " broke in thehearty voice of Willoughby. "The milk stage, the bread-and-butter stage, and the roast-beef stage. I should say you were at the bread-and-butterstage. " He handed him the plate. 

"Now, I should advise a hearty tea, then a brisk walk on deck; and bydinner-time you'll be clamouring for beef, eh?" He went off laughing, excusing himself on the score of business. 

"What a splendid fellow he is!" said Richard. "Always keen onsomething. "

"Yes, " said Helen, "he's always been like that. "

"This is a great undertaking of his, " Richard continued. "It's abusiness that won't stop with ships, I should say. We shall see himin Parliament, or I'm much mistaken. He's the kind of man we want inParliament--the man who has done things. "

But Helen was not much interested in her brother-in-law. 

"I expect your head's aching, isn't it?" she asked, pouring a fresh cup. 

"Well, it is, " said Richard. "It's humiliating to find what a slave oneis to one's body in this world. D'you know, I can never work without akettle on the hob. As often as not I don't drink tea, but I must feelthat I can if I want to. "

"That's very bad for you, " said Helen. 

"It shortens one's life; but I'm afraid, Mrs. Ambrose, we politiciansmust make up our minds to that at the outset. We've got to burn thecandle at both ends, or--"

"You've cooked your goose!" said Helen brightly. 

"We can't make you take us seriously, Mrs. Ambrose, " he protested. "MayI ask how you've spent your time? Reading--philosophy?" (He saw theblack book. ) "Metaphysics and fishing!" he exclaimed. "If I had to liveagain I believe I should devote myself to one or the other. " He beganturning the pages. 

"'Good, then, is indefinable, '" he read out. "How jolly to think that'sgoing on still! 'So far as I know there is only one ethical writer, Professor Henry Sidgwick, who has clearly recognised and stated thisfact. ' That's just the kind of thing we used to talk about when we wereboys. I can remember arguing until five in the morning with Duffy--nowSecretary for India--pacing round and round those cloisters until wedecided it was too late to go to bed, and we went for a ride instead. Whether we ever came to any conclusion--that's another matter. Still, it's the arguing that counts. It's things like that that stand out inlife. Nothing's been quite so vivid since. It's the philosophers, it'sthe scholars, " he continued, "they're the people who pass the torch, who keep the light burning by which we live. Being a politician doesn'tnecessarily blind one to that, Mrs. Ambrose. "

"No. Why should it?" said Helen. "But can you remember if your wifetakes sugar?"

She lifted the tray and went off with it to Mrs. Dalloway. 

Richard twisted a muffler twice round his throat and struggled up ondeck. His body, which had grown white and tender in a dark room, tingledall over in the fresh air. He felt himself a man undoubtedly in theprime of life. Pride glowed in his eye as he let the wind buffet himand stood firm. With his head slightly lowered he sheered round corners, strode uphill, and met the blast. There was a collision. For a secondhe could not see what the body was he had run into. "Sorry. " "Sorry. "It was Rachel who apologised. They both laughed, too much blown about tospeak. She drove open the door of her room and stepped into its calm. Inorder to speak to her, it was necessary that Richard should follow. Theystood in a whirlpool of wind; papers began flying round in circles, thedoor crashed to, and they tumbled, laughing, into chairs. Richard satupon Bach. 

"My word! What a tempest!" he exclaimed. 

"Fine, isn't it?" said Rachel. Certainly the struggle and wind had givenher a decision she lacked; red was in her cheeks, and her hair was down. 

"Oh, what fun!" he cried. "What am I sitting on? Is this your room? Howjolly!" "There--sit there, " she commanded. Cowper slid once more. 

"How jolly to meet again, " said Richard. "It seems an age. _Cowper'sLetters_? . . . Bach? . . . _Wuthering Heights_? . . . Is this whereyou meditate on the world, and then come out and pose poor politicianswith questions? In the intervals of sea-sickness I've thought a lot ofour talk. I assure you, you made me think. "

"I made you think! But why?"

"What solitary icebergs we are, Miss Vinrace! How little we cancommunicate! There are lots of things I should like to tell youabout--to hear your opinion of. Have you ever read Burke?"

"Burke?" she repeated. "Who was Burke?"

"No? Well, then I shall make a point of sending you a copy. _The__Speech_ _on_ _the_ _French_ _Revolution_--_The_ _American_ _Rebellion_?Which shall it be, I wonder?" He noted something in his pocket-book. "And then you must write and tell me what you think of it. Thisreticence--this isolation--that's what's the matter with modern life!Now, tell me about yourself. What are your interests and occupations?I should imagine that you were a person with very strong interests. Ofcourse you are! Good God! When I think of the age we live in, withits opportunities and possibilities, the mass of things to be done andenjoyed--why haven't we ten lives instead of one? But about yourself?"

"You see, I'm a woman, " said Rachel. 

"I know--I know, " said Richard, throwing his head back, and drawing hisfingers across his eyes. 

"How strange to be a woman! A young and beautiful woman, " he continuedsententiously, "has the whole world at her feet. That's true, MissVinrace. You have an inestimable power--for good or for evil. Whatcouldn't you do--" he broke off. 

"What?" asked Rachel. 

"You have beauty, " he said. The ship lurched. Rachel fell slightlyforward. Richard took her in his arms and kissed her. Holding her tight, he kissed her passionately, so that she felt the hardness of his bodyand the roughness of his cheek printed upon hers. She fell back in herchair, with tremendous beats of the heart, each of which sent blackwaves across her eyes. He clasped his forehead in his hands. 

"You tempt me, " he said. The tone of his voice was terrifying. He seemedchoked in fright. They were both trembling. Rachel stood up and went. Her head was cold, her knees shaking, and the physical pain of theemotion was so great that she could only keep herself moving abovethe great leaps of her heart. She leant upon the rail of the ship, andgradually ceased to feel, for a chill of body and mind crept over her. Far out between the waves little black and white sea-birds were riding. Rising and falling with smooth and graceful movements in the hollows ofthe waves they seemed singularly detached and unconcerned. 

"You're peaceful, " she said. She became peaceful too, at the sametime possessed with a strange exultation. Life seemed to hold infinitepossibilities she had never guessed at. She leant upon the rail andlooked over the troubled grey waters, where the sunlight was fitfullyscattered upon the crests of the waves, until she was cold andabsolutely calm again. Nevertheless something wonderful had happened. 

At dinner, however, she did not feel exalted, but merely uncomfortable, as if she and Richard had seen something together which is hidden inordinary life, so that they did not like to look at each other. Richardslid his eyes over her uneasily once, and never looked at her again. Formal platitudes were manufactured with effort, but Willoughby waskindled. 

"Beef for Mr. Dalloway!" he shouted. "Come now--after that walk you'reat the beef stage, Dalloway!"

Wonderful masculine stories followed about Bright and Disraeli andcoalition governments, wonderful stories which made the people at thedinner-table seem featureless and small. After dinner, sitting alonewith Rachel under the great swinging lamp, Helen was struck by herpallor. It once more occurred to her that there was something strange inthe girl's behaviour. 

"You look tired. Are you tired?" she asked. 

"Not tired, " said Rachel. "Oh, yes, I suppose I am tired. "

Helen advised bed, and she went, not seeing Richard again. She must havebeen very tired for she fell asleep at once, but after an hour or two ofdreamless sleep, she dreamt. She dreamt that she was walking down a longtunnel, which grew so narrow by degrees that she could touch the dampbricks on either side. At length the tunnel opened and became a vault;she found herself trapped in it, bricks meeting her wherever she turned, alone with a little deformed man who squatted on the floor gibbering, with long nails. His face was pitted and like the face of an animal. The wall behind him oozed with damp, which collected into drops and sliddown. Still and cold as death she lay, not daring to move, until shebroke the agony by tossing herself across the bed, and woke crying "Oh!"

Light showed her the familiar things: her clothes, fallen off the chair;the water jug gleaming white; but the horror did not go at once. Shefelt herself pursued, so that she got up and actually locked her door. A voice moaned for her; eyes desired her. All night long barbarian menharassed the ship; they came scuffling down the passages, and stopped tosnuffle at her door. She could not sleep again. 

Chapter VI

"That's the tragedy of life--as I always say!" said Mrs. Dalloway. "Beginning things and having to end them. Still, I'm not going to let_this_ end, if you're willing. " It was the morning, the sea was calm, and the ship once again was anchored not far from another shore. 

She was dressed in her long fur cloak, with the veils wound around herhead, and once more the rich boxes stood on top of each other so thatthe scene of a few days back seemed to be repeated. 

"D'you suppose we shall ever meet in London?" said Ridley ironically. "You'll have forgotten all about me by the time you step out there. "

He pointed to the shore of the little bay, where they could now see theseparate trees with moving branches. 

"How horrid you are!" she laughed. "Rachel's coming to see meanyhow--the instant you get back, " she said, pressing Rachel's arm. "Now--you've no excuse!"

With a silver pencil she wrote her name and address on the flyleaf of_Persuasion_, and gave the book to Rachel. Sailors were shouldering theluggage, and people were beginning to congregate. There were CaptainCobbold, Mr. Grice, Willoughby, Helen, and an obscure grateful man in ablue jersey. 

"Oh, it's time, " said Clarissa. "Well, good-bye. I _do_ like you, " shemurmured as she kissed Rachel. People in the way made it unnecessaryfor Richard to shake Rachel by the hand; he managed to look at her verystiffly for a second before he followed his wife down the ship's side. 

The boat separating from the vessel made off towards the land, and forsome minutes Helen, Ridley, and Rachel leant over the rail, watching. Once Mrs. Dalloway turned and waved; but the boat steadily grew smallerand smaller until it ceased to rise and fall, and nothing could be seensave two resolute backs. 

"Well, that's over, " said Ridley after a long silence. "We shall neversee _them_ again, " he added, turning to go to his books. A feeling ofemptiness and melancholy came over them; they knew in their hearts thatit was over, and that they had parted for ever, and the knowledge filledthem with far greater depression than the length of their acquaintanceseemed to justify. Even as the boat pulled away they could feel othersights and sounds beginning to take the place of the Dalloways, and thefeeling was so unpleasant that they tried to resist it. For so, too, would they be forgotten. 

In much the same way as Mrs. Chailey downstairs was sweeping thewithered rose-leaves off the dressing-table, so Helen was anxious tomake things straight again after the visitors had gone. Rachel's obviouslanguor and listlessness made her an easy prey, and indeed Helen haddevised a kind of trap. That something had happened she now felt prettycertain; moreover, she had come to think that they had been strangerslong enough; she wished to know what the girl was like, partly of coursebecause Rachel showed no disposition to be known. So, as they turnedfrom the rail, she said:

"Come and talk to me instead of practising, " and led the way to thesheltered side where the deck-chairs were stretched in the sun. Rachelfollowed her indifferently. Her mind was absorbed by Richard; by theextreme strangeness of what had happened, and by a thousand feelings ofwhich she had not been conscious before. She made scarcely any attemptto listen to what Helen was saying, as Helen indulged in commonplaces tobegin with. While Mrs. Ambrose arranged her embroidery, sucked her silk, and threaded her needle, she lay back gazing at the horizon. 

"Did you like those people?" Helen asked her casually. 

"Yes, " she replied blankly. 

"You talked to him, didn't you?"

She said nothing for a minute. 

"He kissed me, " she said without any change of tone. 

Helen started, looked at her, but could not make out what she felt. 

"M-m-m'yes, " she said, after a pause. "I thought he was that kind ofman. "

"What kind of man?" said Rachel. 

"Pompous and sentimental. "

"I like him, " said Rachel. 

"So you really didn't mind?"

For the first time since Helen had known her Rachel's eyes lit upbrightly. 

"I did mind, " she said vehemently. "I dreamt. I couldn't sleep. "

"Tell me what happened, " said Helen. She had to keep her lips fromtwitching as she listened to Rachel's story. It was poured out abruptlywith great seriousness and no sense of humour. 

"We talked about politics. He told me what he had done for the poorsomewhere. I asked him all sorts of questions. He told me about his ownlife. The day before yesterday, after the storm, he came in to see me. It happened then, quite suddenly. He kissed me. I don't know why. " Asshe spoke she grew flushed. "I was a good deal excited, " she continued. "But I didn't mind till afterwards; when--" she paused, and saw thefigure of the bloated little man again--"I became terrified. "

From the look in her eyes it was evident she was again terrified. Helenwas really at a loss what to say. From the little she knew of Rachel'supbringing she supposed that she had been kept entirely ignorant asto the relations of men with women. With a shyness which she felt withwomen and not with men she did not like to explain simply what theseare. Therefore she took the other course and belittled the whole affair. 

"Oh, well, " she said, "He was a silly creature, and if I were you, I'dthink no more about it. "

"No, " said Rachel, sitting bolt upright, "I shan't do that. I shallthink about it all day and all night until I find out exactly what itdoes mean. "

"Don't you ever read?" Helen asked tentatively. 

"_Cowper's_ _Letters_--that kind of thing. Father gets them for me or myAunts. "

Helen could hardly restrain herself from saying out loud what shethought of a man who brought up his daughter so that at the age oftwenty-four she scarcely knew that men desired women and was terrifiedby a kiss. She had good reason to fear that Rachel had made herselfincredibly ridiculous. 

"You don't know many men?" she asked. 

"Mr. Pepper, " said Rachel ironically. 

"So no one's ever wanted to marry you?"

"No, " she answered ingenuously. 

Helen reflected that as, from what she had said, Rachel certainly wouldthink these things out, it might be as well to help her. 

"You oughtn't to be frightened, " she said. "It's the most natural thingin the world. Men will want to kiss you, just as they'll want to marryyou. The pity is to get things out of proportion. It's like noticingthe noises people make when they eat, or men spitting; or, in short, anysmall thing that gets on one's nerves. "

Rachel seemed to be inattentive to these remarks. 

"Tell me, " she said suddenly, "what are those women in Piccadilly?"

"In Picadilly? They are prostituted, " said Helen. 

"It _is_ terrifying--it _is_ disgusting, " Rachel asserted, as if sheincluded Helen in the hatred. 

"It is, " said Helen. "But--"

"I did like him, " Rachel mused, as if speaking to herself. "I wanted totalk to him; I wanted to know what he'd done. The women in Lancashire--"

It seemed to her as she recalled their talk that there was somethinglovable about Richard, good in their attempted friendship, and strangelypiteous in the way they had parted. 

The softening of her mood was apparent to Helen. 

"You see, " she said, "you must take things as they are; and if you wantfriendship with men you must run risks. Personally, " she continued, breaking into a smile, "I think it's worth it; I don't mind beingkissed; I'm rather jealous, I believe, that Mr. Dalloway kissed you anddidn't kiss me. Though, " she added, "he bored me considerably. "

But Rachel did not return the smile or dismiss the whole affair, asHelen meant her to. Her mind was working very quickly, inconsistentlyand painfully. Helen's words hewed down great blocks which had stoodthere always, and the light which came in was cold. After sitting for atime with fixed eyes, she burst out:

"So that's why I can't walk alone!"

By this new light she saw her life for the first time a creepinghedged-in thing, driven cautiously between high walls, here turnedaside, there plunged in darkness, made dull and crippled for ever--herlife that was the only chance she had--a thousand words and actionsbecame plain to her. 

"Because men are brutes! I hate men!" she exclaimed. 

"I thought you said you liked him?" said Helen. 

"I liked him, and I liked being kissed, " she answered, as if that onlyadded more difficulties to her problem. 

Helen was surprised to see how genuine both shock and problem were, butshe could think of no way of easing the difficulty except by going ontalking. She wanted to make her niece talk, and so to understand whythis rather dull, kindly, plausible politician had made so deep animpression on her, for surely at the age of twenty-four this was notnatural. 

"And did you like Mrs. Dalloway too?" she asked. 

As she spoke she saw Rachel redden; for she remembered silly things shehad said, and also, it occurred to her that she treated this exquisitewoman rather badly, for Mrs. Dalloway had said that she loved herhusband. 

"She was quite nice, but a thimble-pated creature, " Helen continued. "Inever heard such nonsense! Chitter-chatter-chitter-chatter--fish andthe Greek alphabet--never listened to a word any one said--chock-full ofidiotic theories about the way to bring up children--I'd far rather talkto him any day. He was pompous, but he did at least understand what wassaid to him. "

The glamour insensibly faded a little both from Richard and Clarissa. They had not been so wonderful after all, then, in the eyes of a matureperson. 

"It's very difficult to know what people are like, " Rachel remarked, andHelen saw with pleasure that she spoke more naturally. "I suppose I wastaken in. "

There was little doubt about that according to Helen, but she restrainedherself and said aloud:

"One has to make experiments. "

"And they _were_ nice, " said Rachel. "They were extraordinarilyinteresting. " She tried to recall the image of the world as a livething that Richard had given her, with drains like nerves, andbad houses like patches of diseased skin. She recalled hiswatch-words--Unity--Imagination, and saw again the bubbles meeting inher tea-cup as he spoke of sisters and canaries, boyhood and his father, her small world becoming wonderfully enlarged. 

"But all people don't seem to you equally interesting, do they?" askedMrs. Ambrose. 

Rachel explained that most people had hitherto been symbols; but thatwhen they talked to one they ceased to be symbols, and became--"I couldlisten to them for ever!" she exclaimed. She then jumped up, disappeareddownstairs for a minute, and came back with a fat red book. 

"_Who's_ _Who_, " she said, laying it upon Helen's knee and turning thepages. "It gives short lives of people--for instance: 'Sir Roland Beal;born 1852; parents from Moffatt; educated at Rugby; passed firstinto R. E. ; married 1878 the daughter of T. Fishwick; served in theBechuanaland Expedition 1884-85 (honourably mentioned). Clubs: UnitedService, Naval and Military. Recreations: an enthusiastic curler. '"

Sitting on the deck at Helen's feet she went on turning the pages andreading biographies of bankers, writers, clergymen, sailors, surgeons, judges, professors, statesmen, editors, philanthropists, merchants, andactresses; what clubs they belonged to, where they lived, what gamesthey played, and how many acres they owned. 

She became absorbed in the book. 

Helen meanwhile stitched at her embroidery and thought over the thingsthey had said. Her conclusion was that she would very much like to showher niece, if it were possible, how to live, or as she put it, how to bea reasonable person. She thought that there must be something wrong inthis confusion between politics and kissing politicians, and that anelder person ought to be able to help. 

"I quite agree, " she said, "that people are very interesting; only--"Rachel, putting her finger between the pages, looked up enquiringly. 

"Only I think you ought to discriminate, " she ended. "It's a pity tobe intimate with people who are--well, rather second-rate, like theDalloways, and to find it out later. "

"But how does one know?" Rachel asked. 

"I really can't tell you, " replied Helen candidly, after a moment'sthought. "You'll have to find out for yourself. But try and--Why don'tyou call me Helen?" she added. "'Aunt's' a horrid name. I never liked myAunts. "

"I should like to call you Helen, " Rachel answered. 

"D'you think me very unsympathetic?"

Rachel reviewed the points which Helen had certainly failed tounderstand; they arose chiefly from the difference of nearly twentyyears in age between them, which made Mrs. Ambrose appear too humorousand cool in a matter of such moment. 

"No, " she said. "Some things you don't understand, of course. "

"Of course, " Helen agreed. "So now you can go ahead and be a person onyour own account, " she added. 

The vision of her own personality, of herself as a real everlastingthing, different from anything else, unmergeable, like the sea or thewind, flashed into Rachel's mind, and she became profoundly excited atthe thought of living. 

"I can by m-m-myself, " she stammered, "in spite of you, in spite of theDalloways, and Mr. Pepper, and Father, and my Aunts, in spite of these?"She swept her hand across a whole page of statesmen and soldiers. 

"In spite of them all, " said Helen gravely. She then put down herneedle, and explained a plan which had come into her head as theytalked. Instead of wandering on down the Amazons until she reached somesulphurous tropical port, where one had to lie within doors all daybeating off insects with a fan, the sensible thing to do surely was tospend the season with them in their villa by the seaside, where amongother advantages Mrs. Ambrose herself would be at hand to--"After all, Rachel, " she broke off, "it's silly to pretend that because there'stwenty years' difference between us we therefore can't talk to eachother like human beings. "

"No; because we like each other, " said Rachel. 

"Yes, " Mrs. Ambrose agreed. 

That fact, together with other facts, had been made clear by theirtwenty minutes' talk, although how they had come to these conclusionsthey could not have said. 

However they were come by, they were sufficiently serious to send Mrs. Ambrose a day or two later in search of her brother-in-law. Shefound him sitting in his room working, applying a stout blue pencilauthoritatively to bundles of filmy paper. Papers lay to left and toright of him, there were great envelopes so gorged with papers that theyspilt papers on to the table. Above him hung a photograph of a woman'shead. The need of sitting absolutely still before a Cockney photographerhad given her lips a queer little pucker, and her eyes for the samereason looked as though she thought the whole situation ridiculous. Nevertheless it was the head of an individual and interesting woman, whowould no doubt have turned and laughed at Willoughby if she could havecaught his eye; but when he looked up at her he sighed profoundly. Inhis mind this work of his, the great factories at Hull which showed likemountains at night, the ships that crossed the ocean punctually, theschemes for combining this and that and building up a solid mass ofindustry, was all an offering to her; he laid his success at her feet;and was always thinking how to educate his daughter so that Theresamight be glad. He was a very ambitious man; and although he had notbeen particularly kind to her while she lived, as Helen thought, he nowbelieved that she watched him from Heaven, and inspired what was good inhim. 

Mrs. Ambrose apologised for the interruption, and asked whether shemight speak to him about a plan of hers. Would he consent to leave hisdaughter with them when they landed, instead of taking her on up theAmazons?

"We would take great care of her, " she added, "and we should really likeit. "

Willoughby looked very grave and carefully laid aside his papers. 

"She's a good girl, " he said at length. "There is a likeness?"--henodded his head at the photograph of Theresa and sighed. Helen lookedat Theresa pursing up her lips before the Cockney photographer. Itsuggested her in an absurd human way, and she felt an intense desire toshare some joke. 

"She's the only thing that's left to me, " sighed Willoughby. "We go onyear after year without talking about these things--" He broke off. "Butit's better so. Only life's very hard. "

Helen was sorry for him, and patted him on the shoulder, but she feltuncomfortable when her brother-in-law expressed his feelings, and tookrefuge in praising Rachel, and explaining why she thought her plan mightbe a good one. 

"True, " said Willoughby when she had done. "The social conditions arebound to be primitive. I should be out a good deal. I agreed because shewished it. And of course I have complete confidence in you. . . . Yousee, Helen, " he continued, becoming confidential, "I want to bringher up as her mother would have wished. I don't hold with these modernviews--any more than you do, eh? She's a nice quiet girl, devoted to hermusic--a little less of _that_ would do no harm. Still, it's kept herhappy, and we lead a very quiet life at Richmond. I should like her tobegin to see more people. I want to take her about with me when I gethome. I've half a mind to rent a house in London, leaving my sisters atRichmond, and take her to see one or two people who'd be kind to herfor my sake. I'm beginning to realise, " he continued, stretching himselfout, "that all this is tending to Parliament, Helen. It's the only wayto get things done as one wants them done. I talked to Dalloway aboutit. In that case, of course, I should want Rachel to be able totake more part in things. A certain amount of entertaining would benecessary--dinners, an occasional evening party. One's constituents liketo be fed, I believe. In all these ways Rachel could be of great help tome. So, " he wound up, "I should be very glad, if we arrange this visit(which must be upon a business footing, mind), if you could see your wayto helping my girl, bringing her out--she's a little shy now, --making awoman of her, the kind of woman her mother would have liked her to be, "he ended, jerking his head at the photograph. 

Willoughby's selfishness, though consistent as Helen saw with realaffection for his daughter, made her determined to have the girl to staywith her, even if she had to promise a complete course of instructionin the feminine graces. She could not help laughing at the notionof it--Rachel a Tory hostess!--and marvelling as she left him at theastonishing ignorance of a father. 

Rachel, when consulted, showed less enthusiasm than Helen could havewished. One moment she was eager, the next doubtful. Visions of a greatriver, now blue, now yellow in the tropical sun and crossed by brightbirds, now white in the moon, now deep in shade with moving trees andcanoes sliding out from the tangled banks, beset her. Helen promised ariver. Then she did not want to leave her father. That feeling seemedgenuine too, but in the end Helen prevailed, although when she hadwon her case she was beset by doubts, and more than once regrettedthe impulse which had entangled her with the fortunes of another humanbeing. 

Chapter VII

From a distance the _Euphrosyne_ looked very small. Glasses were turnedupon her from the decks of great liners, and she was pronounced a tramp, a cargo-boat, or one of those wretched little passenger steamers wherepeople rolled about among the cattle on deck. The insect-like figuresof Dalloways, Ambroses, and Vinraces were also derided, both from theextreme smallness of their persons and the doubt which only strongglasses could dispel as to whether they were really live creatures oronly lumps on the rigging. Mr. Pepper with all his learning had beenmistaken for a cormorant, and then, as unjustly, transformed into acow. At night, indeed, when the waltzes were swinging in the saloon, andgifted passengers reciting, the little ship--shrunk to a few beadsof light out among the dark waves, and one high in air upon themast-head--seemed something mysterious and impressive to heated partnersresting from the dance. She became a ship passing in the night--anemblem of the loneliness of human life, an occasion for queerconfidences and sudden appeals for sympathy. 

On and on she went, by day and by night, following her path, until onemorning broke and showed the land. Losing its shadow-like appearance itbecame first cleft and mountainous, next coloured grey and purple, nextscattered with white blocks which gradually separated themselves, andthen, as the progress of the ship acted upon the view like a field-glassof increasing power, became streets of houses. By nine o'clock the_Euphrosyne_ had taken up her position in the middle of a great bay;she dropped her anchor; immediately, as if she were a recumbent giantrequiring examination, small boats came swarming about her. She rangwith cries; men jumped on to her; her deck was thumped by feet. Thelonely little island was invaded from all quarters at once, and afterfour weeks of silence it was bewildering to hear human speech. Mrs. Ambrose alone heeded none of this stir. She was pale with suspense whilethe boat with mail bags was making towards them. Absorbed in her lettersshe did not notice that she had left the _Euphrosyne_, and felt nosadness when the ship lifted up her voice and bellowed thrice like a cowseparated from its calf. 

"The children are well!" she exclaimed. Mr. Pepper, who sat oppositewith a great mound of bag and rug upon his knees, said, "Gratifying. "Rachel, to whom the end of the voyage meant a complete change ofperspective, was too much bewildered by the approach of the shore torealise what children were well or why it was gratifying. Helen went onreading. 

Moving very slowly, and rearing absurdly high over each wave, the littleboat was now approaching a white crescent of sand. Behind this was adeep green valley, with distinct hills on either side. On the slope ofthe right-hand hill white houses with brown roofs were settled, likenesting sea-birds, and at intervals cypresses striped the hill withblack bars. Mountains whose sides were flushed with red, but whosecrowns were bald, rose as a pinnacle, half-concealing another pinnaclebehind it. The hour being still early, the whole view was exquisitelylight and airy; the blues and greens of sky and tree were intense butnot sultry. As they drew nearer and could distinguish details, theeffect of the earth with its minute objects and colours and differentforms of life was overwhelming after four weeks of the sea, and keptthem silent. 

"Three hundred years odd, " said Mr. Pepper meditatively at length. 

As nobody said, "What?" he merely extracted a bottle and swallowed apill. The piece of information that died within him was to the effectthat three hundred years ago five Elizabethan barques had anchored wherethe _Euphrosyne_ now floated. Half-drawn up upon the beach lay an equalnumber of Spanish galleons, unmanned, for the country was still a virginland behind a veil. Slipping across the water, the English sailorsbore away bars of silver, bales of linen, timbers of cedar wood, goldencrucifixes knobbed with emeralds. When the Spaniards came down fromtheir drinking, a fight ensued, the two parties churning up the sand, and driving each other into the surf. The Spaniards, bloated with fineliving upon the fruits of the miraculous land, fell in heaps; but thehardy Englishmen, tawny with sea-voyaging, hairy for lack of razors, with muscles like wire, fangs greedy for flesh, and fingers itching forgold, despatched the wounded, drove the dying into the sea, and soonreduced the natives to a state of superstitious wonderment. Here asettlement was made; women were imported; children grew. All seemed tofavour the expansion of the British Empire, and had there been menlike Richard Dalloway in the time of Charles the First, the map wouldundoubtedly be red where it is now an odious green. But it must besupposed that the political mind of that age lacked imagination, and, merely for want of a few thousand pounds and a few thousand men, thespark died that should have been a conflagration. From the interior cameIndians with subtle poisons, naked bodies, and painted idols; from thesea came vengeful Spaniards and rapacious Portuguese; exposed to allthese enemies (though the climate proved wonderfully kind and the earthabundant) the English dwindled away and all but disappeared. Somewhereabout the middle of the seventeenth century a single sloop watched itsseason and slipped out by night, bearing within it all that was left ofthe great British colony, a few men, a few women, and perhaps a dozendusky children. English history then denies all knowledge of the place. Owing to one cause and another civilisation shifted its centre to a spotsome four or five hundred miles to the south, and to-day Santa Marina isnot much larger than it was three hundred years ago. In population it isa happy compromise, for Portuguese fathers wed Indian mothers, and theirchildren intermarry with the Spanish. Although they get their ploughsfrom Manchester, they make their coats from their own sheep, their silkfrom their own worms, and their furniture from their own cedar trees, so that in arts and industries the place is still much where it was inElizabethan days. 

The reasons which had drawn the English across the sea to found a smallcolony within the last ten years are not so easily described, and willnever perhaps be recorded in history books. Granted facility oftravel, peace, good trade, and so on, there was besides a kind ofdissatisfaction among the English with the older countries and theenormous accumulations of carved stone, stained glass, and rich brownpainting which they offered to the tourist. The movement in search ofsomething new was of course infinitely small, affecting only a handfulof well-to-do people. It began by a few schoolmasters serving theirpassage out to South America as the pursers of tramp steamers. Theyreturned in time for the summer term, when their stories of thesplendours and hardships of life at sea, the humours of sea-captains, the wonders of night and dawn, and the marvels of the place delightedoutsiders, and sometimes found their way into print. The country itselftaxed all their powers of description, for they said it was much biggerthan Italy, and really nobler than Greece. Again, they declared that thenatives were strangely beautiful, very big in stature, dark, passionate, and quick to seize the knife. The place seemed new and full of new formsof beauty, in proof of which they showed handkerchiefs which the womenhad worn round their heads, and primitive carvings coloured brightgreens and blues. Somehow or other, as fashions do, the fashion spread;an old monastery was quickly turned into a hotel, while a famous line ofsteamships altered its route for the convenience of passengers. 

Oddly enough it happened that the least satisfactory of Helen Ambrose'sbrothers had been sent out years before to make his fortune, at any rateto keep clear of race-horses, in the very spot which had now become sopopular. Often, leaning upon the column in the verandah, he had watchedthe English ships with English schoolmasters for pursers steaming intothe bay. Having at length earned enough to take a holiday, and beingsick of the place, he proposed to put his villa, on the slope of themountain, at his sister's disposal. She, too, had been a little stirredby the talk of a new world, where there was always sun and never a fog, which went on around her, and the chance, when they were planning whereto spend the winter out of England, seemed too good to be missed. For these reasons she determined to accept Willoughby's offer of freepassages on his ship, to place the children with their grand-parents, and to do the thing thoroughly while she was about it. 

Taking seats in a carriage drawn by long-tailed horses with pheasants'feathers erect between their ears, the Ambroses, Mr. Pepper, and Rachelrattled out of the harbour. The day increased in heat as they droveup the hill. The road passed through the town, where men seemed to bebeating brass and crying "Water, " where the passage was blocked by mulesand cleared by whips and curses, where the women walked barefoot, their heads balancing baskets, and cripples hastily displayed mutilatedmembers; it issued among steep green fields, not so green but that theearth showed through. Great trees now shaded all but the centre of theroad, and a mountain stream, so shallow and so swift that it plaiteditself into strands as it ran, raced along the edge. Higher they went, until Ridley and Rachel walked behind; next they turned along a lanescattered with stones, where Mr. Pepper raised his stick and silentlyindicated a shrub, bearing among sparse leaves a voluminous purpleblossom; and at a rickety canter the last stage of the way wasaccomplished. 

The villa was a roomy white house, which, as is the case with mostcontinental houses, looked to an English eye frail, ramshackle, andabsurdly frivolous, more like a pagoda in a tea-garden than a placewhere one slept. The garden called urgently for the services ofgardener. Bushes waved their branches across the paths, and the bladesof grass, with spaces of earth between them, could be counted. In thecircular piece of ground in front of the verandah were two crackedvases, from which red flowers drooped, with a stone fountain betweenthem, now parched in the sun. The circular garden led to a long garden, where the gardener's shears had scarcely been, unless now and then, whenhe cut a bough of blossom for his beloved. A few tall trees shaded it, and round bushes with wax-like flowers mobbed their heads together ina row. A garden smoothly laid with turf, divided by thick hedges, withraised beds of bright flowers, such as we keep within walls in England, would have been out of place upon the side of this bare hill. Therewas no ugliness to shut out, and the villa looked straight across theshoulder of a slope, ribbed with olive trees, to the sea. 

The indecency of the whole place struck Mrs. Chailey forcibly. Therewere no blinds to shut out the sun, nor was there any furniture to speakof for the sun to spoil. Standing in the bare stone hall, and surveyinga staircase of superb breadth, but cracked and carpetless, she furtherventured the opinion that there were rats, as large as terriers athome, and that if one put one's foot down with any force one would comethrough the floor. As for hot water--at this point her investigationsleft her speechless. 

"Poor creature!" she murmured to the sallow Spanish servant-girl whocame out with the pigs and hens to receive them, "no wonder youhardly look like a human being!" Maria accepted the compliment withan exquisite Spanish grace. In Chailey's opinion they would have donebetter to stay on board an English ship, but none knew better than shethat her duty commanded her to stay. 

When they were settled in, and in train to find daily occupation, therewas some speculation as to the reasons which induced Mr. Pepper to stay, taking up his lodging in the Ambroses' house. Efforts had been madefor some days before landing to impress upon him the advantages of theAmazons. 

"That great stream!" Helen would begin, gazing as if she saw a visionarycascade, "I've a good mind to go with you myself, Willoughby--only Ican't. Think of the sunsets and the moonrises--I believe the colours areunimaginable. "

"There are wild peacocks, " Rachel hazarded. 

"And marvellous creatures in the water, " Helen asserted. 

"One might discover a new reptile, " Rachel continued. 

"There's certain to be a revolution, I'm told, " Helen urged. 

The effect of these subterfuges was a little dashed by Ridley, who, after regarding Pepper for some moments, sighed aloud, "Poor fellow!"and inwardly speculated upon the unkindness of women. 

He stayed, however, in apparent contentment for six days, playing witha microscope and a notebook in one of the many sparsely furnishedsitting-rooms, but on the evening of the seventh day, as they sat atdinner, he appeared more restless than usual. The dinner-table was setbetween two long windows which were left uncurtained by Helen's orders. Darkness fell as sharply as a knife in this climate, and the town thensprang out in circles and lines of bright dots beneath them. Buildingswhich never showed by day showed by night, and the sea flowed rightover the land judging by the moving lights of the steamers. The sightfulfilled the same purpose as an orchestra in a London restaurant, andsilence had its setting. William Pepper observed it for some time; heput on his spectacles to contemplate the scene. 

"I've identified the big block to the left, " he observed, and pointedwith his fork at a square formed by several rows of lights. 

"One should infer that they can cook vegetables, " he added. 

"An hotel?" said Helen. 

"Once a monastery, " said Mr. Pepper. 

Nothing more was said then, but, the day after, Mr. Pepper returned froma midday walk, and stood silently before Helen who was reading in theverandah. 

"I've taken a room over there, " he said. 

"You're not going?" she exclaimed. 

"On the whole--yes, " he remarked. "No private cook _can_ cookvegetables. "

Knowing his dislike of questions, which she to some extent shared, Helen asked no more. Still, an uneasy suspicion lurked in her mind thatWilliam was hiding a wound. She flushed to think that her words, or herhusband's, or Rachel's had penetrated and stung. She was half-moved tocry, "Stop, William; explain!" and would have returned to the subject atluncheon if William had not shown himself inscrutable and chill, liftingfragments of salad on the point of his fork, with the gesture of a manpronging seaweed, detecting gravel, suspecting germs. 

"If you all die of typhoid I won't be responsible!" he snapped. 

"If you die of dulness, neither will I, " Helen echoed in her heart. 

She reflected that she had never yet asked him whether he had been inlove. They had got further and further from that subject instead ofdrawing nearer to it, and she could not help feeling it a relief whenWilliam Pepper, with all his knowledge, his microscope, his note-books, his genuine kindliness and good sense, but a certain dryness ofsoul, took his departure. Also she could not help feeling it sad thatfriendships should end thus, although in this case to have the roomempty was something of a comfort, and she tried to console herself withthe reflection that one never knows how far other people feel the thingsthey might be supposed to feel. 

Chapter VIII

The next few months passed away, as many years can pass away, withoutdefinite events, and yet, if suddenly disturbed, it would be seen thatsuch months or years had a character unlike others. The three monthswhich had passed had brought them to the beginning of March. The climatehad kept its promise, and the change of season from winter to springhad made very little difference, so that Helen, who was sitting in thedrawing-room with a pen in her hand, could keep the windows open thougha great fire of logs burnt on one side of her. Below, the sea was stillblue and the roofs still brown and white, though the day was fadingrapidly. It was dusk in the room, which, large and empty at all times, now appeared larger and emptier than usual. Her own figure, as she satwriting with a pad on her knee, shared the general effect of size andlack of detail, for the flames which ran along the branches, suddenlydevouring little green tufts, burnt intermittently and sent irregularilluminations across her face and the plaster walls. There wereno pictures on the walls but here and there boughs laden withheavy-petalled flowers spread widely against them. Of the books fallenon the bare floor and heaped upon the large table, it was only possiblein this light to trace the outline. 

Mrs. Ambrose was writing a very long letter. Beginning "Dear Bernard, "it went on to describe what had been happening in the Villa San Gervasioduring the past three months, as, for instance, that they had had theBritish Consul to dinner, and had been taken over a Spanish man-of-war, and had seen a great many processions and religious festivals, whichwere so beautiful that Mrs. Ambrose couldn't conceive why, if peoplemust have a religion, they didn't all become Roman Catholics. They hadmade several expeditions though none of any length. It was worth comingif only for the sake of the flowering trees which grew wild quite nearthe house, and the amazing colours of sea and earth. The earth, insteadof being brown, was red, purple, green. "You won't believe me, " sheadded, "there is no colour like it in England. " She adopted, indeed, a condescending tone towards that poor island, which was now advancingchilly crocuses and nipped violets in nooks, in copses, in cosy corners, tended by rosy old gardeners in mufflers, who were always touchingtheir hats and bobbing obsequiously. She went on to deride the islandersthemselves. Rumours of London all in a ferment over a General Electionhad reached them even out here. "It seems incredible, " she went on, "that people should care whether Asquith is in or Austen Chamberlin out, and while you scream yourselves hoarse about politics you let the onlypeople who are trying for something good starve or simply laugh at them. When have you ever encouraged a living artist? Or bought his best work?Why are you all so ugly and so servile? Here the servants are humanbeings. They talk to one as if they were equals. As far as I can tellthere are no aristocrats. "

Perhaps it was the mention of aristocrats that reminded her of RichardDalloway and Rachel, for she ran on with the same penful to describe herniece. 

"It's an odd fate that has put me in charge of a girl, " she wrote, "considering that I have never got on well with women, or had much to dowith them. However, I must retract some of the things that I havesaid against them. If they were properly educated I don't see why theyshouldn't be much the same as men--as satisfactory I mean; though, ofcourse, very different. The question is, how should one educatethem. The present method seems to me abominable. This girl, thoughtwenty-four, had never heard that men desired women, and, until Iexplained it, did not know how children were born. Her ignorance uponother matters as important" (here Mrs. Ambrose's letter may not bequoted) . . . "was complete. It seems to me not merely foolish butcriminal to bring people up like that. Let alone the suffering to them, it explains why women are what they are--the wonder is they're no worse. I have taken it upon myself to enlighten her, and now, though still agood deal prejudiced and liable to exaggerate, she is more or less areasonable human being. Keeping them ignorant, of course, defeats itsown object, and when they begin to understand they take it all much tooseriously. My brother-in-law really deserved a catastrophe--which hewon't get. I now pray for a young man to come to my help; some one, Imean, who would talk to her openly, and prove how absurd most of herideas about life are. Unluckily such men seem almost as rare as thewomen. The English colony certainly doesn't provide one; artists, merchants, cultivated people--they are stupid, conventional, andflirtatious. . . . " She ceased, and with her pen in her hand sat lookinginto the fire, making the logs into caves and mountains, for it hadgrown too dark to go on writing. Moreover, the house began to stir asthe hour of dinner approached; she could hear the plates being chinkedin the dining-room next door, and Chailey instructing the Spanish girlwhere to put things down in vigorous English. The bell rang; she rose, met Ridley and Rachel outside, and they all went in to dinner. 

Three months had made but little difference in the appearance either ofRidley or Rachel; yet a keen observer might have thought that the girlwas more definite and self-confident in her manner than before. Her skinwas brown, her eyes certainly brighter, and she attended to what wassaid as though she might be going to contradict it. The meal began withthe comfortable silence of people who are quite at their ease together. Then Ridley, leaning on his elbow and looking out of the window, observed that it was a lovely night. 

"Yes, " said Helen. She added, "The season's begun, " looking at thelights beneath them. She asked Maria in Spanish whether the hotel wasnot filling up with visitors. Maria informed her with pride that therewould come a time when it was positively difficult to buy eggs--theshopkeepers would not mind what prices they asked; they would get them, at any rate, from the English. 

"That's an English steamer in the bay, " said Rachel, looking at atriangle of lights below. "She came in early this morning. "

"Then we may hope for some letters and send ours back, " said Helen. 

For some reason the mention of letters always made Ridley groan, and therest of the meal passed in a brisk argument between husband and wifeas to whether he was or was not wholly ignored by the entire civilisedworld. 

"Considering the last batch, " said Helen, "you deserve beating. Youwere asked to lecture, you were offered a degree, and some silly womanpraised not only your books but your beauty--she said he was whatShelley would have been if Shelley had lived to fifty-five and growna beard. Really, Ridley, I think you're the vainest man I know, " sheended, rising from the table, "which I may tell you is saying a gooddeal. "

Finding her letter lying before the fire she added a few lines to it, and then announced that she was going to take the letters now--Ridleymust bring his--and Rachel?

"I hope you've written to your Aunts? It's high time. "

The women put on cloaks and hats, and after inviting Ridley to come withthem, which he emphatically refused to do, exclaiming that Rachel heexpected to be a fool, but Helen surely knew better, they turned to go. He stood over the fire gazing into the depths of the looking-glass, andcompressing his face into the likeness of a commander surveying a fieldof battle, or a martyr watching the flames lick his toes, rather thanthat of a secluded Professor. 

Helen laid hold of his beard. 

"Am I a fool?" she said. 

"Let me go, Helen. "

"Am I a fool?" she repeated. 

"Vile woman!" he exclaimed, and kissed her. 

"We'll leave you to your vanities, " she called back as they went out ofthe door. 

It was a beautiful evening, still light enough to see a long way downthe road, though the stars were coming out. The pillar-box was let intoa high yellow wall where the lane met the road, and having dropped theletters into it, Helen was for turning back. 

"No, no, " said Rachel, taking her by the wrist. "We're going to seelife. You promised. "

"Seeing life" was the phrase they used for their habit of strollingthrough the town after dark. The social life of Santa Marina was carriedon almost entirely by lamp-light, which the warmth of the nights and thescents culled from flowers made pleasant enough. The young women, withtheir hair magnificently swept in coils, a red flower behind the ear, sat on the doorsteps, or issued out on to balconies, while the young menranged up and down beneath, shouting up a greeting from time to time andstopping here and there to enter into amorous talk. At the open windowsmerchants could be seen making up the day's account, and older womenlifting jars from shelf to shelf. The streets were full of people, menfor the most part, who interchanged their views of the world as theywalked, or gathered round the wine-tables at the street corner, where anold cripple was twanging his guitar strings, while a poor girl criedher passionate song in the gutter. The two Englishwomen excited somefriendly curiosity, but no one molested them. 

Helen sauntered on, observing the different people in their shabbyclothes, who seemed so careless and so natural, with satisfaction. 

"Just think of the Mall to-night!" she exclaimed at length. "It's thefifteenth of March. Perhaps there's a Court. " She thought of the crowdwaiting in the cold spring air to see the grand carriages go by. "It'svery cold, if it's not raining, " she said. "First there are men sellingpicture postcards; then there are wretched little shop-girls with roundbandboxes; then there are bank clerks in tail coats; and then--anynumber of dressmakers. People from South Kensington drive up in ahired fly; officials have a pair of bays; earls, on the other hand, areallowed one footman to stand up behind; dukes have two, royal dukes--soI was told--have three; the king, I suppose, can have as many as helikes. And the people believe in it!"

Out here it seemed as though the people of England must be shaped in thebody like the kings and queens, knights and pawns of the chessboard, sostrange were their differences, so marked and so implicitly believed in. 

They had to part in order to circumvent a crowd. 

"They believe in God, " said Rachel as they regained each other. Shemeant that the people in the crowd believed in Him; for she rememberedthe crosses with bleeding plaster figures that stood where foot-pathsjoined, and the inexplicable mystery of a service in a Roman Catholicchurch. 

"We shall never understand!" she sighed. 

They had walked some way and it was now night, but they could see alarge iron gate a little way farther down the road on their left. 

"Do you mean to go right up to the hotel?" Helen asked. 

Rachel gave the gate a push; it swung open, and, seeing no one about andjudging that nothing was private in this country, they walked straighton. An avenue of trees ran along the road, which was completelystraight. The trees suddenly came to an end; the road turned a corner, and they found themselves confronted by a large square building. Theyhad come out upon the broad terrace which ran round the hotel and wereonly a few feet distant from the windows. A row of long windows openedalmost to the ground. They were all of them uncurtained, and allbrilliantly lighted, so that they could see everything inside. Eachwindow revealed a different section of the life of the hotel. They drewinto one of the broad columns of shadow which separated the windows andgazed in. They found themselves just outside the dining-room. It wasbeing swept; a waiter was eating a bunch of grapes with his leg acrossthe corner of a table. Next door was the kitchen, where they werewashing up; white cooks were dipping their arms into cauldrons, whilethe waiters made their meal voraciously off broken meats, sopping up thegravy with bits of crumb. Moving on, they became lost in a plantationof bushes, and then suddenly found themselves outside the drawing-room, where the ladies and gentlemen, having dined well, lay back indeep arm-chairs, occasionally speaking or turning over the pages ofmagazines. A thin woman was flourishing up and down the piano. 

"What is a dahabeeyah, Charles?" the distinct voice of a widow, seatedin an arm-chair by the window, asked her son. 

It was the end of the piece, and his answer was lost in the generalclearing of throats and tapping of knees. 

"They're all old in this room, " Rachel whispered. 

Creeping on, they found that the next window revealed two men inshirt-sleeves playing billiards with two young ladies. 

"He pinched my arm!" the plump young woman cried, as she missed herstroke. 

"Now you two--no ragging, " the young man with the red face reprovedthem, who was marking. 

"Take care or we shall be seen, " whispered Helen, plucking Rachel by thearm. Incautiously her head had risen to the middle of the window. 

Turning the corner they came to the largest room in the hotel, which wassupplied with four windows, and was called the Lounge, although it wasreally a hall. Hung with armour and native embroideries, furnished withdivans and screens, which shut off convenient corners, the room was lessformal than the others, and was evidently the haunt of youth. SignorRodriguez, whom they knew to be the manager of the hotel, stood quitenear them in the doorway surveying the scene--the gentlemen lounging inchairs, the couples leaning over coffee-cups, the game of cards in thecentre under profuse clusters of electric light. He was congratulatinghimself upon the enterprise which had turned the refectory, a cold stoneroom with pots on trestles, into the most comfortable room in the house. The hotel was very full, and proved his wisdom in decreeing that nohotel can flourish without a lounge. 

The people were scattered about in couples or parties of four, andeither they were actually better acquainted, or the informal room madetheir manners easier. Through the open window came an uneven hummingsound like that which rises from a flock of sheep pent within hurdles atdusk. The card-party occupied the centre of the foreground. 

Helen and Rachel watched them play for some minutes without being ableto distinguish a word. Helen was observing one of the men intently. Hewas a lean, somewhat cadaverous man of about her own age, whose profilewas turned to them, and he was the partner of a highly-coloured girl, obviously English by birth. 

Suddenly, in the strange way in which some words detach themselves fromthe rest, they heard him say quite distinctly:--

"All you want is practice, Miss Warrington; courage and practice--one'sno good without the other. "

"Hughling Elliot! Of course!" Helen exclaimed. She ducked her headimmediately, for at the sound of his name he looked up. The game went onfor a few minutes, and was then broken up by the approach of a wheeledchair, containing a voluminous old lady who paused by the table andsaid:--

"Better luck to-night, Susan?"

"All the luck's on our side, " said a young man who until now had kepthis back turned to the window. He appeared to be rather stout, and had athick crop of hair. 

"Luck, Mr. Hewet?" said his partner, a middle-aged lady with spectacles. "I assure you, Mrs. Paley, our success is due solely to our brilliantplay. "

"Unless I go to bed early I get practically no sleep at all, " Mrs. Paleywas heard to explain, as if to justify her seizure of Susan, who got upand proceeded to wheel the chair to the door. 

"They'll get some one else to take my place, " she said cheerfully. Butshe was wrong. No attempt was made to find another player, and after theyoung man had built three stories of a card-house, which fell down, theplayers strolled off in different directions. 

Mr. Hewet turned his full face towards the window. They could see thathe had large eyes obscured by glasses; his complexion was rosy, hislips clean-shaven; and, seen among ordinary people, it appeared to be aninteresting face. He came straight towards them, but his eyes were fixednot upon the eavesdroppers but upon a spot where the curtain hung infolds. 

"Asleep?" he said. 

Helen and Rachel started to think that some one had been sitting nearto them unobserved all the time. There were legs in the shadow. Amelancholy voice issued from above them. 

"Two women, " it said. 

A scuffling was heard on the gravel. The women had fled. They did notstop running until they felt certain that no eye could penetrate thedarkness and the hotel was only a square shadow in the distance, withred holes regularly cut in it. 

Chapter IX

An hour passed, and the downstairs rooms at the hotel grew dim andwere almost deserted, while the little box-like squares above them werebrilliantly irradiated. Some forty or fifty people were going to bed. The thump of jugs set down on the floor above could be heard and theclink of china, for there was not as thick a partition between the roomsas one might wish, so Miss Allan, the elderly lady who had been playingbridge, determined, giving the wall a smart rap with her knuckles. Itwas only matchboard, she decided, run up to make many little rooms ofone large one. Her grey petticoats slipped to the ground, and, stooping, she folded her clothes with neat, if not loving fingers, screwed herhair into a plait, wound her father's great gold watch, and opened thecomplete works of Wordsworth. She was reading the "Prelude, " partlybecause she always read the "Prelude" abroad, and partly becauseshe was engaged in writing a short _Primer_ _of_ _English__Literature_--_Beowulf_ _to_ _Swinburne_--which would have a paragraphon Wordsworth. She was deep in the fifth book, stopping indeed to pencila note, when a pair of boots dropped, one after another, on the floorabove her. She looked up and speculated. Whose boots were they, shewondered. She then became aware of a swishing sound next door--a woman, clearly, putting away her dress. It was succeeded by a gentle tappingsound, such as that which accompanies hair-dressing. It was verydifficult to keep her attention fixed upon the "Prelude. " Was it SusanWarrington tapping? She forced herself, however, to read to the end ofthe book, when she placed a mark between the pages, sighed contentedly, and then turned out the light. 

Very different was the room through the wall, though as like in shapeas one egg-box is like another. As Miss Allan read her book, SusanWarrington was brushing her hair. Ages have consecrated this hour, and the most majestic of all domestic actions, to talk of love betweenwomen; but Miss Warrington being alone could not talk; she could onlylook with extreme solicitude at her own face in the glass. She turnedher head from side to side, tossing heavy locks now this way now that;and then withdrew a pace or two, and considered herself seriously. 

"I'm nice-looking, " she determined. "Not pretty--possibly, " she drewherself up a little. "Yes--most people would say I was handsome. "

She was really wondering what Arthur Venning would say she was. Herfeeling about him was decidedly queer. She would not admit to herselfthat she was in love with him or that she wanted to marry him, yet shespent every minute when she was alone in wondering what he thought ofher, and in comparing what they had done to-day with what they had donethe day before. 

"He didn't ask me to play, but he certainly followed me into the hall, "she meditated, summing up the evening. She was thirty years of age, and owing to the number of her sisters and the seclusion of life in acountry parsonage had as yet had no proposal of marriage. The hour ofconfidences was often a sad one, and she had been known to jump intobed, treating her hair unkindly, feeling herself overlooked by life incomparison with others. She was a big, well-made woman, the red lyingupon her cheeks in patches that were too well defined, but her seriousanxiety gave her a kind of beauty. 

She was just about to pull back the bed-clothes when she exclaimed, "Oh, but I'm forgetting, " and went to her writing-table. A brown volume laythere stamped with the figure of the year. She proceeded to write in thesquare ugly hand of a mature child, as she wrote daily year after year, keeping the diaries, though she seldom looked at them. 

"A. M. --Talked to Mrs. H. Elliot about country neighbours. She knows theManns; also the Selby-Carroways. How small the world is! Like her. Reada chapter of _Miss_ _Appleby's_ _Adventure_ to Aunt E. P. M. --Playedlawn-tennis with Mr. Perrott and Evelyn M. Don't _like_ Mr. P. Have afeeling that he is not 'quite, ' though clever certainly. Beat them. Daysplendid, view wonderful. One gets used to no trees, though much toobare at first. Cards after dinner. Aunt E. Cheerful, though twingy, shesays. Mem. : _ask_ _about_ _damp_ _sheets_. "

She knelt in prayer, and then lay down in bed, tucking the blanketscomfortably about her, and in a few minutes her breathing showed thatshe was asleep. With its profoundly peaceful sighs and hesitations itresembled that of a cow standing up to its knees all night through inthe long grass. 

A glance into the next room revealed little more than a nose, prominentabove the sheets. Growing accustomed to the darkness, for the windowswere open and showed grey squares with splinters of starlight, one coulddistinguish a lean form, terribly like the body of a dead person, thebody indeed of William Pepper, asleep too. Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight--here were three Portuguese men of business, asleeppresumably, since a snore came with the regularity of a great tickingclock. Thirty-nine was a corner room, at the end of the passage, butlate though it was--"One" struck gently downstairs--a line of lightunder the door showed that some one was still awake. 

"How late you are, Hugh!" a woman, lying in bed, said in a peevishbut solicitous voice. Her husband was brushing his teeth, and for somemoments did not answer. 

"You should have gone to sleep, " he replied. "I was talking toThornbury. "

"But you know that I never can sleep when I'm waiting for you, " shesaid. 

To that he made no answer, but only remarked, "Well then, we'll turn outthe light. " They were silent. 

The faint but penetrating pulse of an electric bell could now be heardin the corridor. Old Mrs. Paley, having woken hungry but without herspectacles, was summoning her maid to find the biscuit-box. The maidhaving answered the bell, drearily respectful even at this hour thoughmuffled in a mackintosh, the passage was left in silence. Downstairs allwas empty and dark; but on the upper floor a light still burnt in theroom where the boots had dropped so heavily above Miss Allan's head. Here was the gentleman who, a few hours previously, in the shade of thecurtain, had seemed to consist entirely of legs. Deep in an arm-chair hewas reading the third volume of Gibbon's _History_ _of_ _the_ _Decline__and_ _Fall_ _of_ _Rome_ by candle-light. As he read he knocked the ashautomatically, now and again, from his cigarette and turned the page, while a whole procession of splendid sentences entered his capaciousbrow and went marching through his brain in order. It seemed likelythat this process might continue for an hour or more, until the entireregiment had shifted its quarters, had not the door opened, and theyoung man, who was inclined to be stout, come in with large naked feet. 

"Oh, Hirst, what I forgot to say was--"

"Two minutes, " said Hirst, raising his finger. 

He safely stowed away the last words of the paragraph. 

"What was it you forgot to say?" he asked. 

"D'you think you _do_ make enough allowance for feelings?" asked Mr. Hewet. He had again forgotten what he had meant to say. 

After intense contemplation of the immaculate Gibbon Mr. Hirst smiled atthe question of his friend. He laid aside his book and considered. 

"I should call yours a singularly untidy mind, " he observed. "Feelings?Aren't they just what we do allow for? We put love up there, and all therest somewhere down below. " With his left hand he indicated the top of apyramid, and with his right the base. 

"But you didn't get out of bed to tell me that, " he added severely. 

"I got out of bed, " said Hewet vaguely, "merely to talk I suppose. "

"Meanwhile I shall undress, " said Hirst. When naked of all but hisshirt, and bent over the basin, Mr. Hirst no longer impressed one withthe majesty of his intellect, but with the pathos of his young yet uglybody, for he stooped, and he was so thin that there were dark linesbetween the different bones of his neck and shoulders. 

"Women interest me, " said Hewet, who, sitting on the bed with his chinresting on his knees, paid no attention to the undressing of Mr. Hirst. 

"They're so stupid, " said Hirst. "You're sitting on my pyjamas. "

"I suppose they _are_ stupid?" Hewet wondered. 

"There can't be two opinions about that, I imagine, " said Hirst, hopping briskly across the room, "unless you're in love--that fat womanWarrington?" he enquired. 

"Not one fat woman--all fat women, " Hewet sighed. 

"The women I saw to-night were not fat, " said Hirst, who was takingadvantage of Hewet's company to cut his toe-nails. 

"Describe them, " said Hewet. 

"You know I can't describe things!" said Hirst. "They were much likeother women, I should think. They always are. "

"No; that's where we differ, " said Hewet. "I say everything's different. No two people are in the least the same. Take you and me now. "

"So I used to think once, " said Hirst. "But now they're all types. Don'ttake us, --take this hotel. You could draw circles round the whole lot ofthem, and they'd never stray outside. "

("You can kill a hen by doing that"), Hewet murmured. 

"Mr. Hughling Elliot, Mrs. Hughling Elliot, Miss Allan, Mr. And Mrs. Thornbury--one circle, " Hirst continued. "Miss Warrington, Mr. ArthurVenning, Mr. Perrott, Evelyn M. Another circle; then there are a wholelot of natives; finally ourselves. "

"Are we all alone in our circle?" asked Hewet. 

"Quite alone, " said Hirst. "You try to get out, but you can't. You onlymake a mess of things by trying. "

"I'm not a hen in a circle, " said Hewet. "I'm a dove on a tree-top. "

"I wonder if this is what they call an ingrowing toe-nail?" said Hirst, examining the big toe on his left foot. 

"I flit from branch to branch, " continued Hewet. "The world isprofoundly pleasant. " He lay back on the bed, upon his arms. 

"I wonder if it's really nice to be as vague as you are?" asked Hirst, looking at him. "It's the lack of continuity--that's what's so odd boutyou, " he went on. "At the age of twenty-seven, which is nearly thirty, you seem to have drawn no conclusions. A party of old women excites youstill as though you were three. "

Hewet contemplated the angular young man who was neatly brushing therims of his toe-nails into the fire-place in silence for a moment. 

"I respect you, Hirst, " he remarked. 

"I envy you--some things, " said Hirst. "One: your capacity for notthinking; two: people like you better than they like me. Women like you, I suppose. "

"I wonder whether that isn't really what matters most?" said Hewet. Lying now flat on the bed he waved his hand in vague circles above him. 

"Of course it is, " said Hirst. "But that's not the difficulty. Thedifficulty is, isn't it, to find an appropriate object?"

"There are no female hens in your circle?" asked Hewet. 

"Not the ghost of one, " said Hirst. 

Although they had known each other for three years Hirst had never yetheard the true story of Hewet's loves. In general conversation it wastaken for granted that they were many, but in private the subject wasallowed to lapse. The fact that he had money enough to do no work, andthat he had left Cambridge after two terms owing to a difference withthe authorities, and had then travelled and drifted, made his lifestrange at many points where his friends' lives were much of a piece. 

"I don't see your circles--I don't see them, " Hewet continued. "I see athing like a teetotum spinning in and out--knocking into things--dashingfrom side to side--collecting numbers--more and more and more, till thewhole place is thick with them. Round and round they go--out there, overthe rim--out of sight. "

His fingers showed that the waltzing teetotums had spun over the edge ofthe counterpane and fallen off the bed into infinity. 

"Could you contemplate three weeks alone in this hotel?" asked Hirst, after a moment's pause. 

Hewet proceeded to think. 

"The truth of it is that one never is alone, and one never is incompany, " he concluded. 

"Meaning?" said Hirst. 

"Meaning? Oh, something about bubbles--auras--what d'you call 'em? Youcan't see my bubble; I can't see yours; all we see of each other is aspeck, like the wick in the middle of that flame. The flame goes aboutwith us everywhere; it's not ourselves exactly, but what we feel; theworld is short, or people mainly; all kinds of people. "

"A nice streaky bubble yours must be!" said Hirst. 

"And supposing my bubble could run into some one else's bubble--"

"And they both burst?" put in Hirst. 

"Then--then--then--" pondered Hewet, as if to himself, "it would be ane-nor-mous world, " he said, stretching his arms to their full width, asthough even so they could hardly clasp the billowy universe, for when hewas with Hirst he always felt unusually sanguine and vague. 

"I don't think you altogether as foolish as I used to, Hewet, " saidHirst. "You don't know what you mean but you try to say it. "

"But aren't you enjoying yourself here?" asked Hewet. 

"On the whole--yes, " said Hirst. "I like observing people. I likelooking at things. This country is amazingly beautiful. Did you noticehow the top of the mountain turned yellow to-night? Really we must takeour lunch and spend the day out. You're getting disgustingly fat. " Hepointed at the calf of Hewet's bare leg. 

"We'll get up an expedition, " said Hewet energetically. "We'll ask theentire hotel. We'll hire donkeys and--"

"Oh, Lord!" said Hirst, "do shut it! I can see Miss Warrington and MissAllan and Mrs. Elliot and the rest squatting on the stones and quacking, 'How jolly!'"

"We'll ask Venning and Perrott and Miss Murgatroyd--every one we can layhands on, " went on Hewet. "What's the name of the little old grasshopperwith the eyeglasses? Pepper?--Pepper shall lead us. "

"Thank God, you'll never get the donkeys, " said Hirst. 

"I must make a note of that, " said Hewet, slowly dropping his feet tothe floor. "Hirst escorts Miss Warrington; Pepper advances alone on awhite ass; provisions equally distributed--or shall we hire a mule? Thematrons--there's Mrs. Paley, by Jove!--share a carriage. "

"That's where you'll go wrong, " said Hirst. "Putting virgins amongmatrons. "

"How long should you think that an expedition like that would take, Hirst?" asked Hewet. 

"From twelve to sixteen hours I would say, " said Hirst. "The timeusually occupied by a first confinement. "

"It will need considerable organisation, " said Hewet. He was now paddingsoftly round the room, and stopped to stir the books on the table. Theylay heaped one upon another. 

"We shall want some poets too, " he remarked. "Not Gibbon; no; d'youhappen to have _Modern_ _Love_ or _John_ _Donne_? You see, I contemplatepauses when people get tired of looking at the view, and then it wouldbe nice to read something rather difficult aloud. "

"Mrs. Paley _will_ enjoy herself, " said Hirst. 

"Mrs. Paley will enjoy it certainly, " said Hewet. "It's one of thesaddest things I know--the way elderly ladies cease to read poetry. Andyet how appropriate this is:

 I speak as one who plumbs Life's dim profound, One who at length can sound Clear views and certain. 

 But--after love what comes? A scene that lours, A few sad vacant hours, And then, the Curtain. 

I daresay Mrs. Paley is the only one of us who can really understandthat. "

"We'll ask her, " said Hirst. "Please, Hewet, if you must go to bed, drawmy curtain. Few things distress me more than the moonlight. "

Hewet retreated, pressing the poems of Thomas Hardy beneath his arm, and in their beds next door to each other both the young men were soonasleep. 

Between the extinction of Hewet's candle and the rising of a duskySpanish boy who was the first to survey the desolation of the hotel inthe early morning, a few hours of silence intervened. One could almosthear a hundred people breathing deeply, and however wakeful and restlessit would have been hard to escape sleep in the middle of so much sleep. Looking out of the windows, there was only darkness to be seen. All overthe shadowed half of the world people lay prone, and a few flickeringlights in empty streets marked the places where their cities werebuilt. Red and yellow omnibuses were crowding each other in Piccadilly;sumptuous women were rocking at a standstill; but here in the darknessan owl flitted from tree to tree, and when the breeze lifted thebranches the moon flashed as if it were a torch. Until all people shouldawake again the houseless animals were abroad, the tigers and the stags, and the elephants coming down in the darkness to drink at pools. Thewind at night blowing over the hills and woods was purer and fresherthan the wind by day, and the earth, robbed of detail, more mysteriousthan the earth coloured and divided by roads and fields. For six hoursthis profound beauty existed, and then as the east grew whiter andwhiter the ground swam to the surface, the roads were revealed, thesmoke rose and the people stirred, and the sun shone upon the windowsof the hotel at Santa Marina until they were uncurtained, and the gongblaring all through the house gave notice of breakfast. 

Directly breakfast was over, the ladies as usual circled vaguely, picking up papers and putting them down again, about the hall. 

"And what are you going to do to-day?" asked Mrs. Elliot drifting upagainst Miss Warrington. 

Mrs. Elliot, the wife of Hughling the Oxford Don, was a short woman, whose expression was habitually plaintive. Her eyes moved from thing tothing as though they never found anything sufficiently pleasant to restupon for any length of time. 

"I'm going to try to get Aunt Emma out into the town, " said Susan. "She's not seen a thing yet. "

"I call it so spirited of her at her age, " said Mrs. Elliot, "coming allthis way from her own fireside. "

"Yes, we always tell her she'll die on board ship, " Susan replied. "Shewas born on one, " she added. 

"In the old days, " said Mrs. Elliot, "a great many people were. I alwayspity the poor women so! We've got a lot to complain of!" She shook herhead. Her eyes wandered about the table, and she remarked irrelevantly, "The poor little Queen of Holland! Newspaper reporters practically, onemay say, at her bedroom door!"

"Were you talking of the Queen of Holland?" said the pleasant voice ofMiss Allan, who was searching for the thick pages of _The_ _Times_ amonga litter of thin foreign sheets. 

"I always envy any one who lives in such an excessively flat country, "she remarked. 

"How very strange!" said Mrs. Elliot. "I find a flat country sodepressing. "

"I'm afraid you can't be very happy here then, Miss Allan, " said Susan. 

"On the contrary, " said Miss Allan, "I am exceedingly fond ofmountains. " Perceiving _The_ _Times_ at some distance, she moved off tosecure it. 

"Well, I must find my husband, " said Mrs. Elliot, fidgeting away. 

"And I must go to my aunt, " said Miss Warrington, and taking up theduties of the day they moved away. 

Whether the flimsiness of foreign sheets and the coarseness of theirtype is any proof of frivolity and ignorance, there is no doubt thatEnglish people scarce consider news read there as news, any more than aprogramme bought from a man in the street inspires confidence in what itsays. A very respectable elderly pair, having inspected the long tablesof newspapers, did not think it worth their while to read more than theheadlines. 

"The debate on the fifteenth should have reached us by now, " Mrs. Thornbury murmured. Mr. Thornbury, who was beautifully clean and hadred rubbed into his handsome worn face like traces of paint on aweather-beaten wooden figure, looked over his glasses and saw that MissAllan had _The_ _Times_. 

The couple therefore sat themselves down in arm-chairs and waited. 

"Ah, there's Mr. Hewet, " said Mrs. Thornbury. "Mr. Hewet, " shecontinued, "do come and sit by us. I was telling my husband how much youreminded me of a dear old friend of mine--Mary Umpleby. She was a mostdelightful woman, I assure you. She grew roses. We used to stay with herin the old days. "

"No young man likes to have it said that he resembles an elderlyspinster, " said Mr. Thornbury. 

"On the contrary, " said Mr. Hewet, "I always think it a complimentto remind people of some one else. But Miss Umpleby--why did she growroses?"

"Ah, poor thing, " said Mrs. Thornbury, "that's a long story. She hadgone through dreadful sorrows. At one time I think she would have losther senses if it hadn't been for her garden. The soil was very muchagainst her--a blessing in disguise; she had to be up at dawn--outin all weathers. And then there are creatures that eat roses. But shetriumphed. She always did. She was a brave soul. " She sighed deeply butat the same time with resignation. 

"I did not realise that I was monopolising the paper, " said Miss Allan, coming up to them. 

"We were so anxious to read about the debate, " said Mrs. Thornbury, accepting it on behalf of her husband. 

"One doesn't realise how interesting a debate can be until one has sonsin the navy. My interests are equally balanced, though; I have sons inthe army too; and one son who makes speeches at the Union--my baby!"

"Hirst would know him, I expect, " said Hewet. 

"Mr. Hirst has such an interesting face, " said Mrs. Thornbury. "But Ifeel one ought to be very clever to talk to him. Well, William?" sheenquired, for Mr. Thornbury grunted. 

"They're making a mess of it, " said Mr. Thornbury. He had reached thesecond column of the report, a spasmodic column, for the Irish membershad been brawling three weeks ago at Westminster over a question ofnaval efficiency. After a disturbed paragraph or two, the column ofprint once more ran smoothly. 

"You have read it?" Mrs. Thornbury asked Miss Allan. 

"No, I am ashamed to say I have only read about the discoveries inCrete, " said Miss Allan. 

"Oh, but I would give so much to realise the ancient world!" criedMrs. Thornbury. "Now that we old people are alone, --we're on our secondhoneymoon, --I am really going to put myself to school again. After allwe are _founded_ on the past, aren't we, Mr. Hewet? My soldier son saysthat there is still a great deal to be learnt from Hannibal. One oughtto know so much more than one does. Somehow when I read the paper, Ibegin with the debates first, and, before I've done, the door alwaysopens--we're a very large party at home--and so one never does thinkenough about the ancients and all they've done for us. But _you_ beginat the beginning, Miss Allan. "

"When I think of the Greeks I think of them as naked black men, " saidMiss Allan, "which is quite incorrect, I'm sure. "

"And you, Mr. Hirst?" said Mrs. Thornbury, perceiving that the gauntyoung man was near. "I'm sure you read everything. "

"I confine myself to cricket and crime, " said Hirst. "The worst ofcoming from the upper classes, " he continued, "is that one's friends arenever killed in railway accidents. "

Mr. Thornbury threw down the paper, and emphatically dropped hiseyeglasses. The sheets fell in the middle of the group, and were eyed bythem all. 

"It's not gone well?" asked his wife solicitously. 

Hewet picked up one sheet and read, "A lady was walking yesterday inthe streets of Westminster when she perceived a cat in the window of adeserted house. The famished animal--"

"I shall be out of it anyway, " Mr. Thornbury interrupted peevishly. 

"Cats are often forgotten, " Miss Allan remarked. 

"Remember, William, the Prime Minister has reserved his answer, " saidMrs. Thornbury. 

"At the age of eighty, Mr. Joshua Harris of Eeles Park, Brondesbury, hashad a son, " said Hirst. 

". . . The famished animal, which had been noticed by workmen for somedays, was rescued, but--by Jove! it bit the man's hand to pieces!"

"Wild with hunger, I suppose, " commented Miss Allan. 

"You're all neglecting the chief advantage of being abroad, " said Mr. Hughling Elliot, who had joined the group. "You might read your news inFrench, which is equivalent to reading no news at all. "

Mr. Elliot had a profound knowledge of Coptic, which he concealed as faras possible, and quoted French phrases so exquisitely that it was hardto believe that he could also speak the ordinary tongue. He had animmense respect for the French. 

"Coming?" he asked the two young men. "We ought to start before it'sreally hot. "

"I beg of you not to walk in the heat, Hugh, " his wife pleaded, givinghim an angular parcel enclosing half a chicken and some raisins. 

"Hewet will be our barometer, " said Mr. Elliot. "He will melt before Ishall. " Indeed, if so much as a drop had melted off his spare ribs, thebones would have lain bare. The ladies were left alone now, surrounding_The_ _Times_ which lay upon the floor. Miss Allan looked at herfather's watch. 

"Ten minutes to eleven, " she observed. 

"Work?" asked Mrs. Thornbury. 

"Work, " replied Miss Allan. 

"What a fine creature she is!" murmured Mrs. Thornbury, as the squarefigure in its manly coat withdrew. 

"And I'm sure she has a hard life, " sighed Mrs. Elliot. 

"Oh, it _is_ a hard life, " said Mrs. Thornbury. "Unmarriedwomen--earning their livings--it's the hardest life of all. "

"Yet she seems pretty cheerful, " said Mrs. Elliot. 

"It must be very interesting, " said Mrs. Thornbury. "I envy her herknowledge. "

"But that isn't what women want, " said Mrs. Elliot. 

"I'm afraid it's all a great many can hope to have, " sighed Mrs. Thornbury. "I believe that there are more of us than ever now. SirHarley Lethbridge was telling me only the other day how difficult it isto find boys for the navy--partly because of their teeth, it is true. And I have heard young women talk quite openly of--"

"Dreadful, dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs. Elliot. "The crown, as one may callit, of a woman's life. I, who know what it is to be childless--" shesighed and ceased. 

"But we must not be hard, " said Mrs. Thornbury. "The conditions are somuch changed since I was a young woman. "

"Surely _maternity_ does not change, " said Mrs. Elliot. 

"In some ways we can learn a great deal from the young, " said Mrs. Thornbury. "I learn so much from my own daughters. "

"I believe that Hughling really doesn't mind, " said Mrs. Elliot. "Butthen he has his work. "

"Women without children can do so much for the children of others, "observed Mrs. Thornbury gently. 

"I sketch a great deal, " said Mrs. Elliot, "but that isn't really anoccupation. It's so disconcerting to find girls just beginning doingbetter than one does oneself! And nature's difficult--very difficult!"

"Are there not institutions--clubs--that you could help?" asked Mrs. Thornbury. 

"They are so exhausting, " said Mrs. Elliot. "I look strong, because ofmy colour; but I'm not; the youngest of eleven never is. "

"If the mother is careful before, " said Mrs. Thornbury judicially, "there is no reason why the size of the family should make anydifference. And there is no training like the training that brothers andsisters give each other. I am sure of that. I have seen it with my ownchildren. My eldest boy Ralph, for instance--"

But Mrs. Elliot was inattentive to the elder lady's experience, and hereyes wandered about the hall. 

"My mother had two miscarriages, I know, " she said suddenly. "The firstbecause she met one of those great dancing bears--they shouldn't beallowed; the other--it was a horrid story--our cook had a child andthere was a dinner party. So I put my dyspepsia down to that. "

"And a miscarriage is so much worse than a confinement, " Mrs. Thornburymurmured absentmindedly, adjusting her spectacles and picking up _The__Times_. Mrs. Elliot rose and fluttered away. 

When she had heard what one of the million voices speaking in the paperhad to say, and noticed that a cousin of hers had married a clergyman atMinehead--ignoring the drunken women, the golden animals of Crete, the movements of battalions, the dinners, the reforms, the fires, theindignant, the learned and benevolent, Mrs. Thornbury went upstairs towrite a letter for the mail. 

The paper lay directly beneath the clock, the two together seeming torepresent stability in a changing world. Mr. Perrott passed through;Mr. Venning poised for a second on the edge of a table. Mrs. Paley waswheeled past. Susan followed. Mr. Venning strolled after her. Portuguesemilitary families, their clothes suggesting late rising in untidybedrooms, trailed across, attended by confidential nurses carrying noisychildren. As midday drew on, and the sun beat straight upon the roof, an eddy of great flies droned in a circle; iced drinks were served underthe palms; the long blinds were pulled down with a shriek, turning allthe light yellow. The clock now had a silent hall to tick in, and anaudience of four or five somnolent merchants. By degrees white figureswith shady hats came in at the door, admitting a wedge of the hot summerday, and shutting it out again. After resting in the dimness for aminute, they went upstairs. Simultaneously, the clock wheezed one, andthe gong sounded, beginning softly, working itself into a frenzy, andceasing. There was a pause. Then all those who had gone upstairs camedown; cripples came, planting both feet on the same step lest theyshould slip; prim little girls came, holding the nurse's finger; fat oldmen came still buttoning waistcoats. The gong had been sounded in thegarden, and by degrees recumbent figures rose and strolled in to eat, since the time had come for them to feed again. There were pools andbars of shade in the garden even at midday, where two or three visitorscould lie working or talking at their ease. 

Owing to the heat of the day, luncheon was generally a silent meal, whenpeople observed their neighbors and took stock of any new faces theremight be, hazarding guesses as to who they were and what they did. Mrs. Paley, although well over seventy and crippled in the legs, enjoyed herfood and the peculiarities of her fellow-beings. She was seated at asmall table with Susan. 

"I shouldn't like to say what _she_ is!" she chuckled, surveying a tallwoman dressed conspicuously in white, with paint in the hollows of hercheeks, who was always late, and always attended by a shabby femalefollower, at which remark Susan blushed, and wondered why her aunt saidsuch things. 

Lunch went on methodically, until each of the seven courses was left infragments and the fruit was merely a toy, to be peeled and sliced asa child destroys a daisy, petal by petal. The food served as anextinguisher upon any faint flame of the human spirit that might survivethe midday heat, but Susan sat in her room afterwards, turning over andover the delightful fact that Mr. Venning had come to her in the garden, and had sat there quite half an hour while she read aloud to her aunt. Men and women sought different corners where they could lie unobserved, and from two to four it might be said without exaggeration that thehotel was inhabited by bodies without souls. Disastrous would have beenthe result if a fire or a death had suddenly demanded something heroicof human nature, but tragedies come in the hungry hours. Towards fouro'clock the human spirit again began to lick the body, as a flame licksa black promontory of coal. Mrs. Paley felt it unseemly to open hertoothless jaw so widely, though there was no one near, and Mrs. Elliotsurveyed her found flushed face anxiously in the looking-glass. 

Half an hour later, having removed the traces of sleep, they met eachother in the hall, and Mrs. Paley observed that she was going to haveher tea. 

"You like your tea too, don't you?" she said, and invited Mrs. Elliot, whose husband was still out, to join her at a special table which shehad placed for her under a tree. 

"A little silver goes a long way in this country, " she chuckled. 

She sent Susan back to fetch another cup. 

"They have such excellent biscuits here, " she said, contemplating aplateful. "Not sweet biscuits, which I don't like--dry biscuits . . . Have you been sketching?"

"Oh, I've done two or three little daubs, " said Mrs. Elliot, speakingrather louder than usual. "But it's so difficult after Oxfordshire, where there are so many trees. The light's so strong here. Some peopleadmire it, I know, but I find it very fatiguing. "

"I really don't need cooking, Susan, " said Mrs. Paley, when her niecereturned. "I must trouble you to move me. " Everything had to be moved. Finally the old lady was placed so that the light wavered over her, as though she were a fish in a net. Susan poured out tea, and was justremarking that they were having hot weather in Wiltshire too, when Mr. Venning asked whether he might join them. 

"It's so nice to find a young man who doesn't despise tea, " said Mrs. Paley, regaining her good humour. "One of my nephews the other day askedfor a glass of sherry--at five o'clock! I told him he could get it atthe public house round the corner, but not in my drawing room. "

"I'd rather go without lunch than tea, " said Mr. Venning. "That's notstrictly true. I want both. "

Mr. Venning was a dark young man, about thirty-two years of age, veryslapdash and confident in his manner, although at this moment obviouslya little excited. His friend Mr. Perrott was a barrister, and as Mr. Perrott refused to go anywhere without Mr. Venning it was necessary, when Mr. Perrott came to Santa Marina about a Company, for Mr. Venningto come too. He was a barrister also, but he loathed a profession whichkept him indoors over books, and directly his widowed mother died he wasgoing, so he confided to Susan, to take up flying seriously, and becomepartner in a large business for making aeroplanes. The talk rambled on. It dealt, of course, with the beauties and singularities of the place, the streets, the people, and the quantities of unowned yellow dogs. 

"Don't you think it dreadfully cruel the way they treat dogs in thiscountry?" asked Mrs. Paley. 

"I'd have 'em all shot, " said Mr. Venning. 

"Oh, but the darling puppies, " said Susan. 

"Jolly little chaps, " said Mr. Venning. "Look here, you've got nothingto eat. " A great wedge of cake was handed Susan on the point of atrembling knife. Her hand trembled too as she took it. 

"I have such a dear dog at home, " said Mrs. Elliot. 

"My parrot can't stand dogs, " said Mrs. Paley, with the air of onemaking a confidence. "I always suspect that he (or she) was teased by adog when I was abroad. "

"You didn't get far this morning, Miss Warrington, " said Mr. Venning. 

"It was hot, " she answered. Their conversation became private, owingto Mrs. Paley's deafness and the long sad history which Mrs. Elliot hadembarked upon of a wire-haired terrier, white with just one black spot, belonging to an uncle of hers, which had committed suicide. "Animals docommit suicide, " she sighed, as if she asserted a painful fact. 

"Couldn't we explore the town this evening?" Mr. Venning suggested. 

"My aunt--" Susan began. 

"You deserve a holiday, " he said. "You're always doing things for otherpeople. "

"But that's my life, " she said, under cover of refilling the teapot. 

"That's no one's life, " he returned, "no young person's. You'll come?"

"I should like to come, " she murmured. 

At this moment Mrs. Elliot looked up and exclaimed, "Oh, Hugh! He'sbringing some one, " she added. 

"He would like some tea, " said Mrs. Paley. "Susan, run and get somecups--there are the two young men. "

"We're thirsting for tea, " said Mr. Elliot. "You know Mr. Ambrose, Hilda? We met on the hill. "

"He dragged me in, " said Ridley, "or I should have been ashamed. I'mdusty and dirty and disagreeable. " He pointed to his boots which werewhite with dust, while a dejected flower drooping in his buttonhole, like an exhausted animal over a gate, added to the effect of length anduntidiness. He was introduced to the others. Mr. Hewet and Mr. Hirstbrought chairs, and tea began again, Susan pouring cascades of waterfrom pot to pot, always cheerfully, and with the competence of long use. 

"My wife's brother, " Ridley explained to Hilda, whom he failed toremember, "has a house here, which he has lent us. I was sitting on arock thinking of nothing at all when Elliot started up like a fairy in apantomime. "

"Our chicken got into the salt, " Hewet said dolefully to Susan. "Nor isit true that bananas include moisture as well as sustenance. "

Hirst was already drinking. 

"We've been cursing you, " said Ridley in answer to Mrs. Elliot's kindenquiries about his wife. "You tourists eat up all the eggs, Helentells me. That's an eye-sore too"--he nodded his head at the hotel. "Disgusting luxury, I call it. We live with pigs in the drawing-room. "

"The food is not at all what it ought to be, considering the price, "said Mrs. Paley seriously. "But unless one goes to a hotel where is oneto go to?"

"Stay at home, " said Ridley. "I often wish I had! Everyone ought to stayat home. But, of course, they won't. "

Mrs. Paley conceived a certain grudge against Ridley, who seemed to becriticising her habits after an acquaintance of five minutes. 

"I believe in foreign travel myself, " she stated, "if one knows one'snative land, which I think I can honestly say I do. I should not allowany one to travel until they had visited Kent and Dorsetshire--Kent forthe hops, and Dorsetshire for its old stone cottages. There is nothingto compare with them here. "

"Yes--I always think that some people like the flat and other peoplelike the downs, " said Mrs. Elliot rather vaguely. 

Hirst, who had been eating and drinking without interruption, now lita cigarette, and observed, "Oh, but we're all agreed by this time thatnature's a mistake. She's either very ugly, appallingly uncomfortable, or absolutely terrifying. I don't know which alarms me most--a cow or atree. I once met a cow in a field by night. The creature looked at me. I assure you it turned my hair grey. It's a disgrace that the animalsshould be allowed to go at large. "

"And what did the cow think of _him_?" Venning mumbled to Susan, whoimmediately decided in her own mind that Mr. Hirst was a dreadful youngman, and that although he had such an air of being clever he probablywasn't as clever as Arthur, in the ways that really matter. 

"Wasn't it Wilde who discovered the fact that nature makes no allowancefor hip-bones?" enquired Hughling Elliot. He knew by this time exactlywhat scholarships and distinction Hirst enjoyed, and had formed a veryhigh opinion of his capacities. 

But Hirst merely drew his lips together very tightly and made no reply. 

Ridley conjectured that it was now permissible for him to take hisleave. Politeness required him to thank Mrs. Elliot for his tea, and toadd, with a wave of his hand, "You must come up and see us. "

The wave included both Hirst and Hewet, and Hewet answered, "I shouldlike it immensely. "

The party broke up, and Susan, who had never felt so happy in her life, was just about to start for her walk in the town with Arthur, when Mrs. Paley beckoned her back. She could not understand from the book howDouble Demon patience is played; and suggested that if they sat down andworked it out together it would fill up the time nicely before dinner. 

Chapter X

Among the promises which Mrs. Ambrose had made her niece should she staywas a room cut off from the rest of the house, large, private--a room inwhich she could play, read, think, defy the world, a fortress as well asa sanctuary. Rooms, she knew, became more like worlds than rooms at theage of twenty-four. Her judgment was correct, and when she shut the doorRachel entered an enchanted place, where the poets sang and things fellinto their right proportions. Some days after the vision of the hotelby night she was sitting alone, sunk in an arm-chair, reading abrightly-covered red volume lettered on the back _Works_ _of_ _Henrik__Ibsen_. Music was open on the piano, and books of music rose in twojagged pillars on the floor; but for the moment music was deserted. 

Far from looking bored or absent-minded, her eyes were concentratedalmost sternly upon the page, and from her breathing, which was slow butrepressed, it could be seen that her whole body was constrained by theworking of her mind. At last she shut the book sharply, lay back, anddrew a deep breath, expressive of the wonder which always marks thetransition from the imaginary world to the real world. 

"What I want to know, " she said aloud, "is this: What is the truth?What's the truth of it all?" She was speaking partly as herself, andpartly as the heroine of the play she had just read. The landscapeoutside, because she had seen nothing but print for the space of twohours, now appeared amazingly solid and clear, but although there weremen on the hill washing the trunks of olive trees with a white liquid, for the moment she herself was the most vivid thing in it--an heroicstatue in the middle of the foreground, dominating the view. Ibsen'splays always left her in that condition. She acted them for days at atime, greatly to Helen's amusement; and then it would be Meredith's turnand she became Diana of the Crossways. But Helen was aware that it wasnot all acting, and that some sort of change was taking place in thehuman being. When Rachel became tired of the rigidity of her pose on theback of the chair, she turned round, slid comfortably down into it, andgazed out over the furniture through the window opposite which opened onthe garden. (Her mind wandered away from Nora, but she went on thinkingof things that the book suggested to her, of women and life. )

During the three months she had been here she had made up considerably, as Helen meant she should, for time spent in interminable walks roundsheltered gardens, and the household gossip of her aunts. But Mrs. Ambrose would have been the first to disclaim any influence, or indeedany belief that to influence was within her power. She saw her less shy, and less serious, which was all to the good, and the violent leaps andthe interminable mazes which had led to that result were usually noteven guessed at by her. Talk was the medicine she trusted to, talk abouteverything, talk that was free, unguarded, and as candid as a habit oftalking with men made natural in her own case. Nor did she encouragethose habits of unselfishness and amiability founded upon insinceritywhich are put at so high a value in mixed households of men and women. She desired that Rachel should think, and for this reason offered booksand discouraged too entire a dependence upon Bach and Beethoven andWagner. But when Mrs. Ambrose would have suggested Defoe, Maupassant, orsome spacious chronicle of family life, Rachel chose modern books, booksin shiny yellow covers, books with a great deal of gilding on the back, which were tokens in her aunt's eyes of harsh wrangling and disputesabout facts which had no such importance as the moderns claimed forthem. But she did not interfere. Rachel read what she chose, readingwith the curious literalness of one to whom written sentences areunfamiliar, and handling words as though they were made of wood, separately of great importance, and possessed of shapes like tables orchairs. In this way she came to conclusions, which had to be remodelledaccording to the adventures of the day, and were indeed recast asliberally as any one could desire, leaving always a small grain ofbelief behind them. 

Ibsen was succeeded by a novel such as Mrs. Ambrose detested, whosepurpose was to distribute the guilt of a woman's downfall upon the rightshoulders; a purpose which was achieved, if the reader's discomfortwere any proof of it. She threw the book down, looked out of the window, turned away from the window, and relapsed into an arm-chair. 

The morning was hot, and the exercise of reading left her mindcontracting and expanding like the main-spring of a clock, and thesmall noises of midday, which one can ascribe to no definite cause, ina regular rhythm. It was all very real, very big, very impersonal, andafter a moment or two she began to raise her first finger and to letit fall on the arm of her chair so as to bring back to herself someconsciousness of her own existence. She was next overcome by theunspeakable queerness of the fact that she should be sitting in anarm-chair, in the morning, in the middle of the world. Who were thepeople moving in the house--moving things from one place to another? Andlife, what was that? It was only a light passing over the surface andvanishing, as in time she would vanish, though the furniture in theroom would remain. Her dissolution became so complete that she couldnot raise her finger any more, and sat perfectly still, listening andlooking always at the same spot. It became stranger and stranger. Shewas overcome with awe that things should exist at all. . . . She forgotthat she had any fingers to raise. . . . The things that existed wereso immense and so desolate. . . . She continued to be conscious of thesevast masses of substance for a long stretch of time, the clock stillticking in the midst of the universal silence. 

"Come in, " she said mechanically, for a string in her brain seemed tobe pulled by a persistent knocking at the door. With great slowness thedoor opened and a tall human being came towards her, holding out her armand saying:

"What am I to say to this?"

The utter absurdity of a woman coming into a room with a piece of paperin her hand amazed Rachel. 

"I don't know what to answer, or who Terence Hewet is, " Helen continued, in the toneless voice of a ghost. She put a paper before Rachel on whichwere written the incredible words:

DEAR MRS. AMBROSE--I am getting up a picnic for next Friday, when wepropose to start at eleven-thirty if the weather is fine, and to makethe ascent of Monte Rosa. It will take some time, but the view shouldbe magnificent. It would give me great pleasure if you and Miss Vinracewould consent to be of the party. --

Yours sincerely, TERENCE HEWET

Rachel read the words aloud to make herself believe in them. For thesame reason she put her hand on Helen's shoulder. 

"Books--books--books, " said Helen, in her absent-minded way. "More newbooks--I wonder what you find in them. . . . "

For the second time Rachel read the letter, but to herself. Thistime, instead of seeming vague as ghosts, each word was astonishinglyprominent; they came out as the tops of mountains come through a mist. _Friday_--_eleven-thirty_--_Miss_ _Vinrace_. The blood began to run inher veins; she felt her eyes brighten. 

"We must go, " she said, rather surprising Helen by her decision. "Wemust certainly go"--such was the relief of finding that things stillhappened, and indeed they appeared the brighter for the mist surroundingthem. 

"Monte Rosa--that's the mountain over there, isn't it?" said Helen; "butHewet--who's he? One of the young men Ridley met, I suppose. Shall I sayyes, then? It may be dreadfully dull. "

She took the letter back and went, for the messenger was waiting for heranswer. 

The party which had been suggested a few nights ago in Mr. Hirst'sbedroom had taken shape and was the source of great satisfaction to Mr. Hewet, who had seldom used his practical abilities, and was pleasedto find them equal to the strain. His invitations had been universallyaccepted, which was the more encouraging as they had been issued againstHirst's advice to people who were very dull, not at all suited to eachother, and sure not to come. 

"Undoubtedly, " he said, as he twirled and untwirled a note signed HelenAmbrose, "the gifts needed to make a great commander have been absurdlyoverrated. About half the intellectual effort which is needed to reviewa book of modern poetry has enabled me to get together seven or eightpeople, of opposite sexes, at the same spot at the same hour on the sameday. What else is generalship, Hirst? What more did Wellington do on thefield of Waterloo? It's like counting the number of pebbles of a path, tedious but not difficult. "

He was sitting in his bedroom, one leg over the arm of the chair, andHirst was writing a letter opposite. Hirst was quick to point out thatall the difficulties remained. 

"For instance, here are two women you've never seen. Suppose one of themsuffers from mountain-sickness, as my sister does, and the other--"

"Oh, the women are for you, " Hewet interrupted. "I asked them solely foryour benefit. What you want, Hirst, you know, is the society of youngwomen of your own age. You don't know how to get on with women, which isa great defect, considering that half the world consists of women. "

Hirst groaned that he was quite aware of that. 

But Hewet's complacency was a little chilled as he walked with Hirst tothe place where a general meeting had been appointed. He wondered whyon earth he had asked these people, and what one really expected to getfrom bunching human beings up together. 

"Cows, " he reflected, "draw together in a field; ships in a calm; andwe're just the same when we've nothing else to do. But why do we doit?--is it to prevent ourselves from seeing to the bottom of things"(he stopped by a stream and began stirring it with his walking-stickand clouding the water with mud), "making cities and mountains and wholeuniverses out of nothing, or do we really love each other, or do we, on the other hand, live in a state of perpetual uncertainty, knowingnothing, leaping from moment to moment as from world to world?--whichis, on the whole, the view _I_ incline to. "

He jumped over the stream; Hirst went round and joined him, remarkingthat he had long ceased to look for the reason of any human action. 

Half a mile further, they came to a group of plane trees and thesalmon-pink farmhouse standing by the stream which had been chosen asmeeting-place. It was a shady spot, lying conveniently just where thehill sprung out from the flat. Between the thin stems of the plane treesthe young men could see little knots of donkeys pasturing, and a tallwoman rubbing the nose of one of them, while another woman was kneelingby the stream lapping water out of her palms. 

As they entered the shady place, Helen looked up and then held out herhand. 

"I must introduce myself, " she said. "I am Mrs. Ambrose. "

Having shaken hands, she said, "That's my niece. "

Rachel approached awkwardly. She held out her hand, but withdrew it. "It's all wet, " she said. 

Scarcely had they spoken, when the first carriage drew up. 

The donkeys were quickly jerked into attention, and the second carriagearrived. By degrees the grove filled with people--the Elliots, theThornburys, Mr. Venning and Susan, Miss Allan, Evelyn Murgatroyd, andMr. Perrott. Mr. Hirst acted the part of hoarse energetic sheep-dog. Bymeans of a few words of caustic Latin he had the animals marshalled, andby inclining a sharp shoulder he lifted the ladies. "What Hewet fails tounderstand, " he remarked, "is that we must break the back of theascent before midday. " He was assisting a young lady, by name EvelynMurgatroyd, as he spoke. She rose light as a bubble to her seat. With afeather drooping from a broad-brimmed hat, in white from top to toe, she looked like a gallant lady of the time of Charles the First leadingroyalist troops into action. 

"Ride with me, " she commanded; and, as soon as Hirst had swung himselfacross a mule, the two started, leading the cavalcade. 

"You're not to call me Miss Murgatroyd. I hate it, " she said. "My name'sEvelyn. What's yours?"

"St. John, " he said. 

"I like that, " said Evelyn. "And what's your friend's name?"

"His initials being R. S. T. , we call him Monk, " said Hirst. 

"Oh, you're all too clever, " she said. "Which way? Pick me a branch. Let's canter. "

She gave her donkey a sharp cut with a switch and started forward. Thefull and romantic career of Evelyn Murgatroyd is best hit off by herown words, "Call me Evelyn and I'll call you St. John. " She said thaton very slight provocation--her surname was enough--but although a greatmany young men had answered her already with considerable spirit shewent on saying it and making choice of none. But her donkey stumbled toa jog-trot, and she had to ride in advance alone, for the path whenit began to ascend one of the spines of the hill became narrowand scattered with stones. The cavalcade wound on like a jointedcaterpillar, tufted with the white parasols of the ladies, and thepanama hats of the gentlemen. At one point where the ground rosesharply, Evelyn M. Jumped off, threw her reins to the native boy, andadjured St. John Hirst to dismount too. Their example was followed bythose who felt the need of stretching. 

"I don't see any need to get off, " said Miss Allan to Mrs. Elliot justbehind her, "considering the difficulty I had getting on. "

"These little donkeys stand anything, _n'est-ce_ _pas_?" Mrs. Elliotaddressed the guide, who obligingly bowed his head. 

"Flowers, " said Helen, stooping to pick the lovely little bright flowerswhich grew separately here and there. "You pinch their leaves and thenthey smell, " she said, laying one on Miss Allan's knee. 

"Haven't we met before?" asked Miss Allan, looking at her. 

"I was taking it for granted, " Helen laughed, for in the confusion ofmeeting they had not been introduced. 

"How sensible!" chirped Mrs. Elliot. "That's just what one would alwayslike--only unfortunately it's not possible. " "Not possible?" said Helen. "Everything's possible. Who knows what mayn't happen before night-fall?"she continued, mocking the poor lady's timidity, who depended implicitlyupon one thing following another that the mere glimpse of a worldwhere dinner could be disregarded, or the table moved one inch from itsaccustomed place, filled her with fears for her own stability. 

Higher and higher they went, becoming separated from the world. Theworld, when they turned to look back, flattened itself out, and wasmarked with squares of thin green and grey. 

"Towns are very small, " Rachel remarked, obscuring the whole of SantaMarina and its suburbs with one hand. The sea filled in all the anglesof the coast smoothly, breaking in a white frill, and here and thereships were set firmly in the blue. The sea was stained with purple andgreen blots, and there was a glittering line upon the rim where it metthe sky. The air was very clear and silent save for the sharp noise ofgrasshoppers and the hum of bees, which sounded loud in the ear as theyshot past and vanished. The party halted and sat for a time in a quarryon the hillside. 

"Amazingly clear, " exclaimed St. John, identifying one cleft in the landafter another. 

Evelyn M. Sat beside him, propping her chin on her hand. She surveyedthe view with a certain look of triumph. 

"D'you think Garibaldi was ever up here?" she asked Mr. Hirst. Oh, ifshe had been his bride! If, instead of a picnic party, this was a partyof patriots, and she, red-shirted like the rest, had lain among grimmen, flat on the turf, aiming her gun at the white turrets beneath them, screening her eyes to pierce through the smoke! So thinking, her footstirred restlessly, and she exclaimed:

"I don't call this _life_, do you?"

"What do you call life?" said St. John. 

"Fighting--revolution, " she said, still gazing at the doomed city. "Youonly care for books, I know. "

"You're quite wrong, " said St. John. 

"Explain, " she urged, for there were no guns to be aimed at bodies, andshe turned to another kind of warfare. 

"What do I care for? People, " he said. 

"Well, I _am_ surprised!" she exclaimed. "You look so awfully serious. Do let's be friends and tell each other what we're like. I hate beingcautious, don't you?"

But St. John was decidedly cautious, as she could see by the suddenconstriction of his lips, and had no intention of revealing his soul toa young lady. "The ass is eating my hat, " he remarked, and stretched outfor it instead of answering her. Evelyn blushed very slightly and thenturned with some impetuosity upon Mr. Perrott, and when they mountedagain it was Mr. Perrott who lifted her to her seat. 

"When one has laid the eggs one eats the omelette, " said HughlingElliot, exquisitely in French, a hint to the rest of them that it wastime to ride on again. 

The midday sun which Hirst had foretold was beginning to beat downhotly. The higher they got the more of the sky appeared, until themountain was only a small tent of earth against an enormous bluebackground. The English fell silent; the natives who walked beside thedonkeys broke into queer wavering songs and tossed jokes from one to theother. The way grew very steep, and each rider kept his eyes fixed onthe hobbling curved form of the rider and donkey directly in front ofhim. Rather more strain was being put upon their bodies than is quitelegitimate in a party of pleasure, and Hewet overheard one or twoslightly grumbling remarks. 

"Expeditions in such heat are perhaps a little unwise, " Mrs. Elliotmurmured to Miss Allan. 

But Miss Allan returned, "I always like to get to the top"; and it wastrue, although she was a big woman, stiff in the joints, and unused todonkey-riding, but as her holidays were few she made the most of them. 

The vivacious white figure rode well in front; she had somehow possessedherself of a leafy branch and wore it round her hat like a garland. Theywent on for a few minutes in silence. 

"The view will be wonderful, " Hewet assured them, turning round in hissaddle and smiling encouragement. Rachel caught his eye and smiled too. They struggled on for some time longer, nothing being heard but theclatter of hooves striving on the loose stones. Then they saw thatEvelyn was off her ass, and that Mr. Perrott was standing in theattitude of a statesman in Parliament Square, stretching an arm of stonetowards the view. A little to the left of them was a low ruined wall, the stump of an Elizabethan watch-tower. 

"I couldn't have stood it much longer, " Mrs. Elliot confided to Mrs. Thornbury, but the excitement of being at the top in another moment andseeing the view prevented any one from answering her. One after anotherthey came out on the flat space at the top and stood overcome withwonder. Before them they beheld an immense space--grey sands runninginto forest, and forest merging in mountains, and mountains washed byair, the infinite distances of South America. A river ran across theplain, as flat as the land, and appearing quite as stationary. Theeffect of so much space was at first rather chilling. They feltthemselves very small, and for some time no one said anything. ThenEvelyn exclaimed, "Splendid!" She took hold of the hand that was nexther; it chanced to be Miss Allan's hand. 

"North--South--East--West, " said Miss Allan, jerking her head slightlytowards the points of the compass. 

Hewet, who had gone a little in front, looked up at his guests as if tojustify himself for having brought them. He observed how strangely thepeople standing in a row with their figures bent slightly forwardand their clothes plastered by the wind to the shape of their bodiesresembled naked statues. On their pedestal of earth they lookedunfamiliar and noble, but in another moment they had broken their rank, and he had to see to the laying out of food. Hirst came to his help, andthey handed packets of chicken and bread from one to another. 

As St. John gave Helen her packet she looked him full in the face andsaid:

"Do you remember--two women?"

He looked at her sharply. 

"I do, " he answered. 

"So you're the two women!" Hewet exclaimed, looking from Helen toRachel. 

"Your lights tempted us, " said Helen. "We watched you playing cards, butwe never knew that we were being watched. "

"It was like a thing in a play, " Rachel added. 

"And Hirst couldn't describe you, " said Hewet. 

It was certainly odd to have seen Helen and to find nothing to say abouther. 

Hughling Elliot put up his eyeglass and grasped the situation. 

"I don't know of anything more dreadful, " he said, pulling at the jointof a chicken's leg, "than being seen when one isn't conscious of it. Onefeels sure one has been caught doing something ridiculous--looking atone's tongue in a hansom, for instance. "

Now the others ceased to look at the view, and drawing together sat downin a circle round the baskets. 

"And yet those little looking-glasses in hansoms have a fascination oftheir own, " said Mrs. Thornbury. "One's features look so different whenone can only see a bit of them. "

"There will soon be very few hansom cabs left, " said Mrs. Elliot. "Andfour-wheeled cabs--I assure you even at Oxford it's almost impossible toget a four-wheeled cab. "

"I wonder what happens to the horses, " said Susan. 

"Veal pie, " said Arthur. 

"It's high time that horses should become extinct anyhow, " said Hirst. "They're distressingly ugly, besides being vicious. "

But Susan, who had been brought up to understand that the horse is thenoblest of God's creatures, could not agree, and Venning thought Hirstan unspeakable ass, but was too polite not to continue the conversation. 

"When they see us falling out of aeroplanes they get some of their ownback, I expect, " he remarked. 

"You fly?" said old Mr. Thornbury, putting on his spectacles to look athim. 

"I hope to, some day, " said Arthur. 

Here flying was discussed at length, and Mrs. Thornbury delivered anopinion which was almost a speech to the effect that it would be quitenecessary in time of war, and in England we were terribly behind-hand. "If I were a young fellow, " she concluded, "I should certainly qualify. "It was odd to look at the little elderly lady, in her grey coat andskirt, with a sandwich in her hand, her eyes lighting up with zealas she imagined herself a young man in an aeroplane. For some reason, however, the talk did not run easily after this, and all they said wasabout drink and salt and the view. Suddenly Miss Allan, who wasseated with her back to the ruined wall, put down her sandwich, picked something off her neck, and remarked, "I'm covered with littlecreatures. " It was true, and the discovery was very welcome. The antswere pouring down a glacier of loose earth heaped between the stones ofthe ruin--large brown ants with polished bodies. She held out one on theback of her hand for Helen to look at. 

"Suppose they sting?" said Helen. 

"They will not sting, but they may infest the victuals, " said MissAllan, and measures were taken at once to divert the ants from theircourse. At Hewet's suggestion it was decided to adopt the methods ofmodern warfare against an invading army. The table-cloth represented theinvaded country, and round it they built barricades of baskets, setup the wine bottles in a rampart, made fortifications of bread and dugfosses of salt. When an ant got through it was exposed to a fire ofbread-crumbs, until Susan pronounced that that was cruel, and rewardedthose brave spirits with spoil in the shape of tongue. Playing this gamethey lost their stiffness, and even became unusually daring, for Mr. Perrott, who was very shy, said, "Permit me, " and removed an ant fromEvelyn's neck. 

"It would be no laughing matter really, " said Mrs. Elliot confidentiallyto Mrs. Thornbury, "if an ant did get between the vest and the skin. "

The noise grew suddenly more clamorous, for it was discovered that along line of ants had found their way on to the table-cloth by a backentrance, and if success could be gauged by noise, Hewet had everyreason to think his party a success. Nevertheless he became, for noreason at all, profoundly depressed. 

"They are not satisfactory; they are ignoble, " he thought, surveyinghis guests from a little distance, where he was gathering together theplates. He glanced at them all, stooping and swaying and gesticulatinground the table-cloth. Amiable and modest, respectable in many ways, lovable even in their contentment and desire to be kind, how mediocrethey all were, and capable of what insipid cruelty to one another!There was Mrs. Thornbury, sweet but trivial in her maternal egoism; Mrs. Elliot, perpetually complaining of her lot; her husband a mere pea ina pod; and Susan--she had no self, and counted neither one way nor theother; Venning was as honest and as brutal as a schoolboy; poor oldThornbury merely trod his round like a horse in a mill; and the lessone examined into Evelyn's character the better, he suspected. Yet thesewere the people with money, and to them rather than to others was giventhe management of the world. Put among them some one more vital, whocared for life or for beauty, and what an agony, what a waste would theyinflict on him if he tried to share with them and not to scourge!

"There's Hirst, " he concluded, coming to the figure of his friend; withhis usual little frown of concentration upon his forehead he was peelingthe skin off a banana. "And he's as ugly as sin. " For the ugliness ofSt. John Hirst, and the limitations that went with it, he made the restin some way responsible. It was their fault that he had to live alone. Then he came to Helen, attracted to her by the sound of her laugh. Shewas laughing at Miss Allan. "You wear combinations in this heat?" shesaid in a voice which was meant to be private. He liked the look of herimmensely, not so much her beauty, but her largeness and simplicity, which made her stand out from the rest like a great stone woman, andhe passed on in a gentler mood. His eye fell upon Rachel. She was lyingback rather behind the others resting on one elbow; she might have beenthinking precisely the same thoughts as Hewet himself. Her eyes werefixed rather sadly but not intently upon the row of people opposite her. Hewet crawled up to her on his knees, with a piece of bread in his hand. 

"What are you looking at?" he asked. 

She was a little startled, but answered directly, "Human beings. "

Chapter XI

One after another they rose and stretched themselves, and in a fewminutes divided more or less into two separate parties. One of theseparties was dominated by Hughling Elliot and Mrs. Thornbury, who, havingboth read the same books and considered the same questions, were nowanxious to name the places beneath them and to hang upon them storesof information about navies and armies, political parties, natives andmineral products--all of which combined, they said, to prove that SouthAmerica was the country of the future. 

Evelyn M. Listened with her bright blue eyes fixed upon the oracles. 

"How it makes one long to be a man!" she exclaimed. 

Mr. Perrott answered, surveying the plain, that a country with a futurewas a very fine thing. 

"If I were you, " said Evelyn, turning to him and drawing her glovevehemently through her fingers, "I'd raise a troop and conquer somegreat territory and make it splendid. You'd want women for that. I'dlove to start life from the very beginning as it ought to be--nothingsqualid--but great halls and gardens and splendid men and women. Butyou--you only like Law Courts!"

"And would you really be content without pretty frocks and sweets andall the things young ladies like?" asked Mr. Perrott, concealing acertain amount of pain beneath his ironical manner. 

"I'm not a young lady, " Evelyn flashed; she bit her underlip. "Justbecause I like splendid things you laugh at me. Why are there no menlike Garibaldi now?" she demanded. 

"Look here, " said Mr. Perrott, "you don't give me a chance. You think weought to begin things fresh. Good. But I don't see precisely--conquer aterritory? They're all conquered already, aren't they?"

"It's not any territory in particular, " Evelyn explained. "It's theidea, don't you see? We lead such tame lives. And I feel sure you've gotsplendid things in you. "

Hewet saw the scars and hollows in Mr. Perrott's sagacious face relaxpathetically. He could imagine the calculations which even then went onwithin his mind, as to whether he would be justified in asking a womanto marry him, considering that he made no more than five hundred ayear at the Bar, owned no private means, and had an invalid sister tosupport. Mr. Perrott again knew that he was not "quite, " as Susan statedin her diary; not quite a gentleman she meant, for he was the son of agrocer in Leeds, had started life with a basket on his back, and now, though practically indistinguishable from a born gentleman, showed hisorigin to keen eyes in an impeccable neatness of dress, lack of freedomin manner, extreme cleanliness of person, and a certain indescribabletimidity and precision with his knife and fork which might be the relicof days when meat was rare, and the way of handling it by no meansgingerly. 

The two parties who were strolling about and losing their unity nowcame together, and joined each other in a long stare over the yellow andgreen patches of the heated landscape below. The hot air danced acrossit, making it impossible to see the roofs of a village on the plaindistinctly. Even on the top of the mountain where a breeze playedlightly, it was very hot, and the heat, the food, the immense space, andperhaps some less well-defined cause produced a comfortable drowsinessand a sense of happy relaxation in them. They did not say much, but feltno constraint in being silent. 

"Suppose we go and see what's to be seen over there?" said Arthur toSusan, and the pair walked off together, their departure certainlysending some thrill of emotion through the rest. 

"An odd lot, aren't they?" said Arthur. "I thought we should neverget 'em all to the top. But I'm glad we came, by Jove! I wouldn't havemissed this for something. "

"I don't _like_ Mr. Hirst, " said Susan inconsequently. "I suppose he'svery clever, but why should clever people be so--I expect he's awfullynice, really, " she added, instinctively qualifying what might haveseemed an unkind remark. 

"Hirst? Oh, he's one of these learned chaps, " said Arthur indifferently. "He don't look as if he enjoyed it. You should hear him talking toElliot. It's as much as I can do to follow 'em at all. . . . I was nevergood at my books. "

With these sentences and the pauses that came between them they reacheda little hillock, on the top of which grew several slim trees. 

"D'you mind if we sit down here?" said Arthur, looking about him. "It'sjolly in the shade--and the view--" They sat down, and looked straightahead of them in silence for some time. 

"But I do envy those clever chaps sometimes, " Arthur remarked. "I don'tsuppose they ever . . . " He did not finish his sentence. 

"I can't see why you should envy them, " said Susan, with greatsincerity. 

"Odd things happen to one, " said Arthur. "One goes along smoothlyenough, one thing following another, and it's all very jolly and plainsailing, and you think you know all about it, and suddenly one doesn'tknow where one is a bit, and everything seems different from what itused to seem. Now to-day, coming up that path, riding behind you, Iseemed to see everything as if--" he paused and plucked a piece ofgrass up by the roots. He scattered the little lumps of earth which weresticking to the roots--"As if it had a kind of meaning. You've made thedifference to me, " he jerked out, "I don't see why I shouldn't tell you. I've felt it ever since I knew you. . . . It's because I love you. "

Even while they had been saying commonplace things Susan had beenconscious of the excitement of intimacy, which seemed not only to laybare something in her, but in the trees and the sky, and the progress ofhis speech which seemed inevitable was positively painful to her, for nohuman being had ever come so close to her before. 

She was struck motionless as his speech went on, and her heart gavegreat separate leaps at the last words. She sat with her fingers curledround a stone, looking straight in front of her down the mountain overthe plain. So then, it had actually happened to her, a proposal ofmarriage. 

Arthur looked round at her; his face was oddly twisted. She was drawingher breath with such difficulty that she could hardly answer. 

"You might have known. " He seized her in his arms; again and again andagain they clasped each other, murmuring inarticulately. 

"Well, " sighed Arthur, sinking back on the ground, "that's the mostwonderful thing that's ever happened to me. " He looked as if he weretrying to put things seen in a dream beside real things. 

There was a long silence. 

"It's the most perfect thing in the world, " Susan stated, very gentlyand with great conviction. It was no longer merely a proposal ofmarriage, but of marriage with Arthur, with whom she was in love. 

In the silence that followed, holding his hand tightly in hers, sheprayed to God that she might make him a good wife. 

"And what will Mr. Perrott say?" she asked at the end of it. 

"Dear old fellow, " said Arthur who, now that the first shock was over, was relaxing into an enormous sense of pleasure and contentment. "Wemust be very nice to him, Susan. "

He told her how hard Perrott's life had been, and how absurdly devotedhe was to Arthur himself. He went on to tell her about his mother, awidow lady, of strong character. In return Susan sketched the portraitsof her own family--Edith in particular, her youngest sister, whom sheloved better than any one else, "except you, Arthur. . . . Arthur, " shecontinued, "what was it that you first liked me for?"

"It was a buckle you wore one night at sea, " said Arthur, afterdue consideration. "I remember noticing--it's an absurd thing tonotice!--that you didn't take peas, because I don't either. "

From this they went on to compare their more serious tastes, or ratherSusan ascertained what Arthur cared about, and professed herself veryfond of the same thing. They would live in London, perhaps have acottage in the country near Susan's family, for they would find itstrange without her at first. Her mind, stunned to begin with, now flewto the various changes that her engagement would make--how delightful itwould be to join the ranks of the married women--no longer to hang on togroups of girls much younger than herself--to escape the long solitudeof an old maid's life. Now and then her amazing good fortune overcameher, and she turned to Arthur with an exclamation of love. 

They lay in each other's arms and had no notion that they were observed. Yet two figures suddenly appeared among the trees above them. "Here'sshade, " began Hewet, when Rachel suddenly stopped dead. They saw a manand woman lying on the ground beneath them, rolling slightly thisway and that as the embrace tightened and slackened. The man then satupright and the woman, who now appeared to be Susan Warrington, lay backupon the ground, with her eyes shut and an absorbed look upon her face, as though she were not altogether conscious. Nor could you tell from herexpression whether she was happy, or had suffered something. When Arthuragain turned to her, butting her as a lamb butts a ewe, Hewet and Rachelretreated without a word. Hewet felt uncomfortably shy. 

"I don't like that, " said Rachel after a moment. 

"I can remember not liking it either, " said Hewet. "I can remember--"but he changed his mind and continued in an ordinary tone of voice, "Well, we may take it for granted that they're engaged. D'you thinkhe'll ever fly, or will she put a stop to that?"

But Rachel was still agitated; she could not get away from the sightthey had just seen. Instead of answering Hewet she persisted. 

"Love's an odd thing, isn't it, making one's heart beat. "

"It's so enormously important, you see, " Hewet replied. "Their lives arenow changed for ever. "

"And it makes one sorry for them too, " Rachel continued, as though shewere tracing the course of her feelings. "I don't know either of them, but I could almost burst into tears. That's silly, isn't it?"

"Just because they're in love, " said Hewet. "Yes, " he added after amoment's consideration, "there's something horribly pathetic about it, Iagree. "

And now, as they had walked some way from the grove of trees, and hadcome to a rounded hollow very tempting to the back, they proceededto sit down, and the impression of the lovers lost some of its force, though a certain intensity of vision, which was probably the result ofthe sight, remained with them. As a day upon which any emotion has beenrepressed is different from other days, so this day was now different, merely because they had seen other people at a crisis of their lives. 

"A great encampment of tents they might be, " said Hewet, looking infront of him at the mountains. "Isn't it like a water-colour too--youknow the way water-colours dry in ridges all across the paper--I've beenwondering what they looked like. "

His eyes became dreamy, as though he were matching things, and remindedRachel in their colour of the green flesh of a snail. She sat beside himlooking at the mountains too. When it became painful to look any longer, the great size of the view seeming to enlarge her eyes beyond theirnatural limit, she looked at the ground; it pleased her to scrutinisethis inch of the soil of South America so minutely that she noticedevery grain of earth and made it into a world where she was endowed withthe supreme power. She bent a blade of grass, and set an insect on theutmost tassel of it, and wondered if the insect realised his strangeadventure, and thought how strange it was that she should have bent thattassel rather than any other of the million tassels. 

"You've never told me you name, " said Hewet suddenly. "Miss SomebodyVinrace. . . . I like to know people's Christian names. "

"Rachel, " she replied. 

"Rachel, " he repeated. "I have an aunt called Rachel, who put the lifeof Father Damien into verse. She is a religious fanatic--the result ofthe way she was brought up, down in Northamptonshire, never seeing asoul. Have you any aunts?"

"I live with them, " said Rachel. 

"And I wonder what they're doing now?" Hewet enquired. 

"They are probably buying wool, " Rachel determined. She tried todescribe them. "They are small, rather pale women, " she began, "veryclean. We live in Richmond. They have an old dog, too, who will onlyeat the marrow out of bones. . . . They are always going to church. They tidy their drawers a good deal. " But here she was overcome by thedifficulty of describing people. 

"It's impossible to believe that it's all going on still!" sheexclaimed. 

The sun was behind them and two long shadows suddenly lay upon theground in front of them, one waving because it was made by a skirt, andthe other stationary, because thrown by a pair of legs in trousers. 

"You look very comfortable!" said Helen's voice above them. 

"Hirst, " said Hewet, pointing at the scissorlike shadow; he then rolledround to look up at them. 

"There's room for us all here, " he said. 

When Hirst had seated himself comfortably, he said:

"Did you congratulate the young couple?"

It appeared that, coming to the same spot a few minutes after Hewet andRachel, Helen and Hirst had seen precisely the same thing. 

"No, we didn't congratulate them, " said Hewet. "They seemed very happy. "

"Well, " said Hirst, pursing up his lips, "so long as I needn't marryeither of them--"

"We were very much moved, " said Hewet. 

"I thought you would be, " said Hirst. "Which was it, Monk? The thoughtof the immortal passions, or the thought of new-born males to keep theRoman Catholics out? I assure you, " he said to Helen, "he's capable ofbeing moved by either. "

Rachel was a good deal stung by his banter, which she felt to bedirected equally against them both, but she could think of no repartee. 

"Nothing moves Hirst, " Hewet laughed; he did not seem to be stung atall. "Unless it were a transfinite number falling in love with a finiteone--I suppose such things do happen, even in mathematics. "

"On the contrary, " said Hirst with a touch of annoyance, "I considermyself a person of very strong passions. " It was clear from the way hespoke that he meant it seriously; he spoke of course for the benefit ofthe ladies. 

"By the way, Hirst, " said Hewet, after a pause, "I have a terribleconfession to make. Your book--the poems of Wordsworth, which if youremember I took off your table just as we were starting, and certainlyput in my pocket here--"

"Is lost, " Hirst finished for him. 

"I consider that there is still a chance, " Hewet urged, slapping himselfto right and left, "that I never did take it after all. "

"No, " said Hirst. "It is here. " He pointed to his breast. 

"Thank God, " Hewet exclaimed. "I need no longer feel as though I'dmurdered a child!"

"I should think you were always losing things, " Helen remarked, lookingat him meditatively. 

"I don't lose things, " said Hewet. "I mislay them. That was the reasonwhy Hirst refused to share a cabin with me on the voyage out. "

"You came out together?" Helen enquired. 

"I propose that each member of this party now gives a short biographicalsketch of himself or herself, " said Hirst, sitting upright. "MissVinrace, you come first; begin. "

Rachel stated that she was twenty-four years of age, the daughter of aship-owner, that she had never been properly educated; played the piano, had no brothers or sisters, and lived at Richmond with aunts, her motherbeing dead. 

"Next, " said Hirst, having taken in these facts; he pointed at Hewet. "Iam the son of an English gentleman. I am twenty-seven, " Hewet began. "Myfather was a fox-hunting squire. He died when I was ten in the huntingfield. I can remember his body coming home, on a shutter I suppose, justas I was going down to tea, and noticing that there was jam for tea, andwondering whether I should be allowed--"

"Yes; but keep to the facts, " Hirst put in. 

"I was educated at Winchester and Cambridge, which I had to leave aftera time. I have done a good many things since--"

"Profession?"

"None--at least--"

"Tastes?"

"Literary. I'm writing a novel. "

"Brothers and sisters?"

"Three sisters, no brother, and a mother. "

"Is that all we're to hear about you?" said Helen. She stated that shewas very old--forty last October, and her father had been a solicitor inthe city who had gone bankrupt, for which reason she had never had mucheducation--they lived in one place after another--but an elder brotherused to lend her books. 

"If I were to tell you everything--" she stopped and smiled. "It wouldtake too long, " she concluded. "I married when I was thirty, and I havetwo children. My husband is a scholar. And now--it's your turn, " shenodded at Hirst. 

"You've left out a great deal, " he reproved her. "My nameis St. John Alaric Hirst, " he began in a jaunty tone of voice. "I'm twenty-four years old. I'm the son of the Reverend SidneyHirst, vicar of Great Wappyng in Norfolk. Oh, I got scholarshipseverywhere--Westminster--King's. I'm now a fellow of King's. Don't itsound dreary? Parents both alive (alas). Two brothers and one sister. I'm a very distinguished young man, " he added. 

"One of the three, or is it five, most distinguished men in England, "Hewet remarked. 

"Quite correct, " said Hirst. 

"That's all very interesting, " said Helen after a pause. "But of coursewe've left out the only questions that matter. For instance, are weChristians?"

"I am not, " "I am not, " both the young men replied. 

"I am, " Rachel stated. 

"You believe in a personal God?" Hirst demanded, turning round andfixing her with his eyeglasses. 

"I believe--I believe, " Rachel stammered, "I believe there are thingswe don't know about, and the world might change in a minute and anythingappear. "

At this Helen laughed outright. "Nonsense, " she said. "You're not aChristian. You've never thought what you are. --And there are lots ofother questions, " she continued, "though perhaps we can't ask them yet. "Although they had talked so freely they were all uncomfortably consciousthat they really knew nothing about each other. 

"The important questions, " Hewet pondered, "the really interesting ones. I doubt that one ever does ask them. "

Rachel, who was slow to accept the fact that only a very few things canbe said even by people who know each other well, insisted on knowingwhat he meant. 

"Whether we've ever been in love?" she enquired. "Is that the kind ofquestion you mean?"

Again Helen laughed at her, benignantly strewing her with handfuls ofthe long tasselled grass, for she was so brave and so foolish. 

"Oh, Rachel, " she cried. "It's like having a puppy in the house havingyou with one--a puppy that brings one's underclothes down into thehall. "

But again the sunny earth in front of them was crossed by fantasticwavering figures, the shadows of men and women. 

"There they are!" exclaimed Mrs. Elliot. There was a touch ofpeevishness in her voice. "And we've had _such_ a hunt to find you. Doyou know what the time is?"

Mrs. Elliot and Mr. And Mrs. Thornbury now confronted them; Mrs. Elliotwas holding out her watch, and playfully tapping it upon the face. Hewet was recalled to the fact that this was a party for which he wasresponsible, and he immediately led them back to the watch-tower, wherethey were to have tea before starting home again. A bright crimson scarffluttered from the top of the wall, which Mr. Perrott and Evelyn weretying to a stone as the others came up. The heat had changed just sofar that instead of sitting in the shadow they sat in the sun, whichwas still hot enough to paint their faces red and yellow, and to colourgreat sections of the earth beneath them. 

"There's nothing half so nice as tea!" said Mrs. Thornbury, taking hercup. 

"Nothing, " said Helen. "Can't you remember as a child chopping up hay--"she spoke much more quickly than usual, and kept her eye fixed uponMrs. Thornbury, "and pretending it was tea, and getting scolded by thenurses--why I can't imagine, except that nurses are such brutes, won'tallow pepper instead of salt though there's no earthly harm in it. Weren't your nurses just the same?"

During this speech Susan came into the group, and sat down by Helen'sside. A few minutes later Mr. Venning strolled up from the oppositedirection. He was a little flushed, and in the mood to answerhilariously whatever was said to him. 

"What have you been doing to that old chap's grave?" he asked, pointingto the red flag which floated from the top of the stones. 

"We have tried to make him forget his misfortune in having died threehundred years ago, " said Mr. Perrott. 

"It would be awful--to be dead!" ejaculated Evelyn M. 

"To be dead?" said Hewet. "I don't think it would be awful. It's quiteeasy to imagine. When you go to bed to-night fold your hands so--breatheslower and slower--" He lay back with his hands clasped upon his breast, and his eyes shut, "Now, " he murmured in an even monotonous voice, "Ishall never, never, never move again. " His body, lying flat among them, did for a moment suggest death. 

"This is a horrible exhibition, Mr. Hewet!" cried Mrs. Thornbury. 

"More cake for us!" said Arthur. 

"I assure you there's nothing horrible about it, " said Hewet, sitting upand laying hands upon the cake. 

"It's so natural, " he repeated. "People with children should make themdo that exercise every night. . . . Not that I look forward to beingdead. "

"And when you allude to a grave, " said Mr. Thornbury, who spoke almostfor the first time, "have you any authority for calling that ruina grave? I am quite with you in refusing to accept the commoninterpretation which declares it to be the remains of an Elizabethanwatch-tower--any more than I believe that the circular mounds orbarrows which we find on the top of our English downs were camps. Theantiquaries call everything a camp. I am always asking them, Well then, where do you think our ancestors kept their cattle? Half the camps inEngland are merely the ancient pound or barton as we call it in my partof the world. The argument that no one would keep his cattle in suchexposed and inaccessible spots has no weight at all, if you reflect thatin those days a man's cattle were his capital, his stock-in-trade, hisdaughter's dowries. Without cattle he was a serf, another man's man. . . . "His eyes slowly lost their intensity, and he muttered a fewconcluding words under his breath, looking curiously old and forlorn. 

Hughling Elliot, who might have been expected to engage the oldgentleman in argument, was absent at the moment. He now came up holdingout a large square of cotton upon which a fine design was printed inpleasant bright colours that made his hand look pale. 

"A bargain, " he announced, laying it down on the cloth. "I've justbought it from the big man with the ear-rings. Fine, isn't it? Itwouldn't suit every one, of course, but it's just the thing--isn't it, Hilda?--for Mrs. Raymond Parry. "

"Mrs. Raymond Parry!" cried Helen and Mrs. Thornbury at the same moment. 

They looked at each other as though a mist hitherto obscuring theirfaces had been blown away. 

"Ah--you have been to those wonderful parties too?" Mrs. Elliot askedwith interest. 

Mrs. Parry's drawing-room, though thousands of miles away, behind a vastcurve of water on a tiny piece of earth, came before their eyes. Theywho had had no solidity or anchorage before seemed to be attached to itsomehow, and at once grown more substantial. Perhaps they had been inthe drawing-room at the same moment; perhaps they had passed each otheron the stairs; at any rate they knew some of the same people. Theylooked one another up and down with new interest. But they could do nomore than look at each other, for there was no time to enjoy the fruitsof the discovery. The donkeys were advancing, and it was advisable tobegin the descent immediately, for the night fell so quickly that itwould be dark before they were home again. 

Accordingly, remounting in order, they filed off down the hillside. Scraps of talk came floating back from one to another. There were jokesto begin with, and laughter; some walked part of the way, and pickedflowers, and sent stones bounding before them. 

"Who writes the best Latin verse in your college, Hirst?" Mr. Elliotcalled back incongruously, and Mr. Hirst returned that he had no idea. 

The dusk fell as suddenly as the natives had warned them, the hollowsof the mountain on either side filling up with darkness and the pathbecoming so dim that it was surprising to hear the donkeys' hooves stillstriking on hard rock. Silence fell upon one, and then upon another, until they were all silent, their minds spilling out into the deep blueair. The way seemed shorter in the dark than in the day; and soon thelights of the town were seen on the flat far beneath them. 

Suddenly some one cried, "Ah!"

In a moment the slow yellow drop rose again from the plain below; itrose, paused, opened like a flower, and fell in a shower of drops. 

"Fireworks, " they cried. 

Another went up more quickly; and then another; they could almost hearit twist and roar. 

"Some Saint's day, I suppose, " said a voice. The rush and embrace ofthe rockets as they soared up into the air seemed like the fiery way inwhich lovers suddenly rose and united, leaving the crowd gazing up atthem with strained white faces. But Susan and Arthur, riding down thehill, never said a word to each other, and kept accurately apart. 

Then the fireworks became erratic, and soon they ceased altogether, andthe rest of the journey was made almost in darkness, the mountain beinga great shadow behind them, and bushes and trees little shadows whichthrew darkness across the road. Among the plane-trees they separated, bundling into carriages and driving off, without saying good-night, orsaying it only in a half-muffled way. 

It was so late that there was no time for normal conversation betweentheir arrival at the hotel and their retirement to bed. But Hirstwandered into Hewet's room with a collar in his hand. 

"Well, Hewet, " he remarked, on the crest of a gigantic yawn, "that was agreat success, I consider. " He yawned. "But take care you're not landedwith that young woman. . . . I don't really like young women. . . . "

Hewet was too much drugged by hours in the open air to make any reply. In fact every one of the party was sound asleep within ten minutes orso of each other, with the exception of Susan Warrington. She lay fora considerable time looking blankly at the wall opposite, her handsclasped above her heart, and her light burning by her side. Allarticulate thought had long ago deserted her; her heart seemed to havegrown to the size of a sun, and to illuminate her entire body, sheddinglike the sun a steady tide of warmth. 

"I'm happy, I'm happy, I'm happy, " she repeated. "I love every one. I'mhappy. "

Chapter XII

When Susan's engagement had been approved at home, and made public toany one who took an interest in it at the hotel--and by this time thesociety at the hotel was divided so as to point to invisible chalk-markssuch as Mr. Hirst had described, the news was felt to justify somecelebration--an expedition? That had been done already. A dance then. The advantage of a dance was that it abolished one of those longevenings which were apt to become tedious and lead to absurdly earlyhours in spite of bridge. 

Two or three people standing under the erect body of the stuffed leopardin the hall very soon had the matter decided. Evelyn slid a pace or twothis way and that, and pronounced that the floor was excellent. Signor Rodriguez informed them of an old Spaniard who fiddled atweddings--fiddled so as to make a tortoise waltz; and his daughter, although endowed with eyes as black as coal-scuttles, had the samepower over the piano. If there were any so sick or so surly as to prefersedentary occupations on the night in question to spinning and watchingothers spin, the drawing-room and billiard-room were theirs. Hewet madeit his business to conciliate the outsiders as much as possible. ToHirst's theory of the invisible chalk-marks he would pay no attentionwhatever. He was treated to a snub or two, but, in reward, found obscurelonely gentlemen delighted to have this opportunity of talking totheir kind, and the lady of doubtful character showed every symptom ofconfiding her case to him in the near future. Indeed it was made quiteobvious to him that the two or three hours between dinner and bedcontained an amount of unhappiness, which was really pitiable, so manypeople had not succeeded in making friends. 

It was settled that the dance was to be on Friday, one week after theengagement, and at dinner Hewet declared himself satisfied. 

"They're all coming!" he told Hirst. "Pepper!" he called, seeing WilliamPepper slip past in the wake of the soup with a pamphlet beneath hisarm, "We're counting on you to open the ball. "

"You will certainly put sleep out of the question, " Pepper returned. 

"You are to take the floor with Miss Allan, " Hewet continued, consultinga sheet of pencilled notes. 

Pepper stopped and began a discourse upon round dances, country dances, morris dances, and quadrilles, all of which are entirely superior to thebastard waltz and spurious polka which have ousted them most unjustlyin contemporary popularity--when the waiters gently pushed him on to histable in the corner. 

The dining-room at this moment had a certain fantastic resemblance to afarmyard scattered with grain on which bright pigeons kept descending. Almost all the ladies wore dresses which they had not yet displayed, andtheir hair rose in waves and scrolls so as to appear like carved wood inGothic churches rather than hair. The dinner was shorter and less formalthan usual, even the waiters seeming to be affected with the generalexcitement. Ten minutes before the clock struck nine the committee madea tour through the ballroom. The hall, when emptied of its furniture, brilliantly lit, adorned with flowers whose scent tinged the air, presented a wonderful appearance of ethereal gaiety. 

"It's like a starlit sky on an absolutely cloudless night, " Hewetmurmured, looking about him, at the airy empty room. 

"A heavenly floor, anyhow, " Evelyn added, taking a run and sliding twoor three feet along. 

"What about those curtains?" asked Hirst. The crimson curtains weredrawn across the long windows. "It's a perfect night outside. "

"Yes, but curtains inspire confidence, " Miss Allan decided. "When theball is in full swing it will be time to draw them. We might even openthe windows a little. . . . If we do it now elderly people will imaginethere are draughts. "

Her wisdom had come to be recognised, and held in respect. Meanwhile asthey stood talking, the musicians were unwrapping their instruments, andthe violin was repeating again and again a note struck upon the piano. Everything was ready to begin. 

After a few minutes' pause, the father, the daughter, and the son-in-lawwho played the horn flourished with one accord. Like the rats whofollowed the piper, heads instantly appeared in the doorway. Therewas another flourish; and then the trio dashed spontaneously into thetriumphant swing of the waltz. It was as though the room were instantlyflooded with water. After a moment's hesitation first one couple, thenanother, leapt into mid-stream, and went round and round in the eddies. The rhythmic swish of the dancers sounded like a swirling pool. Bydegrees the room grew perceptibly hotter. The smell of kid glovesmingled with the strong scent of flowers. The eddies seemed to circlefaster and faster, until the music wrought itself into a crash, ceased, and the circles were smashed into little separate bits. The couplesstruck off in different directions, leaving a thin row of elderly peoplestuck fast to the walls, and here and there a piece of trimming or ahandkerchief or a flower lay upon the floor. There was a pause, and thenthe music started again, the eddies whirled, the couples circled roundin them, until there was a crash, and the circles were broken up intoseparate pieces. 

When this had happened about five times, Hirst, who leant against awindow-frame, like some singular gargoyle, perceived that Helen Ambroseand Rachel stood in the doorway. The crowd was such that they couldnot move, but he recognised them by a piece of Helen's shoulder and aglimpse of Rachel's head turning round. He made his way to them; theygreeted him with relief. 

"We are suffering the tortures of the damned, " said Helen. 

"This is my idea of hell, " said Rachel. 

Her eyes were bright and she looked bewildered. 

Hewet and Miss Allan, who had been waltzing somewhat laboriously, pausedand greeted the newcomers. 

"This _is_ nice, " said Hewet. "But where is Mr. Ambrose?"

"Pindar, " said Helen. "May a married woman who was forty in Octoberdance? I can't stand still. " She seemed to fade into Hewet, and theyboth dissolved in the crowd. 

"We must follow suit, " said Hirst to Rachel, and he took her resolutelyby the elbow. Rachel, without being expert, danced well, because of agood ear for rhythm, but Hirst had no taste for music, and a few dancinglessons at Cambridge had only put him into possession of the anatomy ofa waltz, without imparting any of its spirit. A single turn proved tothem that their methods were incompatible; instead of fitting into eachother their bones seemed to jut out in angles making smooth turning animpossibility, and cutting, moreover, into the circular progress of theother dancers. 

"Shall we stop?" said Hirst. Rachel gathered from his expression that hewas annoyed. 

They staggered to seats in the corner, from which they had a view of theroom. It was still surging, in waves of blue and yellow, striped by theblack evening-clothes of the gentlemen. 

"An amazing spectacle, " Hirst remarked. "Do you dance much in London?"They were both breathing fast, and both a little excited, though eachwas determined not to show any excitement at all. 

"Scarcely ever. Do you?"

"My people give a dance every Christmas. "

"This isn't half a bad floor, " Rachel said. Hirst did not attempt toanswer her platitude. He sat quite silent, staring at the dancers. Afterthree minutes the silence became so intolerable to Rachel that she wasgoaded to advance another commonplace about the beauty of the night. Hirst interrupted her ruthlessly. 

"Was that all nonsense what you said the other day about being aChristian and having no education?" he asked. 

"It was practically true, " she replied. "But I also play the piano verywell, " she said, "better, I expect than any one in this room. You arethe most distinguished man in England, aren't you?" she asked shyly. 

"One of the three, " he corrected. 

Helen whirling past here tossed a fan into Rachel's lap. 

"She is very beautiful, " Hirst remarked. 

They were again silent. Rachel was wondering whether he thought her alsonice-looking; St. John was considering the immense difficulty of talkingto girls who had no experience of life. Rachel had obviously neverthought or felt or seen anything, and she might be intelligent orshe might be just like all the rest. But Hewet's taunt rankled in hismind--"you don't know how to get on with women, " and he was determinedto profit by this opportunity. Her evening-clothes bestowed on her justthat degree of unreality and distinction which made it romantic to speakto her, and stirred a desire to talk, which irritated him because hedid not know how to begin. He glanced at her, and she seemed to himvery remote and inexplicable, very young and chaste. He drew a sigh, andbegan. 

"About books now. What have you read? Just Shakespeare and the Bible?"

"I haven't read many classics, " Rachel stated. She was slightlyannoyed by his jaunty and rather unnatural manner, while his masculineacquirements induced her to take a very modest view of her own power. 

"D'you mean to tell me you've reached the age of twenty-four withoutreading Gibbon?" he demanded. 

"Yes, I have, " she answered. 

"Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed, throwing out his hands. "You must beginto-morrow. I shall send you my copy. What I want to know is--" he lookedat her critically. "You see, the problem is, can one really talk to you?Have you got a mind, or are you like the rest of your sex? You seem tome absurdly young compared with men of your age. "

Rachel looked at him but said nothing. 

"About Gibbon, " he continued. "D'you think you'll be able to appreciatehim? He's the test, of course. It's awfully difficult to tell aboutwomen, " he continued, "how much, I mean, is due to lack of training, and how much is native incapacity. I don't see myself why you shouldn'tunderstand--only I suppose you've led an absurd life until now--you'vejust walked in a crocodile, I suppose, with your hair down your back. "

The music was again beginning. Hirst's eye wandered about the room insearch of Mrs. Ambrose. With the best will in the world he was consciousthat they were not getting on well together. 

"I'd like awfully to lend you books, " he said, buttoning his gloves, and rising from his seat. "We shall meet again. I'm going to leave younow. "

He got up and left her. 

Rachel looked round. She felt herself surrounded, like a child at aparty, by the faces of strangers all hostile to her, with hooked nosesand sneering, indifferent eyes. She was by a window, she pushed it openwith a jerk. She stepped out into the garden. Her eyes swam with tearsof rage. 

"Damn that man!" she exclaimed, having acquired some of Helen's words. "Damn his insolence!"

She stood in the middle of the pale square of light which the windowshe had opened threw upon the grass. The forms of great black trees rosemassively in front of her. She stood still, looking at them, shiveringslightly with anger and excitement. She heard the trampling and swingingof the dancers behind her, and the rhythmic sway of the waltz music. 

"There are trees, " she said aloud. Would the trees make up for St. JohnHirst? She would be a Persian princess far from civilisation, riding herhorse upon the mountains alone, and making her women sing to her in theevening, far from all this, from the strife and men and women--aform came out of the shadow; a little red light burnt high up in itsblackness. 

"Miss Vinrace, is it?" said Hewet, peering at her. "You were dancingwith Hirst?"

"He's made me furious!" she cried vehemently. "No one's any right to beinsolent!"

"Insolent?" Hewet repeated, taking his cigar from his mouth in surprise. "Hirst--insolent?"

"It's insolent to--" said Rachel, and stopped. She did not know exactlywhy she had been made so angry. With a great effort she pulled herselftogether. 

"Oh, well, " she added, the vision of Helen and her mockery before her, "I dare say I'm a fool. " She made as though she were going back into theballroom, but Hewet stopped her. 

"Please explain to me, " he said. "I feel sure Hirst didn't mean to hurtyou. "

When Rachel tried to explain, she found it very difficult. She could notsay that she found the vision of herself walking in a crocodile with herhair down her back peculiarly unjust and horrible, nor could she explainwhy Hirst's assumption of the superiority of his nature and experiencehad seemed to her not only galling but terrible--as if a gate hadclanged in her face. Pacing up and down the terrace beside Hewet shesaid bitterly:

"It's no good; we should live separate; we cannot understand each other;we only bring out what's worst. "

Hewet brushed aside her generalisation as to the natures of the twosexes, for such generalisations bored him and seemed to him generallyuntrue. But, knowing Hirst, he guessed fairly accurately what hadhappened, and, though secretly much amused, was determined that Rachelshould not store the incident away in her mind to take its place in theview she had of life. 

"Now you'll hate him, " he said, "which is wrong. Poor old Hirst--hecan't help his method. And really, Miss Vinrace, he was doing his best;he was paying you a compliment--he was trying--he was trying--" he couldnot finish for the laughter that overcame him. 

Rachel veered round suddenly and laughed out too. She saw that there wassomething ridiculous about Hirst, and perhaps about herself. 

"It's his way of making friends, I suppose, " she laughed. "Well--I shalldo my part. I shall begin--'Ugly in body, repulsive in mind as you are, Mr. Hirst--"

"Hear, hear!" cried Hewet. "That's the way to treat him. You see, MissVinrace, you must make allowances for Hirst. He's lived all his lifein front of a looking-glass, so to speak, in a beautiful panelled room, hung with Japanese prints and lovely old chairs and tables, just onesplash of colour, you know, in the right place, --between the windowsI think it is, --and there he sits hour after hour with his toes on thefender, talking about philosophy and God and his liver and his heart andthe hearts of his friends. They're all broken. You can't expect him tobe at his best in a ballroom. He wants a cosy, smoky, masculineplace, where he can stretch his legs out, and only speak when he's gotsomething to say. For myself, I find it rather dreary. But I do respectit. They're all so much in earnest. They do take the serious things veryseriously. "

The description of Hirst's way of life interested Rachel so much thatshe almost forgot her private grudge against him, and her respectrevived. 

"They are really very clever then?" she asked. 

"Of course they are. So far as brains go I think it's true what he saidthe other day; they're the cleverest people in England. But--you oughtto take him in hand, " he added. "There's a great deal more in him than'sever been got at. He wants some one to laugh at him. . . . The idea ofHirst telling you that you've had no experiences! Poor old Hirst!"

They had been pacing up and down the terrace while they talked, and nowone by one the dark windows were uncurtained by an invisible hand, andpanes of light fell regularly at equal intervals upon the grass. Theystopped to look in at the drawing-room, and perceived Mr. Pepper writingalone at a table. 

"There's Pepper writing to his aunt, " said Hewet. "She must be a veryremarkable old lady, eighty-five he tells me, and he takes her forwalking tours in the New Forest. . . . Pepper!" he cried, rapping on thewindow. "Go and do your duty. Miss Allan expects you. "

When they came to the windows of the ballroom, the swing of the dancersand the lilt of the music was irresistible. 

"Shall we?" said Hewet, and they clasped hands and swept offmagnificently into the great swirling pool. Although this was only thesecond time they had met, the first time they had seen a man and womankissing each other, and the second time Mr. Hewet had found that a youngwoman angry is very like a child. So that when they joined hands in thedance they felt more at their ease than is usual. 

It was midnight and the dance was now at its height. Servants werepeeping in at the windows; the garden was sprinkled with the whiteshapes of couples sitting out. Mrs. Thornbury and Mrs. Elliot sat sideby side under a palm tree, holding fans, handkerchiefs, and broochesdeposited in their laps by flushed maidens. Occasionally they exchangedcomments. 

"Miss Warrington _does_ look happy, " said Mrs. Elliot; they both smiled;they both sighed. 

"He has a great deal of character, " said Mrs. Thornbury, alluding toArthur. 

"And character is what one wants, " said Mrs. Elliot. "Now that youngman is _clever_ enough, " she added, nodding at Hirst, who came past withMiss Allan on his arm. 

"He does not look strong, " said Mrs. Thornbury. "His complexion isnot good. --Shall I tear it off?" she asked, for Rachel had stopped, conscious of a long strip trailing behind her. 

"I hope you are enjoying yourselves?" Hewet asked the ladies. 

"This is a very familiar position for me!" smiled Mrs. Thornbury. "Ihave brought out five daughters--and they all loved dancing! You love ittoo, Miss Vinrace?" she asked, looking at Rachel with maternal eyes. "Iknow I did when I was your age. How I used to beg my mother to let mestay--and now I sympathise with the poor mothers--but I sympathise withthe daughters too!"

She smiled sympathetically, and at the same time rather keenly, atRachel. 

"They seem to find a great deal to say to each other, " said Mrs. Elliot, looking significantly at the backs of the couple as they turned away. "Did you notice at the picnic? He was the only person who could make herutter. "

"Her father is a very interesting man, " said Mrs. Thornbury. "He has oneof the largest shipping businesses in Hull. He made a very able reply, you remember, to Mr. Asquith at the last election. It is so interestingto find that a man of his experience is a strong Protectionist. "

She would have liked to discuss politics, which interested her more thanpersonalities, but Mrs. Elliot would only talk about the Empire in aless abstract form. 

"I hear there are dreadful accounts from England about the rats, " shesaid. "A sister-in-law, who lives at Norwich, tells me it has been quiteunsafe to order poultry. The plague--you see. It attacks the rats, andthrough them other creatures. "

"And the local authorities are not taking proper steps?" asked Mrs. Thornbury. 

"That she does not say. But she describes the attitude of the educatedpeople--who should know better--as callous in the extreme. Of course, my sister-in-law is one of those active modern women, who always takesthings up, you know--the kind of woman one admires, though one does notfeel, at least I do not feel--but then she has a constitution of iron. "

Mrs. Elliot, brought back to the consideration of her own delicacy, heresighed. 

"A very animated face, " said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at Evelyn M. Whohad stopped near them to pin tight a scarlet flower at her breast. Itwould not stay, and, with a spirited gesture of impatience, she thrustit into her partner's button-hole. He was a tall melancholy youth, whoreceived the gift as a knight might receive his lady's token. 

"Very trying to the eyes, " was Mrs. Eliot's next remark, after watchingthe yellow whirl in which so few of the whirlers had either name orcharacter for her, for a few minutes. Bursting out of the crowd, Helenapproached them, and took a vacant chair. 

"May I sit by you?" she said, smiling and breathing fast. "I suppose Iought to be ashamed of myself, " she went on, sitting down, "at my age. "

Her beauty, now that she was flushed and animated, was more expansivethan usual, and both the ladies felt the same desire to touch her. 

"I _am_ enjoying myself, " she panted. "Movement--isn't it amazing?"

"I have always heard that nothing comes up to dancing if one is a gooddancer, " said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at her with a smile. 

Helen swayed slightly as if she sat on wires. 

"I could dance for ever!" she said. "They ought to let themselves gomore!" she exclaimed. "They ought to leap and swing. Look! How theymince!"

"Have you seen those wonderful Russian dancers?" began Mrs. Elliot. ButHelen saw her partner coming and rose as the moon rises. She was halfround the room before they took their eyes off her, for they could nothelp admiring her, although they thought it a little odd that a woman ofher age should enjoy dancing. 

Directly Helen was left alone for a minute she was joined by St. JohnHirst, who had been watching for an opportunity. 

"Should you mind sitting out with me?" he asked. "I'm quite incapableof dancing. " He piloted Helen to a corner which was supplied with twoarm-chairs, and thus enjoyed the advantage of semi-privacy. They satdown, and for a few minutes Helen was too much under the influence ofdancing to speak. 

"Astonishing!" she exclaimed at last. "What sort of shape can she thinkher body is?" This remark was called forth by a lady who came past them, waddling rather than walking, and leaning on the arm of a stout man withglobular green eyes set in a fat white face. Some support was necessary, for she was very stout, and so compressed that the upper part of herbody hung considerably in advance of her feet, which could only trip intiny steps, owing to the tightness of the skirt round her ankles. Thedress itself consisted of a small piece of shiny yellow satin, adornedhere and there indiscriminately with round shields of blue and greenbeads made to imitate hues of a peacock's breast. On the summit of afrothy castle of hair a purple plume stood erect, while her short neckwas encircled by a black velvet ribbon knobbed with gems, and goldenbracelets were tightly wedged into the flesh of her fat gloved arms. Shehad the face of an impertinent but jolly little pig, mottled red under adusting of powder. 

St. John could not join in Helen's laughter. 

"It makes me sick, " he declared. "The whole thing makes me sick. . . . Consider the minds of those people--their feelings. Don't you agree?"

"I always make a vow never to go to another party of any description, "Helen replied, "and I always break it. "

She leant back in her chair and looked laughingly at the young man. She could see that he was genuinely cross, if at the same time slightlyexcited. 

"However, " he said, resuming his jaunty tone, "I suppose one must justmake up one's mind to it. "

"To what?"

"There never will be more than five people in the world worth talkingto. "

Slowly the flush and sparkle in Helen's face died away, and she lookedas quiet and as observant as usual. 

"Five people?" she remarked. "I should say there were more than five. "

"You've been very fortunate, then, " said Hirst. "Or perhaps I've beenvery unfortunate. " He became silent. 

"Should you say I was a difficult kind of person to get on with?" heasked sharply. 

"Most clever people are when they're young, " Helen replied. 

"And of course I am--immensely clever, " said Hirst. "I'm infinitelycleverer than Hewet. It's quite possible, " he continued in his curiouslyimpersonal manner, "that I'm going to be one of the people who reallymatter. That's utterly different from being clever, though one can'texpect one's family to see it, " he added bitterly. 

Helen thought herself justified in asking, "Do you find your familydifficult to get on with?"

"Intolerable. . . . They want me to be a peer and a privy councillor. I've come out here partly in order to settle the matter. It's got to besettled. Either I must go to the bar, or I must stay on in Cambridge. Ofcourse, there are obvious drawbacks to each, but the arguments certainlydo seem to me in favour of Cambridge. This kind of thing!" he waved hishand at the crowded ballroom. "Repulsive. I'm conscious of great powersof affection too. I'm not susceptible, of course, in the way Hewetis. I'm very fond of a few people. I think, for example, that there'ssomething to be said for my mother, though she is in many ways sodeplorable. . . . At Cambridge, of course, I should inevitably becomethe most important man in the place, but there are other reasons why Idread Cambridge--" he ceased. 

"Are you finding me a dreadful bore?" he asked. He changed curiouslyfrom a friend confiding in a friend to a conventional young man at aparty. 

"Not in the least, " said Helen. "I like it very much. "

"You can't think, " he exclaimed, speaking almost with emotion, "whata difference it makes finding someone to talk to! Directly I saw you Ifelt you might possibly understand me. I'm very fond of Hewet, but hehasn't the remotest idea what I'm like. You're the only woman I've evermet who seems to have the faintest conception of what I mean when I saya thing. "

The next dance was beginning; it was the Barcarolle out of Hoffman, which made Helen beat her toe in time to it; but she felt that aftersuch a compliment it was impossible to get up and go, and, besidesbeing amused, she was really flattered, and the honesty of his conceitattracted her. She suspected that he was not happy, and was sufficientlyfeminine to wish to receive confidences. 

"I'm very old, " she sighed. 

"The odd thing is that I don't find you old at all, " he replied. "I feelas though we were exactly the same age. Moreover--" here he hesitated, but took courage from a glance at her face, "I feel as if I could talkquite plainly to you as one does to a man--about the relations betweenthe sexes, about . . . And . . . "

In spite of his certainty a slight redness came into his face as hespoke the last two words. 

She reassured him at once by the laugh with which she exclaimed, "Ishould hope so!"

He looked at her with real cordiality, and the lines which were drawnabout his nose and lips slackened for the first time. 

"Thank God!" he exclaimed. "Now we can behave like civilised humanbeings. "

Certainly a barrier which usually stands fast had fallen, and it waspossible to speak of matters which are generally only alluded to betweenmen and women when doctors are present, or the shadow of death. In fiveminutes he was telling her the history of his life. It was long, for itwas full of extremely elaborate incidents, which led on to a discussionof the principles on which morality is founded, and thus to several veryinteresting matters, which even in this ballroom had to be discussed ina whisper, lest one of the pouter pigeon ladies or resplendent merchantsshould overhear them, and proceed to demand that they should leave theplace. When they had come to an end, or, to speak more accurately, whenHelen intimated by a slight slackening of her attention that they hadsat there long enough, Hirst rose, exclaiming, "So there's no reasonwhatever for all this mystery!"

"None, except that we are English people, " she answered. She took hisarm and they crossed the ball-room, making their way with difficultybetween the spinning couples, who were now perceptibly dishevelled, and certainly to a critical eye by no means lovely in their shapes. Theexcitement of undertaking a friendship and the length of their talk, made them hungry, and they went in search of food to the dining-room, which was now full of people eating at little separate tables. In thedoorway they met Rachel, going up to dance again with Arthur Venning. She was flushed and looked very happy, and Helen was struck by the factthat in this mood she was certainly more attractive than the generalityof young women. She had never noticed it so clearly before. 

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked, as they stopped for a second. 

"Miss Vinrace, " Arthur answered for her, "has just made a confession;she'd no idea that dances could be so delightful. "

"Yes!" Rachel exclaimed. "I've changed my view of life completely!"

"You don't say so!" Helen mocked. They passed on. 

"That's typical of Rachel, " she said. "She changes her view of lifeabout every other day. D'you know, I believe you're just the person Iwant, " she said, as they sat down, "to help me complete her education?She's been brought up practically in a nunnery. Her father's too absurd. I've been doing what I can--but I'm too old, and I'm a woman. Whyshouldn't you talk to her--explain things to her--talk to her, I mean, as you talk to me?"

"I have made one attempt already this evening, " said St. John. "Irather doubt that it was successful. She seems to me so very young andinexperienced. I have promised to lend her Gibbon. "

"It's not Gibbon exactly, " Helen pondered. "It's the facts of life, Ithink--d'you see what I mean? What really goes on, what people feel, although they generally try to hide it? There's nothing to be frightenedof. It's so much more beautiful than the pretences--always moreinteresting--always better, I should say, than _that_ kind of thing. "

She nodded her head at a table near them, where two girls and twoyoung men were chaffing each other very loudly, and carrying on an archinsinuating dialogue, sprinkled with endearments, about, it seemed, apair of stockings or a pair of legs. One of the girls was flirting a fanand pretending to be shocked, and the sight was very unpleasant, partlybecause it was obvious that the girls were secretly hostile to eachother. 

"In my old age, however, " Helen sighed, "I'm coming to think that itdoesn't much matter in the long run what one does: people always gotheir own way--nothing will ever influence them. " She nodded her head atthe supper party. 

But St. John did not agree. He said that he thought one could reallymake a great deal of difference by one's point of view, books and soon, and added that few things at the present time mattered more than theenlightenment of women. He sometimes thought that almost everything wasdue to education. 

In the ballroom, meanwhile, the dancers were being formed into squaresfor the lancers. Arthur and Rachel, Susan and Hewet, Miss Allan andHughling Elliot found themselves together. 

Miss Allan looked at her watch. 

"Half-past one, " she stated. "And I have to despatch Alexander Popeto-morrow. "

"Pope!" snorted Mr. Elliot. "Who reads Pope, I should like to know?And as for reading about him--No, no, Miss Allan; be persuaded you willbenefit the world much more by dancing than by writing. " It was one ofMr. Elliot's affectations that nothing in the world could comparewith the delights of dancing--nothing in the world was so tedious asliterature. Thus he sought pathetically enough to ingratiate himselfwith the young, and to prove to them beyond a doubt that though marriedto a ninny of a wife, and rather pale and bent and careworn by hisweight of learning, he was as much alive as the youngest of them all. 

"It's a question of bread and butter, " said Miss Allan calmly. "However, they seem to expect me. " She took up her position and pointed a squareblack toe. 

"Mr. Hewet, you bow to me. " It was evident at once that Miss Allan wasthe only one of them who had a thoroughly sound knowledge of the figuresof the dance. 

After the lancers there was a waltz; after the waltz a polka; and thena terrible thing happened; the music, which had been sounding regularlywith five-minute pauses, stopped suddenly. The lady with the great darkeyes began to swathe her violin in silk, and the gentleman placed hishorn carefully in its case. They were surrounded by couples imploringthem in English, in French, in Spanish, of one more dance, one only; itwas still early. But the old man at the piano merely exhibited his watchand shook his head. He turned up the collar of his coat and produceda red silk muffler, which completely dashed his festive appearance. Strange as it seemed, the musicians were pale and heavy-eyed; theylooked bored and prosaic, as if the summit of their desire was cold meatand beer, succeeded immediately by bed. 

Rachel was one of those who had begged them to continue. When theyrefused she began turning over the sheets of dance music which lay uponthe piano. The pieces were generally bound in coloured covers, withpictures on them of romantic scenes--gondoliers astride on the crescentof the moon, nuns peering through the bars of a convent window, or youngwomen with their hair down pointing a gun at the stars. She rememberedthat the general effect of the music to which they had danced so gailywas one of passionate regret for dead love and the innocent years ofyouth; dreadful sorrows had always separated the dancers from their pasthappiness. 

"No wonder they get sick of playing stuff like this, " she remarkedreading a bar or two; "they're really hymn tunes, played very fast, withbits out of Wagner and Beethoven. "

"Do you play? Would you play? Anything, so long as we can dance to it!"From all sides her gift for playing the piano was insisted upon, andshe had to consent. As very soon she had played the only pieces of dancemusic she could remember, she went on to play an air from a sonata byMozart. 

"But that's not a dance, " said some one pausing by the piano. 

"It is, " she replied, emphatically nodding her head. "Invent the steps. "Sure of her melody she marked the rhythm boldly so as to simplify theway. Helen caught the idea; seized Miss Allan by the arm, and whirledround the room, now curtseying, now spinning round, now tripping thisway and that like a child skipping through a meadow. 

"This is the dance for people who don't know how to dance!" she cried. The tune changed to a minuet; St. John hopped with incredible swiftnessfirst on his left leg, then on his right; the tune flowed melodiously;Hewet, swaying his arms and holding out the tails of his coat, swam downthe room in imitation of the voluptuous dreamy dance of an Indian maidendancing before her Rajah. The tune marched; and Miss Allen advanced withskirts extended and bowed profoundly to the engaged pair. Oncetheir feet fell in with the rhythm they showed a complete lack ofself-consciousness. From Mozart Rachel passed without stopping to oldEnglish hunting songs, carols, and hymn tunes, for, as she had observed, any good tune, with a little management, became a tune one could danceto. By degrees every person in the room was tripping and turning inpairs or alone. Mr. Pepper executed an ingenious pointed step derivedfrom figure-skating, for which he once held some local championship;while Mrs. Thornbury tried to recall an old country dance which she hadseen danced by her father's tenants in Dorsetshire in the old days. Asfor Mr. And Mrs. Elliot, they gallopaded round and round the room withsuch impetuosity that the other dancers shivered at their approach. Somepeople were heard to criticise the performance as a romp; to others itwas the most enjoyable part of the evening. 

"Now for the great round dance!" Hewet shouted. Instantly a giganticcircle was formed, the dancers holding hands and shouting out, "D'youken John Peel, " as they swung faster and faster and faster, until thestrain was too great, and one link of the chain--Mrs. Thornbury--gaveway, and the rest went flying across the room in all directions, toland upon the floor or the chairs or in each other's arms as seemed mostconvenient. 

Rising from these positions, breathless and unkempt, it struck them forthe first time that the electric lights pricked the air very vainly, andinstinctively a great many eyes turned to the windows. Yes--there wasthe dawn. While they had been dancing the night had passed, and it hadcome. Outside, the mountains showed very pure and remote; the dew wassparkling on the grass, and the sky was flushed with blue, save for thepale yellows and pinks in the East. The dancers came crowding to thewindows, pushed them open, and here and there ventured a foot upon thegrass. 

"How silly the poor old lights look!" said Evelyn M. In a curiouslysubdued tone of voice. "And ourselves; it isn't becoming. " It was true;the untidy hair, and the green and yellow gems, which had seemed sofestive half an hour ago, now looked cheap and slovenly. The complexionsof the elder ladies suffered terribly, and, as if conscious that a coldeye had been turned upon them, they began to say good-night and to maketheir way up to bed. 

Rachel, though robbed of her audience, had gone on playing to herself. From John Peel she passed to Bach, who was at this time the subject ofher intense enthusiasm, and one by one some of the younger dancerscame in from the garden and sat upon the deserted gilt chairs round thepiano, the room being now so clear that they turned out the lights. Asthey sat and listened, their nerves were quieted; the heat and sorenessof their lips, the result of incessant talking and laughing, wassmoothed away. They sat very still as if they saw a building with spacesand columns succeeding each other rising in the empty space. Then theybegan to see themselves and their lives, and the whole of human lifeadvancing very nobly under the direction of the music. They feltthemselves ennobled, and when Rachel stopped playing they desirednothing but sleep. 

Susan rose. "I think this has been the happiest night of my life!" sheexclaimed. "I do adore music, " she said, as she thanked Rachel. "It justseems to say all the things one can't say oneself. " She gave a nervouslittle laugh and looked from one to another with great benignity, asthough she would like to say something but could not find the words inwhich to express it. "Every one's been so kind--so very kind, " she said. Then she too went to bed. 

The party having ended in the very abrupt way in which parties do end, Helen and Rachel stood by the door with their cloaks on, looking for acarriage. 

"I suppose you realise that there are no carriages left?" said St. John, who had been out to look. "You must sleep here. "

"Oh, no, " said Helen; "we shall walk. "

"May we come too?" Hewet asked. "We can't go to bed. Imagine lying amongbolsters and looking at one's washstand on a morning like this--Is thatwhere you live?" They had begun to walk down the avenue, and he turnedand pointed at the white and green villa on the hillside, which seemedto have its eyes shut. 

"That's not a light burning, is it?" Helen asked anxiously. 

"It's the sun, " said St. John. The upper windows had each a spot of goldon them. 

"I was afraid it was my husband, still reading Greek, " she said. "Allthis time he's been editing _Pindar_. "

They passed through the town and turned up the steep road, which wasperfectly clear, though still unbordered by shadows. Partly becausethey were tired, and partly because the early light subdued them, theyscarcely spoke, but breathed in the delicious fresh air, which seemedto belong to a different state of life from the air at midday. When theycame to the high yellow wall, where the lane turned off from the road, Helen was for dismissing the two young men. 

"You've come far enough, " she said. "Go back to bed. "

But they seemed unwilling to move. 

"Let's sit down a moment, " said Hewet. He spread his coat on the ground. "Let's sit down and consider. " They sat down and looked out over thebay; it was very still, the sea was rippling faintly, and lines of greenand blue were beginning to stripe it. There were no sailing boats asyet, but a steamer was anchored in the bay, looking very ghostly in themist; it gave one unearthly cry, and then all was silent. 

Rachel occupied herself in collecting one grey stone after anotherand building them into a little cairn; she did it very quietly andcarefully. 

"And so you've changed your view of life, Rachel?" said Helen. 

Rachel added another stone and yawned. "I don't remember, " she said, "Ifeel like a fish at the bottom of the sea. " She yawned again. None ofthese people possessed any power to frighten her out here in the dawn, and she felt perfectly familiar even with Mr. Hirst. 

"My brain, on the contrary, " said Hirst, "is in a condition of abnormalactivity. " He sat in his favourite position with his arms binding hislegs together and his chin resting on the top of his knees. "I seethrough everything--absolutely everything. Life has no more mysteriesfor me. " He spoke with conviction, but did not appear to wish for ananswer. Near though they sat, and familiar though they felt, they seemedmere shadows to each other. 

"And all those people down there going to sleep, " Hewet began dreamily, "thinking such different things, --Miss Warrington, I suppose, is now onher knees; the Elliots are a little startled, it's not often _they_ getout of breath, and they want to get to sleep as quickly as possible;then there's the poor lean young man who danced all night withEvelyn; he's putting his flower in water and asking himself, 'Is thislove?'--and poor old Perrott, I daresay, can't get to sleep at all, and is reading his favourite Greek book to console himself--and theothers--no, Hirst, " he wound up, "I don't find it simple at all. "

"I have a key, " said Hirst cryptically. His chin was still upon hisknees and his eyes fixed in front of him. 

A silence followed. Then Helen rose and bade them good-night. "But, " shesaid, "remember that you've got to come and see us. "

They waved good-night and parted, but the two young men did not go backto the hotel; they went for a walk, during which they scarcelyspoke, and never mentioned the names of the two women, who were, to aconsiderable extent, the subject of their thoughts. They did not wishto share their impressions. They returned to the hotel in time forbreakfast. 

Chapter XIII

There were many rooms in the villa, but one room which possessed acharacter of its own because the door was always shut, and no sound ofmusic or laughter issued from it. Every one in the house was vaguelyconscious that something went on behind that door, and without in theleast knowing what it was, were influenced in their own thoughts by theknowledge that if the passed it the door would be shut, and if they madea noise Mr. Ambrose inside would be disturbed. Certain acts thereforepossessed merit, and others were bad, so that life became moreharmonious and less disconnected than it would have been had Mr. Ambrosegiven up editing _Pindar_, and taken to a nomad existence, in and outof every room in the house. As it was, every one was conscious that byobserving certain rules, such as punctuality and quiet, by cookingwell, and performing other small duties, one ode after another wassatisfactorily restored to the world, and they shared the continuity ofthe scholar's life. Unfortunately, as age puts one barrier between humanbeings, and learning another, and sex a third, Mr. Ambrose in his studywas some thousand miles distant from the nearest human being, who inthis household was inevitably a woman. He sat hour after hour amongwhite-leaved books, alone like an idol in an empty church, still exceptfor the passage of his hand from one side of the sheet to another, silent save for an occasional choke, which drove him to extend his pipea moment in the air. As he worked his way further and further into theheart of the poet, his chair became more and more deeply encircledby books, which lay open on the floor, and could only be crossed by acareful process of stepping, so delicate that his visitors generallystopped and addressed him from the outskirts. 

On the morning after the dance, however, Rachel came into her uncle'sroom and hailed him twice, "Uncle Ridley, " before he paid her anyattention. 

At length he looked over his spectacles. 

"Well?" he asked. 

"I want a book, " she replied. "Gibbon's _History_ _of_ _the_ _Roman__Empire_. May I have it?"

She watched the lines on her uncle's face gradually rearrange themselvesat her question. It had been smooth as a mask before she spoke. 

"Please say that again, " said her uncle, either because he had not heardor because he had not understood. 

She repeated the same words and reddened slightly as she did so. 

"Gibbon! What on earth d'you want him for?" he enquired. 

"Somebody advised me to read it, " Rachel stammered. 

"But I don't travel about with a miscellaneous collection ofeighteenth-century historians!" her uncle exclaimed. "Gibbon! Ten bigvolumes at least. "

Rachel said that she was sorry to interrupt, and was turning to go. 

"Stop!" cried her uncle. He put down his pipe, placed his book on oneside, and rose and led her slowly round the room, holding her by thearm. "Plato, " he said, laying one finger on the first of a row of smalldark books, "and Jorrocks next door, which is wrong. Sophocles, Swift. You don't care for German commentators, I presume. French, then. Youread French? You should read Balzac. Then we come to Wordsworth andColeridge, Pope, Johnson, Addison, Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats. One thingleads to another. Why is Marlowe here? Mrs. Chailey, I presume. Butwhat's the use of reading if you don't read Greek? After all, if youread Greek, you need never read anything else, pure waste of time--purewaste of time, " thus speaking half to himself, with quick movementsof his hands; they had come round again to the circle of books on thefloor, and their progress was stopped. 

"Well, " he demanded, "which shall it be?"

"Balzac, " said Rachel, "or have you the _Speech_ _on_ _the_ _American__Revolution_, Uncle Ridley?"

"_The_ _Speech_ _on_ _the_ _American_ _Revolution_?" he asked. He lookedat her very keenly again. "Another young man at the dance?"

"No. That was Mr. Dalloway, " she confessed. 

"Good Lord!" he flung back his head in recollection of Mr. Dalloway. 

She chose for herself a volume at random, submitted it to her uncle, who, seeing that it was _La_ _Cousine_ _bette_, bade her throw itaway if she found it too horrible, and was about to leave him when hedemanded whether she had enjoyed her dance?

He then wanted to know what people did at dances, seeing that he hadonly been to one thirty-five years ago, when nothing had seemed to himmore meaningless and idiotic. Did they enjoy turning round and round tothe screech of a fiddle? Did they talk, and say pretty things, andif so, why didn't they do it, under reasonable conditions? As forhimself--he sighed and pointed at the signs of industry lying all abouthim, which, in spite of his sigh, filled his face with such satisfactionthat his niece thought good to leave. On bestowing a kiss she wasallowed to go, but not until she had bound herself to learn at any ratethe Greek alphabet, and to return her French novel when done with, uponwhich something more suitable would be found for her. 

As the rooms in which people live are apt to give off something of thesame shock as their faces when seen for the first time, Rachel walkedvery slowly downstairs, lost in wonder at her uncle, and his books, and his neglect of dances, and his queer, utterly inexplicable, butapparently satisfactory view of life, when her eye was caught by a notewith her name on it lying in the hall. The address was written in asmall strong hand unknown to her, and the note, which had no beginning, ran:--

I send the first volume of Gibbon as I promised. Personally I findlittle to be said for the moderns, but I'm going to send you Wedekindwhen I've done him. Donne? Have you read Webster and all that set? Ienvy you reading them for the first time. Completely exhausted afterlast night. And you?

The flourish of initials which she took to be St. J. A. H. , wound upthe letter. She was very much flattered that Mr. Hirst should haveremembered her, and fulfilled his promise so quickly. 

There was still an hour to luncheon, and with Gibbon in one hand, andBalzac in the other she strolled out of the gate and down the littlepath of beaten mud between the olive trees on the slope of the hill. Itwas too hot for climbing hills, but along the valley there were treesand a grass path running by the river bed. In this land where thepopulation was centred in the towns it was possible to lose sight ofcivilisation in a very short time, passing only an occasional farmhouse, where the women were handling red roots in the courtyard; or a littleboy lying on his elbows on the hillside surrounded by a flock of blackstrong-smelling goats. Save for a thread of water at the bottom, theriver was merely a deep channel of dry yellow stones. On the bank grewthose trees which Helen had said it was worth the voyage out merelyto see. April had burst their buds, and they bore large blossoms amongtheir glossy green leaves with petals of a thick wax-like substancecoloured an exquisite cream or pink or deep crimson. But filled with oneof those unreasonable exultations which start generally from an unknowncause, and sweep whole countries and skies into their embrace, shewalked without seeing. The night was encroaching upon the day. Her earshummed with the tunes she had played the night before; she sang, andthe singing made her walk faster and faster. She did not see distinctlywhere she was going, the trees and the landscape appearing only asmasses of green and blue, with an occasional space of differentlycoloured sky. Faces of people she had seen last night came before her;she heard their voices; she stopped singing, and began saying thingsover again or saying things differently, or inventing things that mighthave been said. The constraint of being among strangers in a long silkdress made it unusually exciting to stride thus alone. Hewet, Hirst, Mr. Venning, Miss Allan, the music, the light, the dark trees in thegarden, the dawn, --as she walked they went surging round in her head, a tumultuous background from which the present moment, with itsopportunity of doing exactly as she liked, sprung more wonderfully vivideven than the night before. 

So she might have walked until she had lost all knowledge of her way, had it not been for the interruption of a tree, which, although it didnot grow across her path, stopped her as effectively as if the brancheshad struck her in the face. It was an ordinary tree, but to her itappeared so strange that it might have been the only tree in the world. Dark was the trunk in the middle, and the branches sprang here andthere, leaving jagged intervals of light between them as distinctly asif it had but that second risen from the ground. Having seen a sightthat would last her for a lifetime, and for a lifetime would preservethat second, the tree once more sank into the ordinary ranks of trees, and she was able to seat herself in its shade and to pick the redflowers with the thin green leaves which were growing beneath it. Shelaid them side by side, flower to flower and stalk to stalk, caressingthem for walking alone. Flowers and even pebbles in the earth had theirown life and disposition, and brought back the feelings of a child towhom they were companions. Looking up, her eye was caught by the line ofthe mountains flying out energetically across the sky like the lash ofa curling whip. She looked at the pale distant sky, and the high bareplaces on the mountain-tops lying exposed to the sun. When she satdown she had dropped her books on to the earth at her feet, and now shelooked down on them lying there, so square in the grass, a tall stembending over and tickling the smooth brown cover of Gibbon, while themottled blue Balzac lay naked in the sun. With a feeling that to openand read would certainly be a surprising experience, she turned thehistorian's page and read that--

His generals, in the early part of his reign, attempted the reductionof Aethiopia and Arabia Felix. They marched near a thousand miles tothe south of the tropic; but the heat of the climate soon repelledthe invaders and protected the unwarlike natives of those sequesteredregions. . . . The northern countries of Europe scarcely deserved theexpense and labour of conquest. The forests and morasses of Germany werefilled with a hardy race of barbarians, who despised life when it wasseparated from freedom. 

Never had any words been so vivid and so beautiful--ArabiaFelix--Aethiopia. But those were not more noble than the others, hardybarbarians, forests, and morasses. They seemed to drive roads back tothe very beginning of the world, on either side of which the populationsof all times and countries stood in avenues, and by passing down themall knowledge would be hers, and the book of the world turned back tothe very first page. Such was her excitement at the possibilities ofknowledge now opening before her that she ceased to read, and a breezeturning the page, the covers of Gibbon gently ruffled and closedtogether. She then rose again and walked on. Slowly her mind became lessconfused and sought the origins of her exaltation, which were twofoldand could be limited by an effort to the persons of Mr. Hirst and Mr. Hewet. Any clear analysis of them was impossible owing to the haze ofwonder in which they were enveloped. She could not reason about them asabout people whose feelings went by the same rule as her own did, andher mind dwelt on them with a kind of physical pleasure such as iscaused by the contemplation of bright things hanging in the sun. Fromthem all life seemed to radiate; the very words of books were steepedin radiance. She then became haunted by a suspicion which she was soreluctant to face that she welcomed a trip and stumble over the grassbecause thus her attention was dispersed, but in a second it hadcollected itself again. Unconsciously she had been walking faster andfaster, her body trying to outrun her mind; but she was now on thesummit of a little hillock of earth which rose above the river anddisplayed the valley. She was no longer able to juggle with severalideas, but must deal with the most persistent, and a kind of melancholyreplaced her excitement. She sank down on to the earth clasping herknees together, and looking blankly in front of her. For some time sheobserved a great yellow butterfly, which was opening and closing itswings very slowly on a little flat stone. 

"What is it to be in love?" she demanded, after a long silence; eachword as it came into being seemed to shove itself out into an unknownsea. Hypnotised by the wings of the butterfly, and awed by the discoveryof a terrible possibility in life, she sat for some time longer. Whenthe butterfly flew away, she rose, and with her two books beneath herarm returned home again, much as a soldier prepared for battle. 

Chapter XIV

The sun of that same day going down, dusk was saluted as usual at thehotel by an instantaneous sparkle of electric lights. The hours betweendinner and bedtime were always difficult enough to kill, and the nightafter the dance they were further tarnished by the peevishness ofdissipation. Certainly, in the opinion of Hirst and Hewet, who lay backin long arm-chairs in the middle of the hall, with their coffee-cupsbeside them, and their cigarettes in their hands, the evening wasunusually dull, the women unusually badly dressed, the men unusuallyfatuous. Moreover, when the mail had been distributed half an hour agothere were no letters for either of the two young men. As every otherperson, practically, had received two or three plump letters fromEngland, which they were now engaged in reading, this seemed hard, andprompted Hirst to make the caustic remark that the animals had been fed. Their silence, he said, reminded him of the silence in the lion-housewhen each beast holds a lump of raw meat in its paws. He went on, stimulated by this comparison, to liken some to hippopotamuses, someto canary birds, some to swine, some to parrots, and some to loathsomereptiles curled round the half-decayed bodies of sheep. The intermittentsounds--now a cough, now a horrible wheezing or throat-clearing, now alittle patter of conversation--were just, he declared, what you hear ifyou stand in the lion-house when the bones are being mauled. But thesecomparisons did not rouse Hewet, who, after a careless glance roundthe room, fixed his eyes upon a thicket of native spears which were soingeniously arranged as to run their points at you whichever way youapproached them. He was clearly oblivious of his surroundings; whereuponHirst, perceiving that Hewet's mind was a complete blank, fixed hisattention more closely upon his fellow-creatures. He was too far fromthem, however, to hear what they were saying, but it pleased him toconstruct little theories about them from their gestures and appearance. 

Mrs. Thornbury had received a great many letters. She was completelyengrossed in them. When she had finished a page she handed it to herhusband, or gave him the sense of what she was reading in a series ofshort quotations linked together by a sound at the back of her throat. "Evie writes that George has gone to Glasgow. 'He finds Mr. Chadbourneso nice to work with, and we hope to spend Christmas together, but Ishould not like to move Betty and Alfred any great distance (no, quiteright), though it is difficult to imagine cold weather in this heat. . . . Eleanor and Roger drove over in the new trap. . . . Eleanor certainlylooked more like herself than I've seen her since the winter. She hasput Baby on three bottles now, which I'm sure is wise (I'm sure it istoo), and so gets better nights. . . . My hair still falls out. I findit on the pillow! But I am cheered by hearing from Tottie Hall Green.. . . Muriel is in Torquay enjoying herself greatly at dances. She _is_going to show her black put after all. ' . . . A line from Herbert--sobusy, poor fellow! Ah! Margaret says, 'Poor old Mrs. Fairbank diedon the eighth, quite suddenly in the conservatory, only a maid in thehouse, who hadn't the presence of mind to lift her up, which they thinkmight have saved her, but the doctor says it might have come at anymoment, and one can only feel thankful that it was in the house and notin the street (I should think so!). The pigeons have increased terribly, just as the rabbits did five years ago . . . '" While she read herhusband kept nodding his head very slightly, but very steadily in signof approval. 

Near by, Miss Allan was reading her letters too. They were notaltogether pleasant, as could be seen from the slight rigidity whichcame over her large fine face as she finished reading them and replacedthem neatly in their envelopes. The lines of care and responsibilityon her face made her resemble an elderly man rather than a woman. Theletters brought her news of the failure of last year's fruit crop in NewZealand, which was a serious matter, for Hubert, her only brother, madehis living on a fruit farm, and if it failed again, of course, he wouldthrow up his place, come back to England, and what were they to do withhim this time? The journey out here, which meant the loss of a term'swork, became an extravagance and not the just and wonderful holiday dueto her after fifteen years of punctual lecturing and correcting essaysupon English literature. Emily, her sister, who was a teacher also, wrote: "We ought to be prepared, though I have no doubt Hubert will bemore reasonable this time. " And then went on in her sensible way to saythat she was enjoying a very jolly time in the Lakes. "They are lookingexceedingly pretty just now. I have seldom seen the trees so forward atthis time of year. We have taken our lunch out several days. Old Aliceis as young as ever, and asks after every one affectionately. The dayspass very quickly, and term will soon be here. Political prospects _not_good, I think privately, but do not like to damp Ellen's enthusiasm. Lloyd George has taken the Bill up, but so have many before now, and weare where we are; but trust to find myself mistaken. Anyhow, we have ourwork cut out for us. . . . Surely Meredith lacks the _human_ note onelikes in W. W. ?" she concluded, and went on to discuss some questions ofEnglish literature which Miss Allan had raised in her last letter. 

At a little distance from Miss Allan, on a seat shaded and madesemi-private by a thick clump of palm trees, Arthur and Susanwere reading each other's letters. The big slashing manuscripts ofhockey-playing young women in Wiltshire lay on Arthur's knee, whileSusan deciphered tight little legal hands which rarely filled more thana page, and always conveyed the same impression of jocular and breezygoodwill. 

"I do hope Mr. Hutchinson will like me, Arthur, " she said, looking up. 

"Who's your loving Flo?" asked Arthur. 

"Flo Graves--the girl I told you about, who was engaged to that dreadfulMr. Vincent, " said Susan. "Is Mr. Hutchinson married?" she asked. 

Already her mind was busy with benevolent plans for her friends, orrather with one magnificent plan--which was simple too--they were all toget married--at once--directly she got back. Marriage, marriage that wasthe right thing, the only thing, the solution required by every one sheknew, and a great part of her meditations was spent in tracing everyinstance of discomfort, loneliness, ill-health, unsatisfied ambition, restlessness, eccentricity, taking things up and dropping them again, public speaking, and philanthropic activity on the part of men andparticularly on the part of women to the fact that they wanted to marry, were trying to marry, and had not succeeded in getting married. If, asshe was bound to own, these symptoms sometimes persisted after marriage, she could only ascribe them to the unhappy law of nature which decreedthat there was only one Arthur Venning, and only one Susan who couldmarry him. Her theory, of course, had the merit of being fully supportedby her own case. She had been vaguely uncomfortable at home for two orthree years now, and a voyage like this with her selfish old aunt, who paid her fare but treated her as servant and companion in one, wastypical of the kind of thing people expected of her. Directly shebecame engaged, Mrs. Paley behaved with instinctive respect, positivelyprotested when Susan as usual knelt down to lace her shoes, and appearedreally grateful for an hour of Susan's company where she had been usedto exact two or three as her right. She therefore foresaw a life of fargreater comfort than she had been used to, and the change had alreadyproduced a great increase of warmth in her feelings towards otherpeople. 

It was close on twenty years now since Mrs. Paley had been able to laceher own shoes or even to see them, the disappearance of her feet havingcoincided more or less accurately with the death of her husband, a manof business, soon after which event Mrs. Paley began to grow stout. She was a selfish, independent old woman, possessed of a considerableincome, which she spent upon the upkeep of a house that needed sevenservants and a charwoman in Lancaster Gate, and another with a gardenand carriage-horses in Surrey. Susan's engagement relieved her of theone great anxiety of her life--that her son Christopher should "entanglehimself" with his cousin. Now that this familiar source of interest wasremoved, she felt a little low and inclined to see more in Susanthan she used to. She had decided to give her a very handsome weddingpresent, a cheque for two hundred, two hundred and fifty, or possibly, conceivably--it depended upon the under-gardener and Huths' bill fordoing up the drawing-room--three hundred pounds sterling. 

She was thinking of this very question, revolving the figures, as shesat in her wheeled chair with a table spread with cards by her side. ThePatience had somehow got into a muddle, and she did not like to call forSusan to help her, as Susan seemed to be busy with Arthur. 

"She's every right to expect a handsome present from me, of course, " shethought, looking vaguely at the leopard on its hind legs, "and I've nodoubt she does! Money goes a long way with every one. The young are veryselfish. If I were to die, nobody would miss me but Dakyns, and she'llbe consoled by the will! However, I've got no reason to complain. . . . I can still enjoy myself. I'm not a burden to any-one. . . . I like agreat many things a good deal, in spite of my legs. "

Being slightly depressed, however, she went on to think of the onlypeople she had known who had not seemed to her at all selfish or fond ofmoney, who had seemed to her somehow rather finer than the general run;people she willingly acknowledged, who were finer than she was. Therewere only two of them. One was her brother, who had been drowned beforeher eyes, the other was a girl, her greatest friend, who had died ingiving birth to her first child. These things had happened some fiftyyears ago. 

"They ought not to have died, " she thought. "However, they did--and weselfish old creatures go on. " The tears came to her eyes; she felt agenuine regret for them, a kind of respect for their youth and beauty, and a kind of shame for herself; but the tears did not fall; and sheopened one of those innumerable novels which she used to pronounce goodor bad, or pretty middling, or really wonderful. "I can't think howpeople come to imagine such things, " she would say, taking off herspectacles and looking up with the old faded eyes, that were becomingringed with white. 

Just behind the stuffed leopard Mr. Elliot was playing chess with Mr. Pepper. He was being defeated, naturally, for Mr. Pepper scarcely tookhis eyes off the board, and Mr. Elliot kept leaning back in his chairand throwing out remarks to a gentleman who had only arrived the nightbefore, a tall handsome man, with a head resembling the head of anintellectual ram. After a few remarks of a general nature had passed, they were discovering that they knew some of the same people, as indeedhad been obvious from their appearance directly they saw each other. 

"Ah yes, old Truefit, " said Mr. Elliot. "He has a son at Oxford. I'veoften stayed with them. It's a lovely old Jacobean house. Some exquisiteGreuzes--one or two Dutch pictures which the old boy kept in thecellars. Then there were stacks upon stacks of prints. Oh, the dirt inthat house! He was a miser, you know. The boy married a daughter ofLord Pinwells. I know them too. The collecting mania tends to run infamilies. This chap collects buckles--men's shoe-buckles they must be, in use between the years 1580 and 1660; the dates mayn't be right, butfact's as I say. Your true collector always has some unaccountablefad of that kind. On other points he's as level-headed as a breeder ofshorthorns, which is what he happens to be. Then the Pinwells, as youprobably know, have their share of eccentricity too. Lady Maud, forinstance--" he was interrupted here by the necessity of considering hismove, --"Lady Maud has a horror of cats and clergymen, and people withbig front teeth. I've heard her shout across a table, 'Keep your mouthshut, Miss Smith; they're as yellow as carrots!' across a table, mindyou. To me she's always been civility itself. She dabbles in literature, likes to collect a few of us in her drawing-room, but mention aclergyman, a bishop even, nay, the Archbishop himself, and she gobbleslike a turkey-cock. I've been told it's a family feud--something to dowith an ancestor in the reign of Charles the First. Yes, " he continued, suffering check after check, "I always like to know something of thegrandmothers of our fashionable young men. In my opinion they preserveall that we admire in the eighteenth century, with the advantage, in themajority of cases, that they are personally clean. Not that one wouldinsult old Lady Barborough by calling her clean. How often d'you think, Hilda, " he called out to his wife, "her ladyship takes a bath?"

"I should hardly like to say, Hugh, " Mrs. Elliot tittered, "but wearingpuce velvet, as she does even on the hottest August day, it somehowdoesn't show. "

"Pepper, you have me, " said Mr. Elliot. "My chess is even worse than Iremembered. " He accepted his defeat with great equanimity, because hereally wished to talk. 

He drew his chair beside Mr. Wilfrid Flushing, the newcomer. 

"Are these at all in your line?" he asked, pointing at a case in frontof them, where highly polished crosses, jewels, and bits of embroidery, the work of the natives, were displayed to tempt visitors. 

"Shams, all of them, " said Mr. Flushing briefly. "This rug, now, isn'tat all bad. " He stopped and picked up a piece of the rug at their feet. "Not old, of course, but the design is quite in the right tradition. Alice, lend me your brooch. See the difference between the old work andthe new. "

A lady, who was reading with great concentration, unfastened her broochand gave it to her husband without looking at him or acknowledging thetentative bow which Mr. Elliot was desirous of giving her. If shehad listened, she might have been amused by the reference to old LadyBarborough, her great-aunt, but, oblivious of her surroundings, she wenton reading. 

The clock, which had been wheezing for some minutes like an old manpreparing to cough, now struck nine. The sound slightly disturbedcertain somnolent merchants, government officials, and men ofindependent means who were lying back in their chairs, chatting, smoking, ruminating about their affairs, with their eyes half shut;they raised their lids for an instant at the sound and then closed themagain. They had the appearance of crocodiles so fully gorged by theirlast meal that the future of the world gives them no anxiety whatever. The only disturbance in the placid bright room was caused by a largemoth which shot from light to light, whizzing over elaborate heads ofhair, and causing several young women to raise their hands nervously andexclaim, "Some one ought to kill it!"

Absorbed in their own thoughts, Hewet and Hirst had not spoken for along time. 

When the clock struck, Hirst said:

"Ah, the creatures begin to stir. . . . " He watched them raisethemselves, look about them, and settle down again. "What I abhor mostof all, " he concluded, "is the female breast. Imagine being Venning andhaving to get into bed with Susan! But the really repulsive thing isthat they feel nothing at all--about what I do when I have a hot bath. They're gross, they're absurd, they're utterly intolerable!"

So saying, and drawing no reply from Hewet, he proceeded to think abouthimself, about science, about Cambridge, about the Bar, about Helen andwhat she thought of him, until, being very tired, he was nodding off tosleep. 

Suddenly Hewet woke him up. 

"How d'you know what you feel, Hirst?"

"Are you in love?" asked Hirst. He put in his eyeglass. 

"Don't be a fool, " said Hewet. 

"Well, I'll sit down and think about it, " said Hirst. "One really oughtto. If these people would only think about things, the world would be afar better place for us all to live in. Are you trying to think?"

That was exactly what Hewet had been doing for the last half-hour, buthe did not find Hirst sympathetic at the moment. 

"I shall go for a walk, " he said. 

"Remember we weren't in bed last night, " said Hirst with a prodigiousyawn. 

Hewet rose and stretched himself. 

"I want to go and get a breath of air, " he said. 

An unusual feeling had been bothering him all the evening and forbiddinghim to settle into any one train of thought. It was precisely as if hehad been in the middle of a talk which interested him profoundly whensome one came up and interrupted him. He could not finish the talk, andthe longer he sat there the more he wanted to finish it. As the talkthat had been interrupted was a talk with Rachel, he had to ask himselfwhy he felt this, and why he wanted to go on talking to her. Hirst wouldmerely say that he was in love with her. But he was not in love withher. Did love begin in that way, with the wish to go on talking? No. Italways began in his case with definite physical sensations, and thesewere now absent, he did not even find her physically attractive. There was something, of course, unusual about her--she was young, inexperienced, and inquisitive, they had been more open with each otherthan was usually possible. He always found girls interesting to talk to, and surely these were good reasons why he should wish to go on talkingto her; and last night, what with the crowd and the confusion, he hadonly been able to begin to talk to her. What was she doing now? Lying ona sofa and looking at the ceiling, perhaps. He could imagine her doingthat, and Helen in an arm-chair, with her hands on the arm of it, so--looking ahead of her, with her great big eyes--oh no, they'd betalking, of course, about the dance. But suppose Rachel was going awayin a day or two, suppose this was the end of her visit, and herfather had arrived in one of the steamers anchored in the bay, --it wasintolerable to know so little. Therefore he exclaimed, "How d'you knowwhat you feel, Hirst?" to stop himself from thinking. 

But Hirst did not help him, and the other people with their aimlessmovements and their unknown lives were disturbing, so that he longed forthe empty darkness. The first thing he looked for when he stepped outof the hall door was the light of the Ambroses' villa. When he haddefinitely decided that a certain light apart from the others higher upthe hill was their light, he was considerably reassured. There seemedto be at once a little stability in all this incoherence. Without anydefinite plan in his head, he took the turning to the right and walkedthrough the town and came to the wall by the meeting of the roads, wherehe stopped. The booming of the sea was audible. The dark-blue mass ofthe mountains rose against the paler blue of the sky. There was no moon, but myriads of stars, and lights were anchored up and down in the darkwaves of earth all round him. He had meant to go back, but the singlelight of the Ambroses' villa had now become three separate lights, andhe was tempted to go on. He might as well make sure that Rachel wasstill there. Walking fast, he soon stood by the iron gate of theirgarden, and pushed it open; the outline of the house suddenly appearedsharply before his eyes, and the thin column of the verandah cuttingacross the palely lit gravel of the terrace. He hesitated. At the backof the house some one was rattling cans. He approached the front; thelight on the terrace showed him that the sitting-rooms were on thatside. He stood as near the light as he could by the corner of the house, the leaves of a creeper brushing his face. After a moment he could heara voice. The voice went on steadily; it was not talking, but from thecontinuity of the sound it was a voice reading aloud. He crept a littlecloser; he crumpled the leaves together so as to stop their rustlingabout his ears. It might be Rachel's voice. He left the shadow andstepped into the radius of the light, and then heard a sentence spokenquite distinctly. 

"And there we lived from the year 1860 to 1895, the happiest years ofmy parents' lives, and there in 1862 my brother Maurice was born, to thedelight of his parents, as he was destined to be the delight of all whoknew him. "

The voice quickened, and the tone became conclusive rising slightly inpitch, as if these words were at the end of the chapter. Hewet drewback again into the shadow. There was a long silence. He could justhear chairs being moved inside. He had almost decided to go back, whensuddenly two figures appeared at the window, not six feet from him. 

"It was Maurice Fielding, of course, that your mother was engaged to, "said Helen's voice. She spoke reflectively, looking out into the darkgarden, and thinking evidently as much of the look of the night as ofwhat she was saying. 

"Mother?" said Rachel. Hewet's heart leapt, and he noticed the fact. Hervoice, though low, was full of surprise. 

"You didn't know that?" said Helen. 

"I never knew there'd been any one else, " said Rachel. She was clearlysurprised, but all they said was said low and inexpressively, becausethey were speaking out into the cool dark night. 

"More people were in love with her than with any one I've ever known, "Helen stated. "She had that power--she enjoyed things. She wasn'tbeautiful, but--I was thinking of her last night at the dance. Shegot on with every kind of person, and then she made it all soamazingly--funny. "

It appeared that Helen was going back into the past, choosing her wordsdeliberately, comparing Theresa with the people she had known sinceTheresa died. 

"I don't know how she did it, " she continued, and ceased, and there wasa long pause, in which a little owl called first here, then there, as itmoved from tree to tree in the garden. 

"That's so like Aunt Lucy and Aunt Katie, " said Rachel at last. "Theyalways make out that she was very sad and very good. "

"Then why, for goodness' sake, did they do nothing but criticize herwhen she was alive?" said Helen. Very gentle their voices sounded, as ifthey fell through the waves of the sea. 

"If I were to die to-morrow . . . " she began. 

The broken sentences had an extraordinary beauty and detachment inHewet's ears, and a kind of mystery too, as though they were spoken bypeople in their sleep. 

"No, Rachel, " Helen's voice continued, "I'm not going to walk in thegarden; it's damp--it's sure to be damp; besides, I see at least a dozentoads. "

"Toads? Those are stones, Helen. Come out. It's nicer out. The flowerssmell, " Rachel replied. 

Hewet drew still farther back. His heart was beating very quickly. Apparently Rachel tried to pull Helen out on to the terrace, andhelen resisted. There was a certain amount of scuffling, entreating, resisting, and laughter from both of them. Then a man's form appeared. Hewet could not hear what they were all saying. In a minute they hadgone in; he could hear bolts grating then; there was dead silence, andall the lights went out. 

He turned away, still crumpling and uncrumpling a handful of leaveswhich he had torn from the wall. An exquisite sense of pleasure andrelief possessed him; it was all so solid and peaceful after the ballat the hotel, whether he was in love with them or not, and he was not inlove with them; no, but it was good that they should be alive. 

After standing still for a minute or two he turned and began to walktowards the gate. With the movement of his body, the excitement, theromance and the richness of life crowded into his brain. He shouted outa line of poetry, but the words escaped him, and he stumbled among linesand fragments of lines which had no meaning at all except for the beautyof the words. He shut the gate, and ran swinging from side to side downthe hill, shouting any nonsense that came into his head. "Here am I, "he cried rhythmically, as his feet pounded to the left and to the right, "plunging along, like an elephant in the jungle, stripping the branchesas I go (he snatched at the twigs of a bush at the roadside), roaringinnumerable words, lovely words about innumerable things, runningdownhill and talking nonsense aloud to myself about roads and leavesand lights and women coming out into the darkness--about women--aboutRachel, about Rachel. " He stopped and drew a deep breath. The nightseemed immense and hospitable, and although so dark there seemed tobe things moving down there in the harbour and movement out at sea. He gazed until the darkness numbed him, and then he walked on quickly, still murmuring to himself. "And I ought to be in bed, snoringand dreaming, dreaming, dreaming. Dreams and realities, dreams andrealities, dreams and realities, " he repeated all the way up the avenue, scarcely knowing what he said, until he reached the front door. Here hepaused for a second, and collected himself before he opened the door. 

His eyes were dazed, his hands very cold, and his brain excited and yethalf asleep. Inside the door everything was as he had left it exceptthat the hall was now empty. There were the chairs turning in towardseach other where people had sat talking, and the empty glasses on littletables, and the newspapers scattered on the floor. As he shut the doorhe felt as if he were enclosed in a square box, and instantly shrivelledup. It was all very bright and very small. He stopped for a minute bythe long table to find a paper which he had meant to read, but he wasstill too much under the influence of the dark and the fresh air toconsider carefully which paper it was or where he had seen it. 

As he fumbled vaguely among the papers he saw a figure cross the tail ofhis eye, coming downstairs. He heard the swishing sound of skirts, andto his great surprise, Evelyn M. Came up to him, laid her hand on thetable as if to prevent him from taking up a paper, and said:

"You're just the person I wanted to talk to. " Her voice was a littleunpleasant and metallic, her eyes were very bright, and she kept themfixed upon him. 

"To talk to me?" he repeated. "But I'm half asleep. "

"But I think you understand better than most people, " she answered, andsat down on a little chair placed beside a big leather chair so thatHewet had to sit down beside her. 

"Well?" he said. He yawned openly, and lit a cigarette. He could notbelieve that this was really happening to him. "What is it?"

"Are you really sympathetic, or is it just a pose?" she demanded. 

"It's for you to say, " he replied. "I'm interested, I think. " He stillfelt numb all over and as if she was much too close to him. 

"Any one can be interested!" she cried impatiently. "Your friend Mr. Hirst's interested, I daresay however, I do believe in you. You lookas if you'd got a nice sister, somehow. " She paused, picking at somesequins on her knees, and then, as if she had made up her mind, shestarted off, "Anyhow, I'm going to ask your advice. D'you ever get intoa state where you don't know your own mind? That's the state I'm in now. You see, last night at the dance Raymond Oliver, --he's the tall darkboy who looks as if he had Indian blood in him, but he says he's notreally, --well, we were sitting out together, and he told me all abouthimself, how unhappy he is at home, and how he hates being out here. They've put him into some beastly mining business. He says it'sbeastly--I should like it, I know, but that's neither here nor there. And I felt awfully sorry for him, one couldn't help being sorry for him, and when he asked me to let him kiss me, I did. I don't see any harmin that, do you? And then this morning he said he'd thought I meantsomething more, and I wasn't the sort to let any one kiss me. And wetalked and talked. I daresay I was very silly, but one can't help likingpeople when one's sorry for them. I do like him most awfully--" Shepaused. "So I gave him half a promise, and then, you see, there's AlfredPerrott. "

"Oh, Perrott, " said Hewet. 

"We got to know each other on that picnic the other day, " she continued. "He seemed so lonely, especially as Arthur had gone off with Susan, andone couldn't help guessing what was in his mind. So we had quite a longtalk when you were looking at the ruins, and he told me all about hislife, and his struggles, and how fearfully hard it had been. D'you know, he was a boy in a grocer's shop and took parcels to people's houses ina basket? That interested me awfully, because I always say it doesn'tmatter how you're born if you've got the right stuff in you. And he toldme about his sister who's paralysed, poor girl, and one can see she's agreat trial, though he's evidently very devoted to her. I must say I doadmire people like that! I don't expect you do because you're so clever. Well, last night we sat out in the garden together, and I couldn't helpseeing what he wanted to say, and comforting him a little, and tellinghim I did care--I really do--only, then, there's Raymond Oliver. What Iwant you to tell me is, can one be in love with two people at once, orcan't one?"

She became silent, and sat with her chin on her hands, looking veryintent, as if she were facing a real problem which had to be discussedbetween them. 

"I think it depends what sort of person you are, " said Hewet. Helooked at her. She was small and pretty, aged perhaps twenty-eight ortwenty-nine, but though dashing and sharply cut, her features expressednothing very clearly, except a great deal of spirit and good health. 

"Who are you, what are you; you see, I know nothing about you, " hecontinued. 

"Well, I was coming to that, " said Evelyn M. She continued to rest herchin on her hands and to look intently ahead of her. "I'm the daughterof a mother and no father, if that interests you, " she said. "It's not avery nice thing to be. It's what often happens in the country. She wasa farmer's daughter, and he was rather a swell--the young man up at thegreat house. He never made things straight--never married her--thoughhe allowed us quite a lot of money. His people wouldn't let him. Poorfather! I can't help liking him. Mother wasn't the sort of woman whocould keep him straight, anyhow. He was killed in the war. I believehis men worshipped him. They say great big troopers broke down and criedover his body on the battlefield. I wish I'd known him. Mother had allthe life crushed out of her. The world--" She clenched her fist. "Oh, people can be horrid to a woman like that!" She turned upon Hewet. 

"Well, " she said, "d'you want to know any more about me?"

"But you?" he asked, "Who looked after you?"

"I've looked after myself mostly, " she laughed. "I've had splendidfriends. I do like people! That's the trouble. What would you do if youliked two people, both of them tremendously, and you couldn't tell whichmost?"

"I should go on liking them--I should wait and see. Why not?"

"But one has to make up one's mind, " said Evelyn. "Or are you one of thepeople who doesn't believe in marriages and all that? Look here--thisisn't fair, I do all the telling, and you tell nothing. Perhaps you'rethe same as your friend"--she looked at him suspiciously; "perhaps youdon't like me?"

"I don't know you, " said Hewet. 

"I know when I like a person directly I see them! I knew I liked you thevery first night at dinner. Oh dear, " she continued impatiently, "whata lot of bother would be saved if only people would say the things theythink straight out! I'm made like that. I can't help it. "

"But don't you find it leads to difficulties?" Hewet asked. 

"That's men's fault, " she answered. "They always drag it in-love, Imean. "

"And so you've gone on having one proposal after another, " said Hewet. 

"I don't suppose I've had more proposals than most women, " said Evelyn, but she spoke without conviction. 

"Five, six, ten?" Hewet ventured. 

Evelyn seemed to intimate that perhaps ten was the right figure, butthat it really was not a high one. 

"I believe you're thinking me a heartless flirt, " she protested. "ButI don't care if you are. I don't care what any one thinks of me. Justbecause one's interested and likes to be friends with men, and talk tothem as one talks to women, one's called a flirt. "

"But Miss Murgatroyd--"

"I wish you'd call me Evelyn, " she interrupted. 

"After ten proposals do you honestly think that men are the same aswomen?"

"Honestly, honestly, --how I hate that word! It's always used by prigs, "cried Evelyn. "Honestly I think they ought to be. That's what's sodisappointing. Every time one thinks it's not going to happen, and everytime it does. "

"The pursuit of Friendship, " said Hewet. "The title of a comedy. "

"You're horrid, " she cried. "You don't care a bit really. You might beMr. Hirst. "

"Well, " said Hewet, "let's consider. Let us consider--" He paused, because for the moment he could not remember what it was that they hadto consider. He was far more interested in her than in her story, for asshe went on speaking his numbness had disappeared, and he was consciousof a mixture of liking, pity, and distrust. "You've promised to marryboth Oliver and Perrott?" he concluded. 

"Not exactly promised, " said Evelyn. "I can't make up my mind which Ireally like best. Oh how I detest modern life!" she flung off. "It musthave been so much easier for the Elizabethans! I thought the other dayon that mountain how I'd have liked to be one of those colonists, to cutdown trees and make laws and all that, instead of fooling about with allthese people who think one's just a pretty young lady. Though I'm not. I really might _do_ something. " She reflected in silence for a minute. Then she said:

"I'm afraid right down in my heart that Alfred Perrot _won't_ do. He'snot strong, is he?"

"Perhaps he couldn't cut down a tree, " said Hewet. "Have you never caredfor anybody?" he asked. 

"I've cared for heaps of people, but not to marry them, " she said. "Isuppose I'm too fastidious. All my life I've wanted somebody I couldlook up to, somebody great and big and splendid. Most men are so small. "

"What d'you mean by splendid?" Hewet asked. "People are--nothing more. "

Evelyn was puzzled. 

"We don't care for people because of their qualities, " he tried toexplain. "It's just them that we care for, "--he struck a match--"justthat, " he said, pointing to the flames. 

"I see what you mean, " she said, "but I don't agree. I do know why Icare for people, and I think I'm hardly ever wrong. I see at once whatthey've got in them. Now I think you must be rather splendid; but notMr. Hirst. "

Hewlet shook his head. 

"He's not nearly so unselfish, or so sympathetic, or so big, or sounderstanding, " Evelyn continued. 

Hewet sat silent, smoking his cigarette. 

"I should hate cutting down trees, " he remarked. 

"I'm not trying to flirt with you, though I suppose you think I am!"Evelyn shot out. "I'd never have come to you if I'd thought you'd merelythink odious things of me!" The tears came into her eyes. 

"Do you never flirt?" he asked. 

"Of course I don't, " she protested. "Haven't I told you? I wantfriendship; I want to care for some one greater and nobler than I am, and if they fall in love with me it isn't my fault; I don't want it; Ipositively hate it. "

Hewet could see that there was very little use in going on with theconversation, for it was obvious that Evelyn did not wish to sayanything in particular, but to impress upon him an image of herself, being, for some reason which she would not reveal, unhappy, or insecure. He was very tired, and a pale waiter kept walking ostentatiously intothe middle of the room and looking at them meaningly. 

"They want to shut up, " he said. "My advice is that you should tellOliver and Perrott to-morrow that you've made up your mind that youdon't mean to marry either of them. I'm certain you don't. If youchange your mind you can always tell them so. They're both sensible men;they'll understand. And then all this bother will be over. " He got up. 

But Evelyn did not move. She sat looking up at him with her bright eagereyes, in the depths of which he thought he detected some disappointment, or dissatisfaction. 

"Good-night, " he said. 

"There are heaps of things I want to say to you still, " she said. "AndI'm going to, some time. I suppose you must go to bed now?"

"Yes, " said Hewet. "I'm half asleep. " He left her still sitting byherself in the empty hall. 

"Why is it that they _won't_ be honest?" he muttered to himself as hewent upstairs. Why was it that relations between different people wereso unsatisfactory, so fragmentary, so hazardous, and words so dangerousthat the instinct to sympathise with another human being was an instinctto be examined carefully and probably crushed? What had Evelyn reallywished to say to him? What was she feeling left alone in the emptyhall? The mystery of life and the unreality even of one's own sensationsovercame him as he walked down the corridor which led to his room. Itwas dimly lighted, but sufficiently for him to see a figure in a brightdressing-gown pass swiftly in front of him, the figure of a womancrossing from one room to another. 

Chapter XV

Whether too slight or too vague the ties that bind people casuallymeeting in a hotel at midnight, they possess one advantage at least overthe bonds which unite the elderly, who have lived together once and somust live for ever. Slight they may be, but vivid and genuine, merelybecause the power to break them is within the grasp of each, and thereis no reason for continuance except a true desire that continue theyshall. When two people have been married for years they seem to becomeunconscious of each other's bodily presence so that they move as ifalone, speak aloud things which they do not expect to be answered, andin general seem to experience all the comfort of solitude without itsloneliness. The joint lives of Ridley and Helen had arrived at thisstage of community, and it was often necessary for one or the other torecall with an effort whether a thing had been said or only thought, shared or dreamt in private. At four o'clock in the afternoon two orthree days later Mrs. Ambrose was standing brushing her hair, whileher husband was in the dressing-room which opened out of her room, andoccasionally, through the cascade of water--he was washing his face--shecaught exclamations, "So it goes on year after year; I wish, I wish, Iwish I could make an end of it, " to which she paid no attention. 

"It's white? Or only brown?" Thus she herself murmured, examining a hairwhich gleamed suspiciously among the brown. She pulled it out and laidit on the dressing-table. She was criticising her own appearance, orrather approving of it, standing a little way back from the glass andlooking at her own face with superb pride and melancholy, when herhusband appeared in the doorway in his shirt sleeves, his face halfobscured by a towel. 

"You often tell me I don't notice things, " he remarked. 

"Tell me if this is a white hair, then?" she replied. She laid the hairon his hand. 

"There's not a white hair on your head, " he exclaimed. 

"Ah, Ridley, I begin to doubt, " she sighed; and bowed her head underhis eyes so that he might judge, but the inspection produced only a kisswhere the line of parting ran, and husband and wife then proceeded tomove about the room, casually murmuring. 

"What was that you were saying?" Helen remarked, after an interval ofconversation which no third person could have understood. 

"Rachel--you ought to keep an eye upon Rachel, " he observedsignificantly, and Helen, though she went on brushing her hair, lookedat him. His observations were apt to be true. 

"Young gentlemen don't interest themselves in young women's educationwithout a motive, " he remarked. 

"Oh, Hirst, " said Helen. 

"Hirst and Hewet, they're all the same to me--all covered with spots, "he replied. "He advises her to read Gibbon. Did you know that?"

Helen did not know that, but she would not allow herself inferior to herhusband in powers of observation. She merely said:

"Nothing would surprise me. Even that dreadful flying man we met at thedance--even Mr. Dalloway--even--"

"I advise you to be circumspect, " said Ridley. "There's Willoughby, remember--Willoughby"; he pointed at a letter. 

Helen looked with a sigh at an envelope which lay upon herdressing-table. Yes, there lay Willoughby, curt, inexpressive, perpetually jocular, robbing a whole continent of mystery, enquiringafter his daughter's manners and morals--hoping she wasn't a bore, andbidding them pack her off to him on board the very next ship if shewere--and then grateful and affectionate with suppressed emotion, andthen half a page about his own triumphs over wretched little natives whowent on strike and refused to load his ships, until he roared Englishoaths at them, "popping my head out of the window just as I was, in myshirt sleeves. The beggars had the sense to scatter. "

"If Theresa married Willoughby, " she remarked, turning the page with ahairpin, "one doesn't see what's to prevent Rachel--"

But Ridley was now off on grievances of his own connected with thewashing of his shirts, which somehow led to the frequent visits ofHughling Elliot, who was a bore, a pedant, a dry stick of a man, and yetRidley couldn't simply point at the door and tell him to go. The truthof it was, they saw too many people. And so on and so on, more conjugaltalk pattering softly and unintelligibly, until they were both ready togo down to tea. 

The first thing that caught Helen's eye as she came downstairs was acarriage at the door, filled with skirts and feathers nodding on thetops of hats. She had only time to gain the drawing-room before twonames were oddly mispronounced by the Spanish maid, and Mrs. Thornburycame in slightly in advance of Mrs. Wilfrid Flushing. 

"Mrs. Wilfrid Flushing, " said Mrs. Thornbury, with a wave of her hand. "A friend of our common friend Mrs. Raymond Parry. "

Mrs. Flushing shook hands energetically. She was a woman of fortyperhaps, very well set up and erect, splendidly robust, though not astall as the upright carriage of her body made her appear. 

She looked Helen straight in the face and said, "You have a charmin'house. "

She had a strongly marked face, her eyes looked straight at you, andthough naturally she was imperious in her manner she was nervous at thesame time. Mrs. Thornbury acted as interpreter, making things smooth allround by a series of charming commonplace remarks. 

"I've taken it upon myself, Mr. Ambrose, " she said, "to promise that youwill be so kind as to give Mrs. Flushing the benefit of your experience. I'm sure no one here knows the country as well as you do. No one takessuch wonderful long walks. No one, I'm sure, has your encyclopaedicknowledge upon every subject. Mr. Wilfrid Flushing is a collector. Hehas discovered really beautiful things already. I had no notion that thepeasants were so artistic--though of course in the past--"

"Not old things--new things, " interrupted Mrs. Flushing curtly. "Thatis, if he takes my advice. "

The Ambroses had not lived for many years in London without knowingsomething of a good many people, by name at least, and Helen rememberedhearing of the Flushings. Mr. Flushing was a man who kept an oldfurniture shop; he had always said he would not marry because most womenhave red cheeks, and would not take a house because most houses havenarrow staircases, and would not eat meat because most animals bleedwhen they are killed; and then he had married an eccentric aristocraticlady, who certainly was not pale, who looked as if she ate meat, who hadforced him to do all the things he most disliked--and this then was thelady. Helen looked at her with interest. They had moved out into thegarden, where the tea was laid under a tree, and Mrs. Flushing washelping herself to cherry jam. She had a peculiar jerking movement ofthe body when she spoke, which caused the canary-coloured plume onher hat to jerk too. Her small but finely-cut and vigorous features, together with the deep red of lips and cheeks, pointed to manygenerations of well-trained and well-nourished ancestors behind her. 

"Nothin' that's more than twenty years old interests me, " she continued. "Mouldy old pictures, dirty old books, they stick 'em in museums whenthey're only fit for burnin'. "

"I quite agree, " Helen laughed. "But my husband spends his life indigging up manuscripts which nobody wants. " She was amused by Ridley'sexpression of startled disapproval. 

"There's a clever man in London called John who paints ever so muchbetter than the old masters, " Mrs. Flushing continued. "His picturesexcite me--nothin' that's old excites me. "

"But even his pictures will become old, " Mrs. Thornbury intervened. 

"Then I'll have 'em burnt, or I'll put it in my will, " said Mrs. Flushing. 

"And Mrs. Flushing lived in one of the most beautiful old houses inEngland--Chillingley, " Mrs. Thornbury explained to the rest of them. 

"If I'd my way I'd burn that to-morrow, " Mrs. Flushing laughed. She hada laugh like the cry of a jay, at once startling and joyless. 

"What does any sane person want with those great big houses?" shedemanded. "If you go downstairs after dark you're covered with blackbeetles, and the electric lights always goin' out. What would you doif spiders came out of the tap when you turned on the hot water?" shedemanded, fixing her eye on Helen. 

Mrs. Ambrose shrugged her shoulders with a smile. 

"This is what I like, " said Mrs. Flushing. She jerked her head at theVilla. "A little house in a garden. I had one once in Ireland. One couldlie in bed in the mornin' and pick roses outside the window with one'stoes. "

"And the gardeners, weren't they surprised?" Mrs. Thornbury enquired. 

"There were no gardeners, " Mrs. Flushing chuckled. "Nobody but me andan old woman without any teeth. You know the poor in Ireland lose theirteeth after they're twenty. But you wouldn't expect a politician tounderstand that--Arthur Balfour wouldn't understand that. "

Ridley sighed that he never expected any one to understand anything, least of all politicians. 

"However, " he concluded, "there's one advantage I find in extreme oldage--nothing matters a hang except one's food and one's digestion. AllI ask is to be left alone to moulder away in solitude. It's obvious thatthe world's going as fast as it can to--the Nethermost Pit, and all Ican do is to sit still and consume as much of my own smoke as possible. "He groaned, and with a melancholy glance laid the jam on his bread, forhe felt the atmosphere of this abrupt lady distinctly unsympathetic. 

"I always contradict my husband when he says that, " said Mrs. Thornburysweetly. "You men! Where would you be if it weren't for the women!"

"Read the _Symposium_, " said Ridley grimly. 

"_Symposium_?" cried Mrs. Flushing. "That's Latin or Greek? Tell me, isthere a good translation?"

"No, " said Ridley. "You will have to learn Greek. "

Mrs. Flushing cried, "Ah, ah, ah! I'd rather break stones in the road. Ialways envy the men who break stones and sit on those nice little heapsall day wearin' spectacles. I'd infinitely rather break stones thanclean out poultry runs, or feed the cows, or--"

Here Rachel came up from the lower garden with a book in her hand. 

"What's that book?" said Ridley, when she had shaken hands. 

"It's Gibbon, " said Rachel as she sat down. 

"_The_ _Decline_ _and_ _Fall_ _of_ _the_ _Roman_ _Empire_?" said Mrs. Thornbury. "A very wonderful book, I know. My dear father was alwaysquoting it at us, with the result that we resolved never to read aline. "

"Gibbon the historian?" enquired Mrs. Flushing. "I connect him withsome of the happiest hours of my life. We used to lie in bed and readGibbon--about the massacres of the Christians, I remember--when we weresupposed to be asleep. It's no joke, I can tell you, readin' a greatbig book, in double columns, by a night-light, and the light that comesthrough a chink in the door. Then there were the moths--tiger moths, yellow moths, and horrid cockchafers. Louisa, my sister, would have thewindow open. I wanted it shut. We fought every night of our lives overthat window. Have you ever seen a moth dyin' in a night-light?" sheenquired. 

Again there was an interruption. Hewet and Hirst appeared at thedrawing-room window and came up to the tea-table. 

Rachel's heart beat hard. She was conscious of an extraordinaryintensity in everything, as though their presence stripped somecover off the surface of things; but the greetings were remarkablycommonplace. 

"Excuse me, " said Hirst, rising from his chair directly he had sat down. He went into the drawing-room, and returned with a cushion which heplaced carefully upon his seat. 

"Rheumatism, " he remarked, as he sat down for the second time. 

"The result of the dance?" Helen enquired. 

"Whenever I get at all run down I tend to be rheumatic, " Hirst stated. He bent his wrist back sharply. "I hear little pieces of chalk grindingtogether!"

Rachel looked at him. She was amused, and yet she was respectful; ifsuch a thing could be, the upper part of her face seemed to laugh, andthe lower part to check its laughter. 

Hewet picked up the book that lay on the ground. 

"You like this?" he asked in an undertone. 

"No, I don't like it, " she replied. She had indeed been trying allthe afternoon to read it, and for some reason the glory which she hadperceived at first had faded, and, read as she would, she could notgrasp the meaning with her mind. 

"It goes round, round, round, like a roll of oil-cloth, " she hazarded. Evidently she meant Hewet alone to hear her words, but Hirst demanded, "What d'you mean?"

She was instantly ashamed of her figure of speech, for she could notexplain it in words of sober criticism. 

"Surely it's the most perfect style, so far as style goes, that's everbeen invented, " he continued. "Every sentence is practically perfect, and the wit--"

"Ugly in body, repulsive in mind, " she thought, instead of thinkingabout Gibbon's style. "Yes, but strong, searching, unyielding inmind. " She looked at his big head, a disproportionate part of which wasoccupied by the forehead, and at the direct, severe eyes. 

"I give you up in despair, " he said. He meant it lightly, but she tookit seriously, and believed that her value as a human being was lessenedbecause she did not happen to admire the style of Gibbon. The otherswere talking now in a group about the native villages which Mrs. Flushing ought to visit. 

"I despair too, " she said impetuously. "How are you going to judgepeople merely by their minds?"

"You agree with my spinster Aunt, I expect, " said St. John in his jauntymanner, which was always irritating because it made the person hetalked to appear unduly clumsy and in earnest. "'Be good, sweet maid'--Ithought Mr. Kingsley and my Aunt were now obsolete. "

"One can be very nice without having read a book, " she asserted. Verysilly and simple her words sounded, and laid her open to derision. 

"Did I ever deny it?" Hirst enquired, raising his eyebrows. 

Most unexpectedly Mrs. Thornbury here intervened, either because itwas her mission to keep things smooth or because she had long wished tospeak to Mr. Hirst, feeling as she did that young men were her sons. 

"I have lived all my life with people like your Aunt, Mr. Hirst, " shesaid, leaning forward in her chair. Her brown squirrel-like eyes becameeven brighter than usual. "They have never heard of Gibbon. They onlycare for their pheasants and their peasants. They are great big men wholook so fine on horseback, as people must have done, I think, in thedays of the great wars. Say what you like against them--they are animal, they are unintellectual; they don't read themselves, and they don't wantothers to read, but they are some of the finest and the kindest humanbeings on the face of the earth! You would be surprised at some ofthe stories I could tell. You have never guessed, perhaps, at all theromances that go on in the heart of the country. There are the people, I feel, among whom Shakespeare will be born if he is ever born again. Inthose old houses, up among the Downs--"

"My Aunt, " Hirst interrupted, "spends her life in East Lambeth amongthe degraded poor. I only quoted my Aunt because she is inclined topersecute people she calls 'intellectual, ' which is what I suspect MissVinrace of doing. It's all the fashion now. If you're clever it'salways taken for granted that you're completely without sympathy, understanding, affection--all the things that really matter. Oh, youChristians! You're the most conceited, patronising, hypocritical set ofold humbugs in the kingdom! Of course, " he continued, "I'm the firstto allow your country gentlemen great merits. For one thing, they'reprobably quite frank about their passions, which we are not. My father, who is a clergyman in Norfolk, says that there is hardly a squire in thecountry who does not--"

"But about Gibbon?" Hewet interrupted. The look of nervous tension whichhad come over every face was relaxed by the interruption. 

"You find him monotonous, I suppose. But you know--" He opened the book, and began searching for passages to read aloud, and in a little time hefound a good one which he considered suitable. But there was nothing inthe world that bored Ridley more than being read aloud to, and he wasbesides scrupulously fastidious as to the dress and behaviour of ladies. In the space of fifteen minutes he had decided against Mrs. Flushing onthe ground that her orange plume did not suit her complexion, that shespoke too loud, that she crossed her legs, and finally, when he sawher accept a cigarette that Hewet offered her, he jumped up, exclaimingsomething about "bar parlours, " and left them. Mrs. Flushing wasevidently relieved by his departure. She puffed her cigarette, stuck herlegs out, and examined Helen closely as to the character and reputationof their common friend Mrs. Raymond Parry. By a series of littlestrategems she drove her to define Mrs. Parry as somewhat elderly, by nomeans beautiful, very much made up--an insolent old harridan, in short, whose parties were amusing because one met odd people; but Helenherself always pitied poor Mr. Parry, who was understood to be shut updownstairs with cases full of gems, while his wife enjoyed herselfin the drawing-room. "Not that I believe what people say againsther--although she hints, of course--" Upon which Mrs. Flushing cried outwith delight:

"She's my first cousin! Go on--go on!"

When Mrs. Flushing rose to go she was obviously delighted with her newacquaintances. She made three or four different plans for meeting orgoing on an expedition, or showing Helen the things they had bought, on her way to the carriage. She included them all in a vague butmagnificent invitation. 

As Helen returned to the garden again, Ridley's words of warning cameinto her head, and she hesitated a moment and looked at Rachel sittingbetween Hirst and Hewet. But she could draw no conclusions, for Hewetwas still reading Gibbon aloud, and Rachel, for all the expression shehad, might have been a shell, and his words water rubbing against herears, as water rubs a shell on the edge of a rock. 

Hewet's voice was very pleasant. When he reached the end of the periodHewet stopped, and no one volunteered any criticism. 

"I do adore the aristocracy!" Hirst exclaimed after a moment's pause. "They're so amazingly unscrupulous. None of us would dare to behave asthat woman behaves. "

"What I like about them, " said Helen as she sat down, "is that they'reso well put together. Naked, Mrs. Flushing would be superb. Dressed asshe dresses, it's absurd, of course. "

"Yes, " said Hirst. A shade of depression crossed his face. "I've neverweighed more than ten stone in my life, " he said, "which is ridiculous, considering my height, and I've actually gone down in weight since wecame here. I daresay that accounts for the rheumatism. " Again he jerkedhis wrist back sharply, so that Helen might hear the grinding of thechalk stones. She could not help smiling. 

"It's no laughing matter for me, I assure you, " he protested. "Mymother's a chronic invalid, and I'm always expecting to be told thatI've got heart disease myself. Rheumatism always goes to the heart inthe end. "

"For goodness' sake, Hirst, " Hewet protested; "one might think you werean old cripple of eighty. If it comes to that, I had an aunt who died ofcancer myself, but I put a bold face on it--" He rose and began tiltinghis chair backwards and forwards on its hind legs. "Is any one hereinclined for a walk?" he said. "There's a magnificent walk, up behindthe house. You come out on to a cliff and look right down into the sea. The rocks are all red; you can see them through the water. The other dayI saw a sight that fairly took my breath away--about twenty jelly-fish, semi-transparent, pink, with long streamers, floating on the top of thewaves. "

"Sure they weren't mermaids?" said Hirst. "It's much too hot to climbuphill. " He looked at Helen, who showed no signs of moving. 

"Yes, it's too hot, " Helen decided. 

There was a short silence. 

"I'd like to come, " said Rachel. 

"But she might have said that anyhow, " Helen thought to herself as Hewetand Rachel went away together, and Helen was left alone with St. John, to St. John's obvious satisfaction. 

He may have been satisfied, but his usual difficulty in deciding thatone subject was more deserving of notice than another prevented him fromspeaking for some time. He sat staring intently at the head of a deadmatch, while Helen considered--so it seemed from the expression of hereyes--something not closely connected with the present moment. 

At last St. John exclaimed, "Damn! Damn everything! Damn everybody!" headded. "At Cambridge there are people to talk to. "

"At Cambridge there are people to talk to, " Helen echoed him, rhythmically and absent-mindedly. Then she woke up. "By the way, haveyou settled what you're going to do--is it to be Cambridge or the Bar?"

He pursed his lips, but made no immediate answer, for Helen was stillslightly inattentive. She had been thinking about Rachel and which ofthe two young men she was likely to fall in love with, and now sittingopposite to Hirst she thought, "He's ugly. It's a pity they're so ugly. "

She did not include Hewet in this criticism; she was thinking of theclever, honest, interesting young men she knew, of whom Hirst was agood example, and wondering whether it was necessary that thought andscholarship should thus maltreat their bodies, and should thus elevatetheir minds to a very high tower from which the human race appeared tothem like rats and mice squirming on the flat. 

"And the future?" she reflected, vaguely envisaging a race of menbecoming more and more like Hirst, and a race of women becoming more andmore like Rachel. "Oh no, " she concluded, glancing at him, "one wouldn'tmarry you. Well, then, the future of the race is in the hands of Susanand Arthur; no--that's dreadful. Of farm labourers; no--not of theEnglish at all, but of Russians and Chinese. " This train of thought didnot satisfy her, and was interrupted by St. John, who began again:

"I wish you knew Bennett. He's the greatest man in the world. "

"Bennett?" she enquired. Becoming more at ease, St. John dropped theconcentrated abruptness of his manner, and explained that Bennett wasa man who lived in an old windmill six miles out of Cambridge. He livedthe perfect life, according to St. John, very lonely, very simple, caring only for the truth of things, always ready to talk, andextraordinarily modest, though his mind was of the greatest. 

"Don't you think, " said St. John, when he had done describing him, "thatkind of thing makes this kind of thing rather flimsy? Did you notice attea how poor old Hewet had to change the conversation? How they wereall ready to pounce upon me because they thought I was going to saysomething improper? It wasn't anything, really. If Bennett had beenthere he'd have said exactly what he meant to say, or he'd have got upand gone. But there's something rather bad for the character in that--Imean if one hasn't got Bennett's character. It's inclined to make onebitter. Should you say that I was bitter?"

Helen did not answer, and he continued:

"Of course I am, disgustingly bitter, and it's a beastly thing to be. But the worst of me is that I'm so envious. I envy every one. I can'tendure people who do things better than I do--perfectly absurd thingstoo--waiters balancing piles of plates--even Arthur, because Susan's inlove with him. I want people to like me, and they don't. It's partly myappearance, I expect, " he continued, "though it's an absolute lie tosay I've Jewish blood in me--as a matter of fact we've been in Norfolk, Hirst of Hirstbourne Hall, for three centuries at least. It must beawfully soothing to be like you--every one liking one at once. "

"I assure you they don't, " Helen laughed. 

"They do, " said Hirst with conviction. "In the first place, you'rethe most beautiful woman I've ever seen; in the second, you have anexceptionally nice nature. "

If Hirst had looked at her instead of looking intently at his teacuphe would have seen Helen blush, partly with pleasure, partly with animpulse of affection towards the young man who had seemed, and wouldseem again, so ugly and so limited. She pitied him, for she suspectedthat he suffered, and she was interested in him, for many of the thingshe said seemed to her true; she admired the morality of youth, and yetshe felt imprisoned. As if her instinct were to escape to somethingbrightly coloured and impersonal, which she could hold in her hands, she went into the house and returned with her embroidery. But he was notinterested in her embroidery; he did not even look at it. 

"About Miss Vinrace, " he began, --"oh, look here, do let's be St. Johnand Helen, and Rachel and Terence--what's she like? Does she reason, does she feel, or is she merely a kind of footstool?"

"Oh no, " said Helen, with great decision. From her observations attea she was inclined to doubt whether Hirst was the person to educateRachel. She had gradually come to be interested in her niece, and fondof her; she disliked some things about her very much, she was amused byothers; but she felt her, on the whole, a live if unformed human being, experimental, and not always fortunate in her experiments, but withpowers of some kind, and a capacity for feeling. Somewhere in thedepths of her, too, she was bound to Rachel by the indestructible ifinexplicable ties of sex. "She seems vague, but she's a will of herown, " she said, as if in the interval she had run through her qualities. 

The embroidery, which was a matter for thought, the design beingdifficult and the colours wanting consideration, brought lapses into thedialogue when she seemed to be engrossed in her skeins of silk, or, withhead a little drawn back and eyes narrowed, considered the effect ofthe whole. Thus she merely said, "Um-m-m" to St. John's next remark, "Ishall ask her to go for a walk with me. "

Perhaps he resented this division of attention. He sat silent watchingHelen closely. 

"You're absolutely happy, " he proclaimed at last. 

"Yes?" Helen enquired, sticking in her needle. 

"Marriage, I suppose, " said St. John. 

"Yes, " said Helen, gently drawing her needle out. 

"Children?" St. John enquired. 

"Yes, " said Helen, sticking her needle in again. "I don't know why I'mhappy, " she suddenly laughed, looking him full in the face. There was aconsiderable pause. 

"There's an abyss between us, " said St. John. His voice sounded as ifit issued from the depths of a cavern in the rocks. "You're infinitelysimpler than I am. Women always are, of course. That's the difficulty. One never knows how a woman gets there. Supposing all the time you'rethinking, 'Oh, what a morbid young man!'"

Helen sat and looked at him with her needle in her hand. Fromher position she saw his head in front of the dark pyramid of amagnolia-tree. With one foot raised on the rung of a chair, and herelbow out in the attitude for sewing, her own figure possessed thesublimity of a woman's of the early world, spinning the thread offate--the sublimity possessed by many women of the present day who fallinto the attitude required by scrubbing or sewing. St. John looked ather. 

"I suppose you've never paid any a compliment in the course of yourlife, " he said irrelevantly. 

"I spoil Ridley rather, " Helen considered. 

"I'm going to ask you point blank--do you like me?"

After a certain pause, she replied, "Yes, certainly. "

"Thank God!" he exclaimed. "That's one mercy. You see, " he continuedwith emotion, "I'd rather you liked me than any one I've ever met. "

"What about the five philosophers?" said Helen, with a laugh, stitchingfirmly and swiftly at her canvas. "I wish you'd describe them. "

Hirst had no particular wish to describe them, but when he began toconsider them he found himself soothed and strengthened. Far away to theother side of the world as they were, in smoky rooms, and grey medievalcourts, they appeared remarkable figures, free-spoken men with whom onecould be at ease; incomparably more subtle in emotion than the peoplehere. They gave him, certainly, what no woman could give him, not Heleneven. Warming at the thought of them, he went on to lay his case beforeMrs. Ambrose. Should he stay on at Cambridge or should he go to theBar? One day he thought one thing, another day another. Helen listenedattentively. At last, without any preface, she pronounced her decision. 

"Leave Cambridge and go to the Bar, " she said. He pressed her for herreasons. 

"I think you'd enjoy London more, " she said. It did not seem a verysubtle reason, but she appeared to think it sufficient. She looked athim against the background of flowering magnolia. There was somethingcurious in the sight. Perhaps it was that the heavy wax-like flowerswere so smooth and inarticulate, and his face--he had thrown his hataway, his hair was rumpled, he held his eye-glasses in his hand, sothat a red mark appeared on either side of his nose--was so worried andgarrulous. It was a beautiful bush, spreading very widely, and all thetime she had sat there talking she had been noticing the patches ofshade and the shape of the leaves, and the way the great white flowerssat in the midst of the green. She had noticed it half-consciously, nevertheless the pattern had become part of their talk. She laid downher sewing, and began to walk up and down the garden, and Hirst rose tooand paced by her side. He was rather disturbed, uncomfortable, and fullof thought. Neither of them spoke. 

The sun was beginning to go down, and a change had come over themountains, as if they were robbed of their earthly substance, andcomposed merely of intense blue mist. Long thin clouds of flamingo red, with edges like the edges of curled ostrich feathers, lay up and downthe sky at different altitudes. The roofs of the town seemed to havesunk lower than usual; the cypresses appeared very black between theroofs, and the roofs themselves were brown and white. As usual inthe evening, single cries and single bells became audible rising frombeneath. 

St. John stopped suddenly. 

"Well, you must take the responsibility, " he said. "I've made up mymind; I shall go to the Bar. "

His words were very serious, almost emotional; they recalled Helen aftera second's hesitation. 

"I'm sure you're right, " she said warmly, and shook the hand he heldout. "You'll be a great man, I'm certain. "

Then, as if to make him look at the scene, she swept her hand round theimmense circumference of the view. From the sea, over the roofs of thetown, across the crests of the mountains, over the river and the plain, and again across the crests of the mountains it swept until it reachedthe villa, the garden, the magnolia-tree, and the figures of Hirst andherself standing together, when it dropped to her side. 

Chapter XVI

Hewet and Rachel had long ago reached the particular place on the edgeof the cliff where, looking down into the sea, you might chance onjelly-fish and dolphins. Looking the other way, the vast expanse of landgave them a sensation which is given by no view, however extended, inEngland; the villages and the hills there having names, and the farthesthorizon of hills as often as not dipping and showing a line of mistwhich is the sea; here the view was one of infinite sun-dried earth, earth pointed in pinnacles, heaped in vast barriers, earth wideningand spreading away and away like the immense floor of the sea, earthchequered by day and by night, and partitioned into different lands, where famous cities were founded, and the races of men changed from darksavages to white civilised men, and back to dark savages again. Perhapstheir English blood made this prospect uncomfortably impersonal andhostile to them, for having once turned their faces that way they nextturned them to the sea, and for the rest of the time sat looking atthe sea. The sea, though it was a thin and sparkling water here, whichseemed incapable of surge or anger, eventually narrowed itself, cloudedits pure tint with grey, and swirled through narrow channels and dashedin a shiver of broken waters against massive granite rocks. It was thissea that flowed up to the mouth of the Thames; and the Thames washed theroots of the city of London. 

Hewet's thoughts had followed some such course as this, for the firstthing he said as they stood on the edge of the cliff was--

"I'd like to be in England!"

Rachel lay down on her elbow, and parted the tall grasses which grew onthe edge, so that she might have a clear view. The water was very calm;rocking up and down at the base of the cliff, and so clear that onecould see the red of the stones at the bottom of it. So it had been atthe birth of the world, and so it had remained ever since. Probably nohuman being had ever broken that water with boat or with body. Obeyingsome impulse, she determined to mar that eternity of peace, and threwthe largest pebble she could find. It struck the water, and the ripplesspread out and out. Hewet looked down too. 

"It's wonderful, " he said, as they widened and ceased. The freshness andthe newness seemed to him wonderful. He threw a pebble next. There wasscarcely any sound. 

"But England, " Rachel murmured in the absorbed tone of one whose eyesare concentrated upon some sight. "What d'you want with England?"

"My friends chiefly, " he said, "and all the things one does. "

He could look at Rachel without her noticing it. She was still absorbedin the water and the exquisitely pleasant sensations which a littledepth of the sea washing over rocks suggests. He noticed that she waswearing a dress of deep blue colour, made of a soft thin cotton stuff, which clung to the shape of her body. It was a body with the anglesand hollows of a young woman's body not yet developed, but in no waydistorted, and thus interesting and even lovable. Raising his eyes Hewetobserved her head; she had taken her hat off, and the face rested on herhand. As she looked down into the sea, her lips were slightly parted. The expression was one of childlike intentness, as if she were watchingfor a fish to swim past over the clear red rocks. Nevertheless hertwenty-four years of life had given her a look of reserve. Her hand, which lay on the ground, the fingers curling slightly in, was wellshaped and competent; the square-tipped and nervous fingers were thefingers of a musician. With something like anguish Hewet realised that, far from being unattractive, her body was very attractive to him. Shelooked up suddenly. Her eyes were full of eagerness and interest. 

"You write novels?" she asked. 

For the moment he could not think what he was saying. He was overcomewith the desire to hold her in his arms. 

"Oh yes, " he said. "That is, I want to write them. "

She would not take her large grey eyes off his face. 

"Novels, " she repeated. "Why do you write novels? You ought to writemusic. Music, you see"--she shifted her eyes, and became less desirableas her brain began to work, inflicting a certain change upon herface--"music goes straight for things. It says all there is to say atonce. With writing it seems to me there's so much"--she paused for anexpression, and rubbed her fingers in the earth--"scratching on thematchbox. Most of the time when I was reading Gibbon this afternoonI was horribly, oh infernally, damnably bored!" She gave a shake oflaughter, looking at Hewet, who laughed too. 

"_I_ shan't lend you books, " he remarked. 

"Why is it, " Rachel continued, "that I can laugh at Mr. Hirst to you, but not to his face? At tea I was completely overwhelmed, not by hisugliness--by his mind. " She enclosed a circle in the air with her hands. She realised with a great sense of comfort who easily she could talkto Hewet, those thorns or ragged corners which tear the surface of somerelationships being smoothed away. 

"So I observed, " said Hewet. "That's a thing that never ceases to amazeme. " He had recovered his composure to such an extent that he couldlight and smoke a cigarette, and feeling her ease, became happy and easyhimself. 

"The respect that women, even well-educated, very able women, have formen, " he went on. "I believe we must have the sort of power over youthat we're said to have over horses. They see us three times as big aswe are or they'd never obey us. For that very reason, I'm inclined todoubt that you'll ever do anything even when you have the vote. " Helooked at her reflectively. She appeared very smooth and sensitive andyoung. "It'll take at least six generations before you're sufficientlythick-skinned to go into law courts and business offices. Consider whata bully the ordinary man is, " he continued, "the ordinary hard-working, rather ambitious solicitor or man of business with a family to bring upand a certain position to maintain. And then, of course, the daughtershave to give way to the sons; the sons have to be educated; they have tobully and shove for their wives and families, and so it all comes overagain. And meanwhile there are the women in the background. . . . Do youreally think that the vote will do you any good?"

"The vote?" Rachel repeated. She had to visualise it as a little bit ofpaper which she dropped into a box before she understood his question, and looking at each other they smiled at something absurd in thequestion. 

"Not to me, " she said. "But I play the piano. . . . Are men really likethat?" she asked, returning to the question that interested her. "I'mnot afraid of you. " She looked at him easily. 

"Oh, I'm different, " Hewet replied. "I've got between six and sevenhundred a year of my own. And then no one takes a novelist seriously, thank heavens. There's no doubt it helps to make up for the drudgery ofa profession if a man's taken very, very seriously by every one--ifhe gets appointments, and has offices and a title, and lots of lettersafter his name, and bits of ribbon and degrees. I don't grudge it 'em, though sometimes it comes over me--what an amazing concoction! What amiracle the masculine conception of life is--judges, civil servants, army, navy, Houses of Parliament, lord mayors--what a world we've madeof it! Look at Hirst now. I assure you, " he said, "not a day's passedsince we came here without a discussion as to whether he's to stay on atCambridge or to go to the Bar. It's his career--his sacred career. Andif I've heard it twenty times, I'm sure his mother and sister have heardit five hundred times. Can't you imagine the family conclaves, and thesister told to run out and feed the rabbits because St. John must havethe school-room to himself--'St. John's working, ' 'St. John wants histea brought to him. ' Don't you know the kind of thing? No wonder thatSt. John thinks it a matter of considerable importance. It is too. He has to earn his living. But St. John's sister--" Hewet puffed insilence. "No one takes her seriously, poor dear. She feeds the rabbits. "

"Yes, " said Rachel. "I've fed rabbits for twenty-four years; it seemsodd now. " She looked meditative, and Hewet, who had been talking much atrandom and instinctively adopting the feminine point of view, saw thatshe would now talk about herself, which was what he wanted, for so theymight come to know each other. 

She looked back meditatively upon her past life. 

"How do you spend your day?" he asked. 

She meditated still. When she thought of their day it seemed to her itwas cut into four pieces by their meals. These divisions were absolutelyrigid, the contents of the day having to accommodate themselves withinthe four rigid bars. Looking back at her life, that was what she saw. 

"Breakfast nine; luncheon one; tea five; dinner eight, " she said. 

"Well, " said Hewet, "what d'you do in the morning?"

"I need to play the piano for hours and hours. "

"And after luncheon?"

"Then I went shopping with one of my aunts. Or we went to see some one, or we took a message; or we did something that had to be done--the tapsmight be leaking. They visit the poor a good deal--old char-women withbad legs, women who want tickets for hospitals. Or I used to walk in thepark by myself. And after tea people sometimes called; or in summer wesat in the garden or played croquet; in winter I read aloud, whilethey worked; after dinner I played the piano and they wrote letters. If father was at home we had friends of his to dinner, and about once amonth we went up to the play. Every now and then we dined out; sometimesI went to a dance in London, but that was difficult because of gettingback. The people we saw were old family friends, and relations, but wedidn't see many people. There was the clergyman, Mr. Pepper, and theHunts. Father generally wanted to be quiet when he came home, because heworks very hard at Hull. Also my aunts aren't very strong. A house takesup a lot of time if you do it properly. Our servants were always bad, and so Aunt Lucy used to do a good deal in the kitchen, and Aunt Clara, I think, spent most of the morning dusting the drawing-room and goingthrough the linen and silver. Then there were the dogs. They had to beexercised, besides being washed and brushed. Now Sandy's dead, but AuntClara has a very old cockatoo that came from India. Everything inour house, " she exclaimed, "comes from somewhere! It's full of oldfurniture, not really old, Victorian, things mother's family had orfather's family had, which they didn't like to get rid of, I suppose, though we've really no room for them. It's rather a nice house, " shecontinued, "except that it's a little dingy--dull I should say. " Shecalled up before her eyes a vision of the drawing-room at home; it wasa large oblong room, with a square window opening on the garden. Greenplush chairs stood against the wall; there was a heavy carved book-case, with glass doors, and a general impression of faded sofa covers, largespaces of pale green, and baskets with pieces of wool-work dropping outof them. Photographs from old Italian masterpieces hung on the walls, and views of Venetian bridges and Swedish waterfalls which members ofthe family had seen years ago. There were also one or two portraits offathers and grandmothers, and an engraving of John Stuart Mill, afterthe picture by Watts. It was a room without definite character, beingneither typically and openly hideous, nor strenuously artistic, norreally comfortable. Rachel roused herself from the contemplation of thisfamiliar picture. 

"But this isn't very interesting for you, " she said, looking up. 

"Good Lord!" Hewet exclaimed. "I've never been so much interested in mylife. " She then realised that while she had been thinking of Richmond, his eyes had never left her face. The knowledge of this excited her. 

"Go on, please go on, " he urged. "Let's imagine it's a Wednesday. You'reall at luncheon. You sit there, and Aunt Lucy there, and Aunt Clarahere"; he arranged three pebbles on the grass between them. 

"Aunt Clara carves the neck of lamb, " Rachel continued. She fixed hergaze upon the pebbles. "There's a very ugly yellow china stand infront of me, called a dumb waiter, on which are three dishes, one forbiscuits, one for butter, and one for cheese. There's a pot of ferns. Then there's Blanche the maid, who snuffles because of her nose. Wetalk--oh yes, it's Aunt Lucy's afternoon at Walworth, so we're ratherquick over luncheon. She goes off. She has a purple bag, and a blacknotebook. Aunt Clara has what they call a G. F. S. Meeting in thedrawing-room on Wednesday, so I take the dogs out. I go up RichmondHill, along the terrace, into the park. It's the 18th of April--the sameday as it is here. It's spring in England. The ground is rather damp. However, I cross the road and get on to the grass and we walk along, andI sing as I always do when I'm alone, until we come to the open placewhere you can see the whole of London beneath you on a clear day. Hampstead Church spire there, Westminster Cathedral over there, andfactory chimneys about here. There's generally a haze over the low partsof London; but it's often blue over the park when London's in a mist. It's the open place that the balloons cross going over to Hurlingham. They're pale yellow. Well, then, it smells very good, particularly ifthey happen to be burning wood in the keeper's lodge which is there. I could tell you now how to get from place to place, and exactly whattrees you'd pass, and where you'd cross the roads. You see, I playedthere when I was small. Spring is good, but it's best in the autumnwhen the deer are barking; then it gets dusky, and I go back through thestreets, and you can't see people properly; they come past very quick, you just see their faces and then they're gone--that's what I like--andno one knows in the least what you're doing--"

"But you have to be back for tea, I suppose?" Hewet checked her. 

"Tea? Oh yes. Five o'clock. Then I say what I've done, and my auntssay what they've done, and perhaps some one comes in: Mrs. Hunt, let'ssuppose. She's an old lady with a lame leg. She has or she once hadeight children; so we ask after them. They're all over the world; so weask where they are, and sometimes they're ill, or they're stationed ina cholera district, or in some place where it only rains once in fivemonths. Mrs. Hunt, " she said with a smile, "had a son who was hugged todeath by a bear. "

Here she stopped and looked at Hewet to see whether he was amused bythe same things that amused her. She was reassured. But she thought itnecessary to apologise again; she had been talking too much. 

"You can't conceive how it interests me, " he said. Indeed, his cigarettehad gone out, and he had to light another. 

"Why does it interest you?" she asked. 

"Partly because you're a woman, " he replied. When he said this, Rachel, who had become oblivious of anything, and had reverted to achildlike state of interest and pleasure, lost her freedom and becameself-conscious. She felt herself at once singular and under observation, as she felt with St. John Hirst. She was about to launch into anargument which would have made them both feel bitterly against eachother, and to define sensations which had no such importance as wordswere bound to give them when Hewet led her thoughts in a differentdirection. 

"I've often walked along the streets where people live all in a row, andone house is exactly like another house, and wondered what on earth thewomen were doing inside, " he said. "Just consider: it's the beginning ofthe twentieth century, and until a few years ago no woman had ever comeout by herself and said things at all. There it was going on in thebackground, for all those thousands of years, this curious silentunrepresented life. Of course we're always writing about women--abusingthem, or jeering at them, or worshipping them; but it's never come fromwomen themselves. I believe we still don't know in the least how theylive, or what they feel, or what they do precisely. If one's a man, theonly confidences one gets are from young women about their love affairs. But the lives of women of forty, of unmarried women, of working women, of women who keep shops and bring up children, of women like your auntsor Mrs. Thornbury or Miss Allan--one knows nothing whatever about them. They won't tell you. Either they're afraid, or they've got a way oftreating men. It's the man's view that's represented, you see. Think ofa railway train: fifteen carriages for men who want to smoke. Doesn't itmake your blood boil? If I were a woman I'd blow some one's brainsout. Don't you laugh at us a great deal? Don't you think it all a greathumbug? You, I mean--how does it all strike you?"

His determination to know, while it gave meaning to their talk, hamperedher; he seemed to press further and further, and made it appear soimportant. She took some time to answer, and during that time she wentover and over the course of her twenty-four years, lighting now on onepoint, now on another--on her aunts, her mother, her father, and at lasther mind fixed upon her aunts and her father, and she tried to describethem as at this distance they appeared to her. 

They were very much afraid of her father. He was a great dim force inthe house, by means of which they held on to the great world which isrepresented every morning in the _Times_. But the real life of the housewas something quite different from this. It went on independently ofMr. Vinrace, and tended to hide itself from him. He was good-humouredtowards them, but contemptuous. She had always taken it for granted thathis point of view was just, and founded upon an ideal scale of thingswhere the life of one person was absolutely more important than the lifeof another, and that in that scale they were much less importance thanhe was. But did she really believe that? Hewet's words made her think. She always submitted to her father, just as they did, but it was heraunts who influenced her really; her aunts who built up the fine, closely woven substance of their life at home. They were less splendidbut more natural than her father was. All her rages had been againstthem; it was their world with its four meals, its punctuality, andservants on the stairs at half-past ten, that she examined so closelyand wanted so vehemently to smash to atoms. Following these thoughts shelooked up and said:

"And there's a sort of beauty in it--there they are at Richmond at thisvery moment building things up. They're all wrong, perhaps, but there'sa sort of beauty in it, " she repeated. "It's so unconscious, so modest. And yet they feel things. They do mind if people die. Old spinsters arealways doing things. I don't quite know what they do. Only that was whatI felt when I lived with them. It was very real. "

She reviewed their little journeys to and fro, to Walworth, to charwomenwith bad legs, to meetings for this and that, their minute acts ofcharity and unselfishness which flowered punctually from a definite viewof what they ought to do, their friendships, their tastes and habits;she saw all these things like grains of sand falling, falling throughinnumerable days, making an atmosphere and building up a solid mass, abackground. Hewet observed her as she considered this. 

"Were you happy?" he demanded. 

Again she had become absorbed in something else, and he called her backto an unusually vivid consciousness of herself. 

"I was both, " she replied. "I was happy and I was miserable. You've noconception what it's like--to be a young woman. " She looked straight athim. "There are terrors and agonies, " she said, keeping her eye on himas if to detect the slightest hint of laughter. 

"I can believe it, " he said. He returned her look with perfectsincerity. 

"Women one sees in the streets, " she said. 

"Prostitutes?"

"Men kissing one. "

He nodded his head. 

"You were never told?"

She shook her head. 

"And then, " she began and stopped. Here came in the great space of lifeinto which no one had ever penetrated. All that she had been sayingabout her father and her aunts and walks in Richmond Park, and what theydid from hour to hour, was merely on the surface. Hewet was watchingher. Did he demand that she should describe that also? Why did he sitso near and keep his eye on her? Why did they not have done with thissearching and agony? Why did they not kiss each other simply? She wishedto kiss him. But all the time she went on spinning out words. 

"A girl is more lonely than a boy. No one cares in the least what shedoes. Nothing's expected of her. Unless one's very pretty people don'tlisten to what you say. . . . And that is what I like, " she addedenergetically, as if the memory were very happy. "I like walking inRichmond Park and singing to myself and knowing it doesn't matter a damnto anybody. I like seeing things go on--as we saw you that night whenyou didn't see us--I love the freedom of it--it's like being the wind orthe sea. " She turned with a curious fling of her hands and looked at thesea. It was still very blue, dancing away as far as the eye could reach, but the light on it was yellower, and the clouds were turning flamingored. 

A feeling of intense depression crossed Hewet's mind as she spoke. It seemed plain that she would never care for one person rather thananother; she was evidently quite indifferent to him; they seemed tocome very near, and then they were as far apart as ever again; and hergesture as she turned away had been oddly beautiful. 

"Nonsense, " he said abruptly. "You like people. You like admiration. Your real grudge against Hirst is that he doesn't admire you. "

She made no answer for some time. Then she said:

"That's probably true. Of course I like people--I like almost every oneI've ever met. "

She turned her back on the sea and regarded Hewet with friendly ifcritical eyes. He was good-looking in the sense that he had always hada sufficiency of beef to eat and fresh air to breathe. His head was big;the eyes were also large; though generally vague they could be forcible;and the lips were sensitive. One might account him a man of considerablepassion and fitful energy, likely to be at the mercy of moods which hadlittle relation to facts; at once tolerant and fastidious. The breadthof his forehead showed capacity for thought. The interest with whichRachel looked at him was heard in her voice. 

"What novels do you write?" she asked. 

"I want to write a novel about Silence, " he said; "the things peopledon't say. But the difficulty is immense. " He sighed. "However, youdon't care, " he continued. He looked at her almost severely. "Nobodycares. All you read a novel for is to see what sort of person the writeris, and, if you know him, which of his friends he's put in. As for thenovel itself, the whole conception, the way one's seen the thing, felt about it, make it stand in relation to other things, not one ina million cares for that. And yet I sometimes wonder whether there'sanything else in the whole world worth doing. These other people, " heindicated the hotel, "are always wanting something they can't get. Butthere's an extraordinary satisfaction in writing, even in the attemptto write. What you said just now is true: one doesn't want to be things;one wants merely to be allowed to see them. "

Some of the satisfaction of which he spoke came into his face as hegazed out to sea. 

It was Rachel's turn now to feel depressed. As he talked of writing hehad become suddenly impersonal. He might never care for any one; allthat desire to know her and get at her, which she had felt pressing onher almost painfully, had completely vanished. 

"Are you a good writer?" she asked. 

"Yes, " he said. "I'm not first-rate, of course; I'm good second-rate;about as good as Thackeray, I should say. "

Rachel was amazed. For one thing it amazed her to hear Thackeray calledsecond-rate; and then she could not widen her point of view to believethat there could be great writers in existence at the present day, orif there were, that any one she knew could be a great writer, and hisself-confidence astounded her, and he became more and more remote. 

"My other novel, " Hewet continued, "is about a young man who is obsessedby an idea--the idea of being a gentleman. He manages to exist atCambridge on a hundred pounds a year. He has a coat; it was once a verygood coat. But the trousers--they're not so good. Well, he goes up toLondon, gets into good society, owing to an early-morning adventure onthe banks of the Serpentine. He is led into telling lies--my idea, yousee, is to show the gradual corruption of the soul--calls himself theson of some great landed proprietor in Devonshire. Meanwhile the coatbecomes older and older, and he hardly dares to wear the trousers. Can'tyou imagine the wretched man, after some splendid evening of debauchery, contemplating these garments--hanging them over the end of the bed, arranging them now in full light, now in shade, and wondering whetherthey will survive him, or he will survive them? Thoughts of suicidecross his mind. He has a friend, too, a man who somehow subsistsupon selling small birds, for which he sets traps in the fields nearUxbridge. They're scholars, both of them. I know one or two wretchedstarving creatures like that who quote Aristotle at you over a friedherring and a pint of porter. Fashionable life, too, I have to representat some length, in order to show my hero under all circumstances. LadyTheo Bingham Bingley, whose bay mare he had the good fortune to stop, is the daughter of a very fine old Tory peer. I'm going to describe thekind of parties I once went to--the fashionable intellectuals, you know, who like to have the latest book on their tables. They give parties, river parties, parties where you play games. There's no difficulty inconceiving incidents; the difficulty is to put them into shape--not toget run away with, as Lady Theo was. It ended disastrously for her, poorwoman, for the book, as I planned it, was going to end in profound andsordid respectability. Disowned by her father, she marries my hero, andthey live in a snug little villa outside Croydon, in which town he isset up as a house agent. He never succeeds in becoming a real gentlemanafter all. That's the interesting part of it. Does it seem to you thekind of book you'd like to read?" he enquired; "or perhaps you'd like myStuart tragedy better, " he continued, without waiting for her to answerhim. "My idea is that there's a certain quality of beauty in the past, which the ordinary historical novelist completely ruins by his absurdconventions. The moon becomes the Regent of the Skies. People clap spursto their horses, and so on. I'm going to treat people as though theywere exactly the same as we are. The advantage is that, detached frommodern conditions, one can make them more intense and more abstract thenpeople who live as we do. "

Rachel had listened to all this with attention, but with a certainamount of bewilderment. They both sat thinking their own thoughts. 

"I'm not like Hirst, " said Hewet, after a pause; he spoke meditatively;"I don't see circles of chalk between people's feet. I sometimes wish Idid. It seems to me so tremendously complicated and confused. One can'tcome to any decision at all; one's less and less capable of makingjudgments. D'you find that? And then one never knows what any one feels. We're all in the dark. We try to find out, but can you imagine anythingmore ludicrous than one person's opinion of another person? One goesalong thinking one knows; but one really doesn't know. "

As he said this he was leaning on his elbow arranging and rearrangingin the grass the stones which had represented Rachel and her auntsat luncheon. He was speaking as much to himself as to Rachel. He wasreasoning against the desire, which had returned with intensity, to takeher in his arms; to have done with indirectness; to explain exactly whathe felt. What he said was against his belief; all the things that wereimportant about her he knew; he felt them in the air around them; but hesaid nothing; he went on arranging the stones. 

"I like you; d'you like me?" Rachel suddenly observed. 

"I like you immensely, " Hewet replied, speaking with the relief of aperson who is unexpectedly given an opportunity of saying what he wantsto say. He stopped moving the pebbles. 

"Mightn't we call each other Rachel and Terence?" he asked. 

"Terence, " Rachel repeated. "Terence--that's like the cry of an owl. "

She looked up with a sudden rush of delight, and in looking at Terencewith eyes widened by pleasure she was struck by the change that had comeover the sky behind them. The substantial blue day had faded to a palerand more ethereal blue; the clouds were pink, far away and closelypacked together; and the peace of evening had replaced the heat of thesouthern afternoon, in which they had started on their walk. 

"It must be late!" she exclaimed. 

It was nearly eight o'clock. 

"But eight o'clock doesn't count here, does it?" Terence asked, as theygot up and turned inland again. They began to walk rather quickly downthe hill on a little path between the olive trees. 

They felt more intimate because they shared the knowledge of what eighto'clock in Richmond meant. Terence walked in front, for there was notroom for them side by side. 

"What I want to do in writing novels is very much what you want to dowhen you play the piano, I expect, " he began, turning and speaking overhis shoulder. "We want to find out what's behind things, don't we?--Lookat the lights down there, " he continued, "scattered about anyhow. ThingsI feel come to me like lights. . . . I want to combine them. . . . Haveyou ever seen fireworks that make figures? . . . I want to make figures.. . . Is that what you want to do?"

Now they were out on the road and could walk side by side. 

"When I play the piano? Music is different. . . . But I see what youmean. " They tried to invent theories and to make their theories agree. As Hewet had no knowledge of music, Rachel took his stick and drewfigures in the thin white dust to explain how Bach wrote his fugues. 

"My musical gift was ruined, " he explained, as they walked on afterone of these demonstrations, "by the village organist at home, whohad invented a system of notation which he tried to teach me, with theresult that I never got to the tune-playing at all. My motherthought music wasn't manly for boys; she wanted me to kill rats andbirds--that's the worst of living in the country. We live in Devonshire. It's the loveliest place in the world. Only--it's always difficult athome when one's grown up. I'd like you to know one of my sisters. . . . Oh, here's your gate--" He pushed it open. They paused for a moment. She could not ask him to come in. She could not say that she hoped theywould meet again; there was nothing to be said, and so without a wordshe went through the gate, and was soon invisible. Directly Hewet lostsight of her, he felt the old discomfort return, even more strongly thanbefore. Their talk had been interrupted in the middle, just as he wasbeginning to say the things he wanted to say. After all, what had theybeen able to say? He ran his mind over the things they had said, therandom, unnecessary things which had eddied round and round and usedup all the time, and drawn them so close together and flung them so farapart, and left him in the end unsatisfied, ignorant still of what shefelt and of what she was like. What was the use of talking, talking, merely talking?

Chapter XVII

It was now the height of the season, and every ship that came fromEngland left a few people on the shores of Santa Marina who drove up tothe hotel. The fact that the Ambroses had a house where one could escapemomentarily from the slightly inhuman atmosphere of an hotel was asource of genuine pleasure not only to Hirst and Hewet, but to theElliots, the Thornburys, the Flushings, Miss Allan, Evelyn M. , togetherwith other people whose identity was so little developed that theAmbroses did not discover that they possessed names. By degrees therewas established a kind of correspondence between the two houses, the bigand the small, so that at most hours of the day one house could guesswhat was going on in the other, and the words "the villa" and "thehotel" called up the idea of two separate systems of life. Acquaintancesshowed signs of developing into friends, for that one tie to Mrs. Parry's drawing-room had inevitably split into many other ties attachedto different parts of England, and sometimes these alliances seemedcynically fragile, and sometimes painfully acute, lacking as they didthe supporting background of organised English life. One night when themoon was round between the trees, Evelyn M. Told Helen the story ofher life, and claimed her everlasting friendship; or another occasion, merely because of a sigh, or a pause, or a word thoughtlessly dropped, poor Mrs. Elliot left the villa half in tears, vowing never again tomeet the cold and scornful woman who had insulted her, and in truth, meet again they never did. It did not seem worth while to piece togetherso slight a friendship. 

Hewet, indeed, might have found excellent material at this time upat the villa for some chapters in the novel which was to be called"Silence, or the Things People don't say. " Helen and Rachel had becomevery silent. Having detected, as she thought, a secret, and judging thatRachel meant to keep it from her, Mrs. Ambrose respected it carefully, but from that cause, though unintentionally, a curious atmosphere ofreserve grew up between them. Instead of sharing their views upon allsubjects, and plunging after an idea wherever it might lead, they spokechiefly in comment upon the people they saw, and the secret betweenthem made itself felt in what they said even of Thornburys and Elliots. Always calm and unemotional in her judgments, Mrs. Ambrose wasnow inclined to be definitely pessimistic. She was not severe uponindividuals so much as incredulous of the kindness of destiny, fate, what happens in the long run, and apt to insist that this was generallyadverse to people in proportion as they deserved well. Even this theoryshe was ready to discard in favour of one which made chaos triumphant, things happening for no reason at all, and every one groping about inillusion and ignorance. With a certain pleasure she developed theseviews to her niece, taking a letter from home as her test: which gavegood news, but might just as well have given bad. How did she know thatat this very moment both her children were not lying dead, crushed bymotor omnibuses? "It's happening to somebody: why shouldn't it happento me?" she would argue, her face taking on the stoical expression ofanticipated sorrow. However sincere these views may have been, they wereundoubtedly called forth by the irrational state of her niece's mind. It was so fluctuating, and went so quickly from joy to despair, that itseemed necessary to confront it with some stable opinion which naturallybecame dark as well as stable. Perhaps Mrs. Ambrose had some idea thatin leading the talk into these quarters she might discover what was inRachel's mind, but it was difficult to judge, for sometimes she wouldagree with the gloomiest thing that was said, at other times she refusedto listen, and rammed Helen's theories down her throat with laughter, chatter, ridicule of the wildest, and fierce bursts of anger even atwhat she called the "croaking of a raven in the mud. "

"It's hard enough without that, " she asserted. 

"What's hard?" Helen demanded. 

"Life, " she replied, and then they both became silent. 

Helen might draw her own conclusions as to why life was hard, as to whyan hour later, perhaps, life was something so wonderful and vividthat the eyes of Rachel beholding it were positively exhilarating to aspectator. True to her creed, she did not attempt to interfere, althoughthere were enough of those weak moments of depression to make itperfectly easy for a less scrupulous person to press through and knowall, and perhaps Rachel was sorry that she did not choose. All thesemoods ran themselves into one general effect, which Helen compared tothe sliding of a river, quick, quicker, quicker still, as it races to awaterfall. Her instinct was to cry out Stop! but even had there beenany use in crying Stop! she would have refrained, thinking it best thatthings should take their way, the water racing because the earth wasshaped to make it race. 

It seemed that Rachel herself had no suspicion that she was watched, orthat there was anything in her manner likely to draw attention to her. What had happened to her she did not know. Her mind was very much in thecondition of the racing water to which Helen compared it. She wantedto see Terence; she was perpetually wishing to see him when he was notthere; it was an agony to miss seeing him; agonies were strewn all abouther day on account of him, but she never asked herself what this forcedriving through her life arose from. She thought of no result any morethan a tree perpetually pressed downwards by the wind considers theresult of being pressed downwards by the wind. 

During the two or three weeks which had passed since their walk, half adozen notes from him had accumulated in her drawer. She would readthem, and spend the whole morning in a daze of happiness; the sunny landoutside the window being no less capable of analysing its own colourand heat than she was of analysing hers. In these moods she found itimpossible to read or play the piano, even to move being beyond herinclination. The time passed without her noticing it. When it was darkshe was drawn to the window by the lights of the hotel. A light thatwent in and out was the light in Terence's window: there he sat, readingperhaps, or now he was walking up and down pulling out one book afteranother; and now he was seated in his chair again, and she tried toimagine what he was thinking about. The steady lights marked the roomswhere Terence sat with people moving round him. Every one who stayed inthe hotel had a peculiar romance and interest about them. They were notordinary people. She would attribute wisdom to Mrs. Elliot, beauty toSusan Warrington, a splendid vitality to Evelyn M. , because Terencespoke to them. As unreflecting and pervasive were the moods ofdepression. Her mind was as the landscape outside when dark beneathclouds and straitly lashed by wind and hail. Again she would sit passivein her chair exposed to pain, and Helen's fantastical or gloomy wordswere like so many darts goading her to cry out against the hardness oflife. Best of all were the moods when for no reason again this stress offeeling slackened, and life went on as usual, only with a joy and colourin its events that was unknown before; they had a significance like thatwhich she had seen in the tree: the nights were black bars separatingher from the days; she would have liked to run all the days into onelong continuity of sensation. Although these moods were directly orindirectly caused by the presence of Terence or the thought of him, shenever said to herself that she was in love with him, or considered whatwas to happen if she continued to feel such things, so that Helen'simage of the river sliding on to the waterfall had a great likeness tothe facts, and the alarm which Helen sometimes felt was justified. 

In her curious condition of unanalysed sensations she was incapable ofmaking a plan which should have any effect upon her state of mind. Sheabandoned herself to the mercy of accidents, missing Terence one day, meeting him the next, receiving his letters always with a start ofsurprise. Any woman experienced in the progress of courtship would havecome by certain opinions from all this which would have given her atleast a theory to go upon; but no one had ever been in love with Rachel, and she had never been in love with any one. Moreover, none of the booksshe read, from _Wuthering_ _Heights_ to _Man_ _and_ _Superman_, and theplays of Ibsen, suggested from their analysis of love that what theirheroines felt was what she was feeling now. It seemed to her that hersensations had no name. 

She met Terence frequently. When they did not meet, he was apt to send anote with a book or about a book, for he had not been able after all toneglect that approach to intimacy. But sometimes he did not come or didnot write for several days at a time. Again when they met their meetingmight be one of inspiriting joy or of harassing despair. Over all theirpartings hung the sense of interruption, leaving them both unsatisfied, though ignorant that the other shared the feeling. 

If Rachel was ignorant of her own feelings, she was even more completelyignorant of his. At first he moved as a god; as she came to know himbetter he was still the centre of light, but combined with this beautya wonderful power of making her daring and confident of herself. Shewas conscious of emotions and powers which she had never suspected inherself, and of a depth in the world hitherto unknown. When she thoughtof their relationship she saw rather than reasoned, representing herview of what Terence felt by a picture of him drawn across the room tostand by her side. This passage across the room amounted to a physicalsensation, but what it meant she did not know. 

Thus the time went on, wearing a calm, bright look upon its surface. Letters came from England, letters came from Willoughby, and the daysaccumulated their small events which shaped the year. Superficially, three odes of Pindar were mended, Helen covered about five inches of herembroidery, and St. John completed the first two acts of a play. He andRachel being now very good friends, he read them aloud to her, and shewas so genuinely impressed by the skill of his rhythms and the varietyof his adjectives, as well as by the fact that he was Terence's friend, that he began to wonder whether he was not intended for literaturerather than for law. It was a time of profound thought and suddenrevelations for more than one couple, and several single people. 

A Sunday came, which no one in the villa with the exception of Racheland the Spanish maid proposed to recognise. Rachel still went to church, because she had never, according to Helen, taken the trouble to thinkabout it. Since they had celebrated the service at the hotel she wentthere expecting to get some pleasure from her passage across the gardenand through the hall of the hotel, although it was very doubtful whethershe would see Terence, or at any rate have the chance of speaking tohim. 

As the greater number of visitors at the hotel were English, there wasalmost as much difference between Sunday and Wednesday as there is inEngland, and Sunday appeared here as there, the mute black ghost orpenitent spirit of the busy weekday. The English could not pale thesunshine, but they could in some miraculous way slow down the hours, dull the incidents, lengthen the meals, and make even the servants andpage-boys wear a look of boredom and propriety. The best clothes whichevery one put on helped the general effect; it seemed that no lady couldsit down without bending a clean starched petticoat, and no gentlemancould breathe without a sudden crackle from a stiff shirt-front. As thehands of the clock neared eleven, on this particular Sunday, variouspeople tended to draw together in the hall, clasping little red-leavedbooks in their hands. The clock marked a few minutes to the hour whena stout black figure passed through the hall with a preoccupiedexpression, as though he would rather not recognise salutations, although aware of them, and disappeared down the corridor which led fromit. 

"Mr. Bax, " Mrs. Thornbury whispered. 

The little group of people then began to move off in the same directionas the stout black figure. Looked at in an odd way by people who madeno effort to join them, they moved with one exception slowly andconsciously towards the stairs. Mrs. Flushing was the exception. Shecame running downstairs, strode across the hall, joined the processionmuch out of breath, demanding of Mrs. Thornbury in an agitated whisper, "Where, where?"

"We are all going, " said Mrs. Thornbury gently, and soon they weredescending the stairs two by two. Rachel was among the first to descend. She did not see that Terence and Hirst came in at the rear possessed ofno black volume, but of one thin book bound in light-blue cloth, whichSt. John carried under his arm. 

The chapel was the old chapel of the monks. It was a profound cool placewhere they had said Mass for hundreds of years, and done penance inthe cold moonlight, and worshipped old brown pictures and carved saintswhich stood with upraised hands of blessing in the hollows in the walls. The transition from Catholic to Protestant worship had been bridged by atime of disuse, when there were no services, and the place was used forstoring jars of oil, liqueur, and deck-chairs; the hotel flourishing, some religious body had taken the place in hand, and it was now fittedout with a number of glazed yellow benches, claret-coloured footstools;it had a small pulpit, and a brass eagle carrying the Bible on its back, while the piety of different women had supplied ugly squares of carpet, and long strips of embroidery heavily wrought with monograms in gold. 

As the congregation entered they were met by mild sweet chords issuingfrom a harmonium, where Miss Willett, concealed from view by a baizecurtain, struck emphatic chords with uncertain fingers. The sound spreadthrough the chapel as the rings of water spread from a fallen stone. Thetwenty or twenty-five people who composed the congregation first bowedtheir heads and then sat up and looked about them. It was very quiet, and the light down here seemed paler than the light above. The usualbows and smiles were dispensed with, but they recognised each other. The Lord's Prayer was read over them. As the childlike battle of voicesrose, the congregation, many of whom had only met on the staircase, feltthemselves pathetically united and well-disposed towards each other. As if the prayer were a torch applied to fuel, a smoke seemed to riseautomatically and fill the place with the ghosts of innumerable serviceson innumerable Sunday mornings at home. Susan Warrington in particularwas conscious of the sweetest sense of sisterhood, as she covered herface with her hands and saw slips of bent backs through the chinksbetween her fingers. Her emotions rose calmly and evenly, approving ofherself and of life at the same time. It was all so quiet and so good. But having created this peaceful atmosphere Mr. Bax suddenly turned thepage and read a psalm. Though he read it with no change of voice themood was broken. 

"Be merciful unto me, O God, " he read, "for man goeth about to devourme: he is daily fighting and troubling me. . . . They daily mistake mywords: all that they imagine is to do me evil. They hold all togetherand keep themselves close. . . . Break their teeth, O God, in theirmouths; smite the jaw-bones of the lions, O Lord: let them fall awaylike water that runneth apace; and when they shoot their arrows let thembe rooted out. "

Nothing in Susan's experience at all corresponded with this, and as shehad no love of language she had long ceased to attend to such remarks, although she followed them with the same kind of mechanical respect withwhich she heard many of Lear's speeches read aloud. Her mind was stillserene and really occupied with praise of her own nature and praise ofGod, that is of the solemn and satisfactory order of the world. 

But it could be seen from a glance at their faces that most of theothers, the men in particular, felt the inconvenience of the suddenintrusion of this old savage. They looked more secular and critical asthen listened to the ravings of the old black man with a cloth round hisloins cursing with vehement gesture by a camp-fire in the desert. Afterthat there was a general sound of pages being turned as if they were inclass, and then they read a little bit of the Old Testament about makinga well, very much as school boys translate an easy passage from the_Anabasis_ when they have shut up their French grammar. Then theyreturned to the New Testament and the sad and beautiful figureof Christ. While Christ spoke they made another effort to fit hisinterpretation of life upon the lives they lived, but as they were allvery different, some practical, some ambitious, some stupid, some wildand experimental, some in love, and others long past any feeling excepta feeling of comfort, they did very different things with the words ofChrist. 

From their faces it seemed that for the most part they made no effortat all, and, recumbent as it were, accepted the ideas the words gaveas representing goodness, in the same way, no doubt, as one of thoseindustrious needlewomen had accepted the bright ugly pattern on her matas beauty. 

Whatever the reason might be, for the first time in her life, insteadof slipping at once into some curious pleasant cloud of emotion, toofamiliar to be considered, Rachel listened critically to what was beingsaid. By the time they had swung in an irregular way from prayer topsalm, from psalm to history, from history to poetry, and Mr. Bax wasgiving out his text, she was in a state of acute discomfort. Such wasthe discomfort she felt when forced to sit through an unsatisfactorypiece of music badly played. Tantalised, enraged by the clumsyinsensitiveness of the conductor, who put the stress on the wrongplaces, and annoyed by the vast flock of the audience tamely praisingand acquiescing without knowing or caring, so she was not tantalized andenraged, only here, with eyes half-shut and lips pursed together, theatmosphere of forced solemnity increased her anger. All round her werepeople pretending to feel what they did not feel, while somewhere aboveher floated the idea which they could none of them grasp, which theypretended to grasp, always escaping out of reach, a beautiful idea, an idea like a butterfly. One after another, vast and hard and cold, appeared to her the churches all over the world where this blunderingeffort and misunderstanding were perpetually going on, great buildings, filled with innumerable men and women, not seeing clearly, whofinally gave up the effort to see, and relapsed tamely into praise andacquiescence, half-shutting their eyes and pursing up their lips. Thethought had the same sort of physical discomfort as is caused by a filmof mist always coming between the eyes and the printed page. She did herbest to brush away the film and to conceive something to be worshippedas the service went on, but failed, always misled by the voice of Mr. Bax saying things which misrepresented the idea, and by the patter ofbaaing inexpressive human voices falling round her like damp leaves. Theeffort was tiring and dispiriting. She ceased to listen, and fixed hereyes on the face of a woman near her, a hospital nurse, whose expressionof devout attention seemed to prove that she was at any rate receivingsatisfaction. But looking at her carefully she came to the conclusionthat the hospital nurse was only slavishly acquiescent, and that thelook of satisfaction was produced by no splendid conception of Godwithin her. How indeed, could she conceive anything far outside her ownexperience, a woman with a commonplace face like hers, a little roundred face, upon which trivial duties and trivial spites had drawn lines, whose weak blue eyes saw without intensity or individuality, whosefeatures were blurred, insensitive, and callous? She was adoringsomething shallow and smug, clinging to it, so the obstinate mouthwitnessed, with the assiduity of a limpet; nothing would tear her fromher demure belief in her own virtue and the virtues of her religion. Shewas a limpet, with the sensitive side of her stuck to a rock, for everdead to the rush of fresh and beautiful things past her. The faceof this single worshipper became printed on Rachel's mind with animpression of keen horror, and she had it suddenly revealed to her whatHelen meant and St. John meant when they proclaimed their hatred ofChristianity. With the violence that now marked her feelings, sherejected all that she had implicitly believed. 

Meanwhile Mr. Bax was half-way through the second lesson. She looked athim. He was a man of the world with supple lips and an agreeable manner, he was indeed a man of much kindliness and simplicity, though by nomeans clever, but she was not in the mood to give any one credit forsuch qualities, and examined him as though he were an epitome of all thevices of his service. 

Right at the back of the chapel Mrs. Flushing, Hirst, and Hewet sat ina row in a very different frame of mind. Hewet was staring at the roofwith his legs stuck out in front of him, for as he had never tried tomake the service fit any feeling or idea of his, he was able to enjoythe beauty of the language without hindrance. His mind was occupiedfirst with accidental things, such as the women's hair in front ofhim, the light on the faces, then with the words which seemed to himmagnificent, and then more vaguely with the characters of the otherworshippers. But when he suddenly perceived Rachel, all these thoughtswere driven out of his head, and he thought only of her. The psalms, the prayers, the Litany, and the sermon were all reduced to one chantingsound which paused, and then renewed itself, a little higher or a littlelower. He stared alternately at Rachel and at the ceiling, but hisexpression was now produced not by what he saw but by something in hismind. He was almost as painfully disturbed by his thoughts as she was byhers. 

Early in the service Mrs. Flushing had discovered that she had taken upa Bible instead of a prayer-book, and, as she was sitting next to Hirst, she stole a glance over his shoulder. He was reading steadily in thethin pale-blue volume. Unable to understand, she peered closer, uponwhich Hirst politely laid the book before her, pointing to the firstline of a Greek poem and then to the translation opposite. 

"What's that?" she whispered inquisitively. 

"Sappho, " he replied. "The one Swinburne did--the best thing that's everbeen written. "

Mrs. Flushing could not resist such an opportunity. She gulped down theOde to Aphrodite during the Litany, keeping herself with difficulty fromasking when Sappho lived, and what else she wrote worth reading, andcontriving to come in punctually at the end with "the forgiveness ofsins, the Resurrection of the body, and the life everlastin'. Amen. "

Meanwhile Hirst took out an envelope and began scribbling on the back ofit. When Mr. Bax mounted the pulpit he shut up Sappho with his envelopebetween the pages, settled his spectacles, and fixed his gaze intentlyupon the clergyman. Standing in the pulpit he looked very large and fat;the light coming through the greenish unstained window-glass made hisface appear smooth and white like a very large egg. 

He looked round at all the faces looking mildly up at him, althoughsome of them were the faces of men and women old enough to be hisgrandparents, and gave out his text with weighty significance. Theargument of the sermon was that visitors to this beautiful land, although they were on a holiday, owed a duty to the natives. It did not, in truth, differ very much from a leading article upon topics of generalinterest in the weekly newspapers. It rambled with a kind of amiableverbosity from one heading to another, suggesting that all human beingsare very much the same under their skins, illustrating this by theresemblance of the games which little Spanish boys play to the gameslittle boys in London streets play, observing that very small things doinfluence people, particularly natives; in fact, a very dear friend ofMr. Bax's had told him that the success of our rule in India, that vastcountry, largely depended upon the strict code of politeness which theEnglish adopted towards the natives, which led to the remark that smallthings were not necessarily small, and that somehow to the virtue ofsympathy, which was a virtue never more needed than to-day, when welived in a time of experiment and upheaval--witness the aeroplane andwireless telegraph, and there were other problems which hardly presentedthemselves to our fathers, but which no man who called himself a mancould leave unsettled. Here Mr. Bax became more definitely clerical, ifit were possible, he seemed to speak with a certain innocent craftiness, as he pointed out that all this laid a special duty upon earnestChristians. What men were inclined to say now was, "Oh, thatfellow--he's a parson. " What we want them to say is, "He's a goodfellow"--in other words, "He is my brother. " He exhorted them to keepin touch with men of the modern type; they must sympathise with theirmultifarious interests in order to keep before their eyes that whateverdiscoveries were made there was one discovery which could not besuperseded, which was indeed as much of a necessity to the mostsuccessful and most brilliant of them all as it had been to theirfathers. The humblest could help; the least important things had aninfluence (here his manner became definitely priestly and his remarksseemed to be directed to women, for indeed Mr. Bax's congregations weremainly composed of women, and he was used to assigning them their dutiesin his innocent clerical campaigns). Leaving more definite instruction, he passed on, and his theme broadened into a peroration for whichhe drew a long breath and stood very upright, --"As a drop of water, detached, alone, separate from others, falling from the cloud andentering the great ocean, alters, so scientists tell us, not only theimmediate spot in the ocean where it falls, but all the myriad dropswhich together compose the great universe of waters, and by this meansalters the configuration of the globe and the lives of millions of seacreatures, and finally the lives of the men and women who seek theirliving upon the shores--as all this is within the compass of a singledrop of water, such as any rain shower sends in millions to losethemselves in the earth, to lose themselves we say, but we know verywell that the fruits of the earth could not flourish without them--sois a marvel comparable to this within the reach of each one of us, whodropping a little word or a little deed into the great universe altersit; yea, it is a solemn thought, _alters_ it, for good or for evil, notfor one instant, or in one vicinity, but throughout the entire race, and for all eternity. " Whipping round as though to avoid applause, hecontinued with the same breath, but in a different tone of voice, --"Andnow to God the Father . . . "

He gave his blessing, and then, while the solemn chords again issuedfrom the harmonium behind the curtain, the different people beganscraping and fumbling and moving very awkwardly and consciously towardsthe door. Half-way upstairs, at a point where the light and sounds ofthe upper world conflicted with the dimness and the dying hymn-tune ofthe under, Rachel felt a hand drop upon her shoulder. 

"Miss Vinrace, " Mrs. Flushing whispered peremptorily, "stay to luncheon. It's such a dismal day. They don't even give one beef for luncheon. Please stay. "

Here they came out into the hall, where once more the little band wasgreeted with curious respectful glances by the people who had not goneto church, although their clothing made it clear that they approved ofSunday to the very verge of going to church. Rachel felt unable to standany more of this particular atmosphere, and was about to say she mustgo back, when Terence passed them, drawn along in talk with Evelyn M. Rachel thereupon contented herself with saying that the people lookedvery respectable, which negative remark Mrs. Flushing interpreted tomean that she would stay. 

"English people abroad!" she returned with a vivid flash of malice. "Ain't they awful! But we won't stay here, " she continued, plucking atRachel's arm. "Come up to my room. "

She bore her past Hewet and Evelyn and the Thornburys and the Elliots. Hewet stepped forward. 

"Luncheon--" he began. 

"Miss Vinrace has promised to lunch with me, " said Mrs. Flushing, andbegan to pound energetically up the staircase, as though the middleclasses of England were in pursuit. She did not stop until she hadslammed her bedroom door behind them. 

"Well, what did you think of it?" she demanded, panting slightly. 

All the disgust and horror which Rachel had been accumulating burstforth beyond her control. 

"I thought it the most loathsome exhibition I'd ever seen!" she brokeout. "How can they--how dare they--what do you mean by it--Mr. Bax, hospital nurses, old men, prostitutes, disgusting--"

She hit off the points she remembered as fast as she could, but she wastoo indignant to stop to analyse her feelings. Mrs. Flushing watched herwith keen gusto as she stood ejaculating with emphatic movements of herhead and hands in the middle of the room. 

"Go on, go on, do go on, " she laughed, clapping her hands. "It'sdelightful to hear you!"

"But why do you go?" Rachel demanded. 

"I've been every Sunday of my life ever since I can remember, " Mrs. Flushing chuckled, as though that were a reason by itself. 

Rachel turned abruptly to the window. She did not know what it was thathad put her into such a passion; the sight of Terence in the hall hadconfused her thoughts, leaving her merely indignant. She looked straightat their own villa, half-way up the side of the mountain. The mostfamiliar view seen framed through glass has a certain unfamiliardistinction, and she grew calm as she gazed. Then she remembered thatshe was in the presence of some one she did not know well, and sheturned and looked at Mrs. Flushing. Mrs. Flushing was still sittingon the edge of the bed, looking up, with her lips parted, so that herstrong white teeth showed in two rows. 

"Tell me, " she said, "which d'you like best, Mr. Hewet or Mr. Hirst?"

"Mr. Hewet, " Rachel replied, but her voice did not sound natural. 

"Which is the one who reads Greek in church?" Mrs. Flushing demanded. 

It might have been either of them and while Mrs. Flushing proceededto describe them both, and to say that both frightened her, but onefrightened her more than the other, Rachel looked for a chair. The room, of course, was one of the largest and most luxurious in the hotel. Therewere a great many arm-chairs and settees covered in brown holland, buteach of these was occupied by a large square piece of yellow cardboard, and all the pieces of cardboard were dotted or lined with spots ordashes of bright oil paint. 

"But you're not to look at those, " said Mrs. Flushing as she sawRachel's eye wander. She jumped up, and turned as many as she could, face downwards, upon the floor. Rachel, however, managed to possessherself of one of them, and, with the vanity of an artist, Mrs. Flushingdemanded anxiously, "Well, well?"

"It's a hill, " Rachel replied. There could be no doubt that Mrs. Flushing had represented the vigorous and abrupt fling of the earth upinto the air; you could almost see the clods flying as it whirled. 

Rachel passed from one to another. They were all marked by something ofthe jerk and decision of their maker; they were all perfectly untrainedonslaughts of the brush upon some half-realised idea suggested by hillor tree; and they were all in some way characteristic of Mrs. Flushing. 

"I see things movin', " Mrs. Flushing explained. "So"--she swept her handthrough a yard of the air. She then took up one of the cardboards whichRachel had laid aside, seated herself on a stool, and began to flourisha stump of charcoal. While she occupied herself in strokes which seemedto serve her as speech serves others, Rachel, who was very restless, looked about her. 

"Open the wardrobe, " said Mrs. Flushing after a pause, speakingindistinctly because of a paint-brush in her mouth, "and look at thethings. "

As Rachel hesitated, Mrs. Flushing came forward, still with apaint-brush in her mouth, flung open the wings of her wardrobe, andtossed a quantity of shawls, stuffs, cloaks, embroideries, on to thebed. Rachel began to finger them. Mrs. Flushing came up once more, anddropped a quantity of beads, brooches, earrings, bracelets, tassels, andcombs among the draperies. Then she went back to her stool and began topaint in silence. The stuffs were coloured and dark and pale; they madea curious swarm of lines and colours upon the counterpane, withthe reddish lumps of stone and peacocks' feathers and clear paletortoise-shell combs lying among them. 

"The women wore them hundreds of years ago, they wear 'em still, " Mrs. Flushing remarked. "My husband rides about and finds 'em; they don'tknow what they're worth, so we get 'em cheap. And we shall sell 'em tosmart women in London, " she chuckled, as though the thought of theseladies and their absurd appearance amused her. After painting forsome minutes, she suddenly laid down her brush and fixed her eyes uponRachel. 

"I tell you what I want to do, " she said. "I want to go up there and seethings for myself. It's silly stayin' here with a pack of old maids asthough we were at the seaside in England. I want to go up the river andsee the natives in their camps. It's only a matter of ten days undercanvas. My husband's done it. One would lie out under the trees at nightand be towed down the river by day, and if we saw anythin' nice we'dshout out and tell 'em to stop. " She rose and began piercing the bedagain and again with a long golden pin, as she watched to see whateffect her suggestion had upon Rachel. 

"We must make up a party, " she went on. "Ten people could hire a launch. Now you'll come, and Mrs. Ambrose'll come, and will Mr. Hirst andt'other gentleman come? Where's a pencil?"

She became more and more determined and excited as she evolved her plan. She sat on the edge of the bed and wrote down a list of surnames, whichshe invariably spelt wrong. Rachel was enthusiastic, for indeed the ideawas immeasurably delightful to her. She had always had a great desire tosee the river, and the name of Terence threw a lustre over the prospect, which made it almost too good to come true. She did what she could tohelp Mrs. Flushing by suggesting names, helping her to spell them, andcounting up the days of the week upon her fingers. As Mrs. Flushingwanted to know all she could tell her about the birth and pursuits ofevery person she suggested, and threw in wild stories of her own as tothe temperaments and habits of artists, and people of the same name whoused to come to Chillingley in the old days, but were doubtless not thesame, though they too were very clever men interested in Egyptology, thebusiness took some time. 

At last Mrs. Flushing sought her diary for help, the method of reckoningdates on the fingers proving unsatisfactory. She opened and shut everydrawer in her writing-table, and then cried furiously, "Yarmouth!Yarmouth! Drat the woman! She's always out of the way when she'swanted!"

At this moment the luncheon gong began to work itself into its middayfrenzy. Mrs. Flushing rang her bell violently. The door was opened by ahandsome maid who was almost as upright as her mistress. 

"Oh, Yarmouth, " said Mrs. Flushing, "just find my diary and see whereten days from now would bring us to, and ask the hall porter how manymen 'ud be wanted to row eight people up the river for a week, andwhat it 'ud cost, and put it on a slip of paper and leave it on mydressing-table. Now--" she pointed at the door with a superb forefingerso that Rachel had to lead the way. 

"Oh, and Yarmouth, " Mrs. Flushing called back over her shoulder. "Putthose things away and hang 'em in their right places, there's a goodgirl, or it fusses Mr. Flushin'. "

To all of which Yarmouth merely replied, "Yes, ma'am. "

As they entered the long dining-room it was obvious that the day wasstill Sunday, although the mood was slightly abating. The Flushings'table was set by the side in the window, so that Mrs. Flushing couldscrutinise each figure as it entered, and her curiosity seemed to beintense. 

"Old Mrs. Paley, " she whispered as the wheeled chair slowly made its waythrough the door, Arthur pushing behind. "Thornburys" came next. "Thatnice woman, " she nudged Rachel to look at Miss Allan. "What's her name?"The painted lady who always came in late, tripping into the room witha prepared smile as though she came out upon a stage, might wellhave quailed before Mrs. Flushing's stare, which expressed her steelyhostility to the whole tribe of painted ladies. Next came the two youngmen whom Mrs. Flushing called collectively the Hirsts. They sat downopposite, across the gangway. 

Mr. Flushing treated his wife with a mixture of admiration andindulgence, making up by the suavity and fluency of his speech for theabruptness of hers. While she darted and ejaculated he gave Rachel asketch of the history of South American art. He would deal with oneof his wife's exclamations, and then return as smoothly as ever to histheme. He knew very well how to make a luncheon pass agreeably, withoutbeing dull or intimate. He had formed the opinion, so he told Rachel, that wonderful treasures lay hid in the depths of the land; the thingsRachel had seen were merely trifles picked up in the course of one shortjourney. He thought there might be giant gods hewn out of stone in themountain-side; and colossal figures standing by themselves in the middleof vast green pasture lands, where none but natives had ever trod. Before the dawn of European art he believed that the primitive huntsmenand priests had built temples of massive stone slabs, had formed out ofthe dark rocks and the great cedar trees majestic figures of gods andof beasts, and symbols of the great forces, water, air, and forest amongwhich they lived. There might be prehistoric towns, like those in Greeceand Asia, standing in open places among the trees, filled with the worksof this early race. Nobody had been there; scarcely anything was known. Thus talking and displaying the most picturesque of his theories, Rachel's attention was fixed upon him. 

She did not see that Hewet kept looking at her across the gangway, between the figures of waiters hurrying past with plates. He wasinattentive, and Hirst was finding him also very cross and disagreeable. They had touched upon all the usual topics--upon politics andliterature, gossip and Christianity. They had quarrelled over theservice, which was every bit as fine as Sappho, according to Hewet;so that Hirst's paganism was mere ostentation. Why go to church, hedemanded, merely in order to read Sappho? Hirst observed that he hadlistened to every word of the sermon, as he could prove if Hewet wouldlike a repetition of it; and he went to church in order to realise thenature of his Creator, which he had done very vividly that morning, thanks to Mr. Bax, who had inspired him to write three of the mostsuperb lines in English literature, an invocation to the Deity. 

"I wrote 'em on the back of the envelope of my aunt's last letter, " hesaid, and pulled it from between the pages of Sappho. 

"Well, let's hear them, " said Hewet, slightly mollified by the prospectof a literary discussion. 

"My dear Hewet, do you wish us both to be flung out of the hotel byan enraged mob of Thornburys and Elliots?" Hirst enquired. "The merestwhisper would be sufficient to incriminate me for ever. God!" he brokeout, "what's the use of attempting to write when the world's peopled bysuch damned fools? Seriously, Hewet, I advise you to give up literature. What's the good of it? There's your audience. "

He nodded his head at the tables where a very miscellaneous collectionof Europeans were now engaged in eating, in some cases in gnawing, thestringy foreign fowls. Hewet looked, and grew more out of temper thanever. Hirst looked too. His eyes fell upon Rachel, and he bowed to her. 

"I rather think Rachel's in love with me, " he remarked, as his eyesreturned to his plate. "That's the worst of friendships with youngwomen--they tend to fall in love with one. "

To that Hewet made no answer whatever, and sat singularly still. Hirstdid not seem to mind getting no answer, for he returned to Mr. Baxagain, quoting the peroration about the drop of water; and when Hewetscarcely replied to these remarks either, he merely pursed his lips, chose a fig, and relapsed quite contentedly into his own thoughts, ofwhich he always had a very large supply. When luncheon was over theyseparated, taking their cups of coffee to different parts of the hall. 

From his chair beneath the palm-tree Hewet saw Rachel come out of thedining-room with the Flushings; he saw them look round for chairs, andchoose three in a corner where they could go on talking in private. Mr. Flushing was now in the full tide of his discourse. He produced a sheetof paper upon which he made drawings as he went on with his talk. He sawRachel lean over and look, pointing to this and that with her finger. Hewet unkindly compared Mr. Flushing, who was extremely well dressed fora hot climate, and rather elaborate in his manner, to a very persuasiveshop-keeper. Meanwhile, as he sat looking at them, he was entangled inthe Thornburys and Miss Allan, who, after hovering about for a minuteor two, settled in chairs round him, holding their cups in their hands. They wanted to know whether he could tell them anything about Mr. Bax. Mr. Thornbury as usual sat saying nothing, looking vaguely ahead of him, occasionally raising his eye-glasses, as if to put them on, but alwaysthinking better of it at the last moment, and letting them fall again. After some discussion, the ladies put it beyond a doubt that Mr. Bax wasnot the son of Mr. William Bax. There was a pause. Then Mrs. Thornburyremarked that she was still in the habit of saying Queen instead ofKing in the National Anthem. There was another pause. Then Miss Allanobserved reflectively that going to church abroad always made her feelas if she had been to a sailor's funeral. 

There was then a very long pause, which threatened to be final, when, mercifully, a bird about the size of a magpie, but of a metallic bluecolour, appeared on the section of the terrace that could be seen fromwhere they sat. Mrs. Thornbury was led to enquire whether we shouldlike it if all our rooks were blue--"What do _you_ think, William?" sheasked, touching her husband on the knee. 

"If all our rooks were blue, " he said, --he raised his glasses;he actually placed them on his nose--"they would not live long inWiltshire, " he concluded; he dropped his glasses to his side again. Thethree elderly people now gazed meditatively at the bird, which was soobliging as to stay in the middle of the view for a considerable spaceof time, thus making it unnecessary for them to speak again. Hewet beganto wonder whether he might not cross over to the Flushings' corner, whenHirst appeared from the background, slipped into a chair by Rachel'sside, and began to talk to her with every appearance of familiarity. Hewet could stand it no longer. He rose, took his hat and dashed out ofdoors. 

Chapter XVIII

Everything he saw was distasteful to him. He hated the blue and white, the intensity and definiteness, the hum and heat of the south;the landscape seemed to him as hard and as romantic as a cardboardbackground on the stage, and the mountain but a wooden screen against asheet painted blue. He walked fast in spite of the heat of the sun. 

Two roads led out of the town on the eastern side; one branchedoff towards the Ambroses' villa, the other struck into the country, eventually reaching a village on the plain, but many footpaths, whichhad been stamped in the earth when it was wet, led off from it, acrossgreat dry fields, to scattered farm-houses, and the villas of richnatives. Hewet stepped off the road on to one of these, in order toavoid the hardness and heat of the main road, the dust of which wasalways being raised in small clouds by carts and ramshackle flies whichcarried parties of festive peasants, or turkeys swelling unevenly likea bundle of air balls beneath a net, or the brass bedstead and blackwooden boxes of some newly wedded pair. 

The exercise indeed served to clear away the superficial irritations ofthe morning, but he remained miserable. It seemed proved beyond a doubtthat Rachel was indifferent to him, for she had scarcely looked at him, and she had talked to Mr. Flushing with just the same interest withwhich she talked to him. Finally, Hirst's odious words flicked his mindlike a whip, and he remembered that he had left her talking to Hirst. She was at this moment talking to him, and it might be true, as he said, that she was in love with him. He went over all the evidence for thissupposition--her sudden interest in Hirst's writing, her way of quotinghis opinions respectfully, or with only half a laugh; her very nicknamefor him, "the great Man, " might have some serious meaning in it. Supposing that there were an understanding between them, what would itmean to him?

"Damn it all!" he demanded, "am I in love with her?" To that he couldonly return himself one answer. He certainly was in love with her, ifhe knew what love meant. Ever since he had first seen her he had beeninterested and attracted, more and more interested and attracted, untilhe was scarcely able to think of anything except Rachel. But just as hewas sliding into one of the long feasts of meditation about them both, he checked himself by asking whether he wanted to marry her? That wasthe real problem, for these miseries and agonies could not be endured, and it was necessary that he should make up his mind. He instantlydecided that he did not want to marry any one. Partly because he wasirritated by Rachel the idea of marriage irritated him. It immediatelysuggested the picture of two people sitting alone over the fire; the manwas reading, the woman sewing. There was a second picture. He saw aman jump up, say good-night, leave the company and hasten away withthe quiet secret look of one who is stealing to certain happiness. Both these pictures were very unpleasant, and even more so was a thirdpicture, of husband and wife and friend; and the married peopleglancing at each other as though they were content to let somethingpass unquestioned, being themselves possessed of the deeper truth. Otherpictures--he was walking very fast in his irritation, and theycame before him without any conscious effort, like pictures on asheet--succeeded these. Here were the worn husband and wife sitting withtheir children round them, very patient, tolerant, and wise. But thattoo, was an unpleasant picture. He tried all sorts of pictures, takingthem from the lives of friends of his, for he knew many differentmarried couples; but he saw them always, walled up in a warm firelitroom. When, on the other hand, he began to think of unmarried people, hesaw them active in an unlimited world; above all, standing on thesame ground as the rest, without shelter or advantage. All the mostindividual and humane of his friends were bachelors and spinsters;indeed he was surprised to find that the women he most admired and knewbest were unmarried women. Marriage seemed to be worse for them thanit was for men. Leaving these general pictures he considered the peoplewhom he had been observing lately at the hotel. He had often revolvedthese questions in his mind, as he watched Susan and Arthur, or Mr. And Mrs. Thornbury, or Mr. And Mrs. Elliot. He had observed how the shyhappiness and surprise of the engaged couple had gradually been replacedby a comfortable, tolerant state of mind, as if they had already donewith the adventure of intimacy and were taking up their parts. Susanused to pursue Arthur about with a sweater, because he had one day letslip that a brother of his had died of pneumonia. The sight amused him, but was not pleasant if you substituted Terence and Rachel for Arthurand Susan; and Arthur was far less eager to get you in a corner and talkabout flying and the mechanics of aeroplanes. They would settle down. He then looked at the couples who had been married for several years. Itwas true that Mrs. Thornbury had a husband, and that for the most partshe was wonderfully successful in bringing him into the conversation, but one could not imagine what they said to each other when they werealone. There was the same difficulty with regard to the Elliots, exceptthat they probably bickered openly in private. They sometimes bickeredin public, though these disagreements were painfully covered over bylittle insincerities on the part of the wife, who was afraid of publicopinion, because she was much stupider than her husband, and had to makeefforts to keep hold of him. There could be no doubt, he decided, that it would have been far better for the world if these coupleshad separated. Even the Ambroses, whom he admired and respectedprofoundly--in spite of all the love between them, was not theirmarriage too a compromise? She gave way to him; she spoilt him; shearranged things for him; she who was all truth to others was not true toher husband, was not true to her friends if they came in conflict withher husband. It was a strange and piteous flaw in her nature. PerhapsRachel had been right, then, when she said that night in the garden, "Webring out what's worst in each other--we should live separate. "

No Rachel had been utterly wrong! Every argument seemed to be againstundertaking the burden of marriage until he came to Rachel's argument, which was manifestly absurd. From having been the pursued, he turnedand became the pursuer. Allowing the case against marriage to lapse, hebegan to consider the peculiarities of character which had led to hersaying that. Had she meant it? Surely one ought to know the character ofthe person with whom one might spend all one's life; being a novelist, let him try to discover what sort of person she was. When he was withher he could not analyse her qualities, because he seemed to know theminstinctively, but when he was away from her it sometimes seemed to himthat he did not know her at all. She was young, but she was also old;she had little self-confidence, and yet she was a good judge of people. She was happy; but what made her happy? If they were alone and theexcitement had worn off, and they had to deal with the ordinary facts ofthe day, what would happen? Casting his eye upon his own character, two things appeared to him: that he was very unpunctual, and that hedisliked answering notes. As far as he knew Rachel was inclined to bepunctual, but he could not remember that he had ever seen her with a penin her hand. Let him next imagine a dinner-party, say at the Crooms, andWilson, who had taken her down, talking about the state of the Liberalparty. She would say--of course she was absolutely ignorant of politics. Nevertheless she was intelligent certainly, and honest too. Her temperwas uncertain--that he had noticed--and she was not domestic, andshe was not easy, and she was not quiet, or beautiful, except insome dresses in some lights. But the great gift she had was that sheunderstood what was said to her; there had never been any one like herfor talking to. You could say anything--you could say everything, andyet she was never servile. Here he pulled himself up, for it seemed tohim suddenly that he knew less about her than about any one. All thesethoughts had occurred to him many times already; often had he tried toargue and reason; and again he had reached the old state of doubt. Hedid not know her, and he did not know what she felt, or whether theycould live together, or whether he wanted to marry her, and yet he wasin love with her. 

Supposing he went to her and said (he slackened his pace and began tospeak aloud, as if he were speaking to Rachel):

"I worship you, but I loathe marriage, I hate its smugness, its safety, its compromise, and the thought of you interfering in my work, hinderingme; what would you answer?"

He stopped, leant against the trunk of a tree, and gazed without seeingthem at some stones scattered on the bank of the dry river-bed. He sawRachel's face distinctly, the grey eyes, the hair, the mouth; the facethat could look so many things--plain, vacant, almost insignificant, orwild, passionate, almost beautiful, yet in his eyes was always the samebecause of the extraordinary freedom with which she looked at him, andspoke as she felt. What would she answer? What did she feel? Did shelove him, or did she feel nothing at all for him or for any other man, being, as she had said that afternoon, free, like the wind or the sea?

"Oh, you're free!" he exclaimed, in exultation at the thought of her, "and I'd keep you free. We'd be free together. We'd share everythingtogether. No happiness would be like ours. No lives would compare withours. " He opened his arms wide as if to hold her and the world in oneembrace. 

No longer able to consider marriage, or to weigh coolly what her naturewas, or how it would be if they lived together, he dropped to the groundand sat absorbed in the thought of her, and soon tormented by the desireto be in her presence again. 

Chapter XIX

But Hewet need not have increased his torments by imagining that Hirstwas still talking to Rachel. The party very soon broke up, the Flushingsgoing in one direction, Hirst in another, and Rachel remaining in thehall, pulling the illustrated papers about, turning from one to another, her movements expressing the unformed restless desire in her mind. She did not know whether to go or to stay, though Mrs. Flushing hadcommanded her to appear at tea. The hall was empty, save for MissWillett who was playing scales with her fingers upon a sheet of sacredmusic, and the Carters, an opulent couple who disliked the girl, becauseher shoe laces were untied, and she did not look sufficiently cheery, which by some indirect process of thought led them to think that shewould not like them. Rachel certainly would not have liked them, ifshe had seen them, for the excellent reason that Mr. Carter waxed hismoustache, and Mrs. Carter wore bracelets, and they were evidently thekind of people who would not like her; but she was too much absorbed byher own restlessness to think or to look. 

She was turning over the slippery pages of an American magazine, whenthe hall door swung, a wedge of light fell upon the floor, and a smallwhite figure upon whom the light seemed focussed, made straight acrossthe room to her. 

"What! You here?" Evelyn exclaimed. "Just caught a glimpse of you atlunch; but you wouldn't condescend to look at _me_. "

It was part of Evelyn's character that in spite of many snubs which shereceived or imagined, she never gave up the pursuit of people she wantedto know, and in the long run generally succeeded in knowing them andeven in making them like her. 

She looked round her. "I hate this place. I hate these people, " shesaid. "I wish you'd come up to my room with me. I do want to talk toyou. "

As Rachel had no wish to go or to stay, Evelyn took her by the wrist anddrew her out of the hall and up the stairs. As they went upstairstwo steps at a time, Evelyn, who still kept hold of Rachel's hand, ejaculated broken sentences about not caring a hang what people said. "Why should one, if one knows one's right? And let 'em all go to blazes!Them's my opinions!"

She was in a state of great excitement, and the muscles of her arms weretwitching nervously. It was evident that she was only waiting for thedoor to shut to tell Rachel all about it. Indeed, directly they wereinside her room, she sat on the end of the bed and said, "I suppose youthink I'm mad?"

Rachel was not in the mood to think clearly about any one's state ofmind. She was however in the mood to say straight out whatever occurredto her without fear of the consequences. 

"Somebody's proposed to you, " she remarked. 

"How on earth did you guess that?" Evelyn exclaimed, some pleasuremingling with her surprise. "Do as I look as if I'd just had aproposal?"

"You look as if you had them every day, " Rachel replied. 

"But I don't suppose I've had more than you've had, " Evelyn laughedrather insincerely. 

"I've never had one. "

"But you will--lots--it's the easiest thing in the world--But that'snot what's happened this afternoon exactly. It's--Oh, it's a muddle, adetestable, horrible, disgusting muddle!"

She went to the wash-stand and began sponging her cheeks with coldwater; for they were burning hot. Still sponging them and tremblingslightly she turned and explained in the high pitched voice of nervousexcitement: "Alfred Perrott says I've promised to marry him, and I say Inever did. Sinclair says he'll shoot himself if I don't marry him, andI say, 'Well, shoot yourself!' But of course he doesn't--they never do. And Sinclair got hold of me this afternoon and began bothering me togive an answer, and accusing me of flirting with Alfred Perrott, andtold me I'd no heart, and was merely a Siren, oh, and quantities ofpleasant things like that. So at last I said to him, 'Well, Sinclair, you've said enough now. You can just let me go. ' And then he caught meand kissed me--the disgusting brute--I can still feel his nasty hairyface just there--as if he'd any right to, after what he'd said!"

She sponged a spot on her left cheek energetically. 

"I've never met a man that was fit to compare with a woman!" she cried;"they've no dignity, they've no courage, they've nothing but theirbeastly passions and their brute strength! Would any woman havebehaved like that--if a man had said he didn't want her? We've too muchself-respect; we're infinitely finer than they are. "

She walked about the room, dabbing her wet cheeks with a towel. Tearswere now running down with the drops of cold water. 

"It makes me angry, " she explained, drying her eyes. 

Rachel sat watching her. She did not think of Evelyn's position; sheonly thought that the world was full or people in torment. 

"There's only one man here I really like, " Evelyn continued; "TerenceHewet. One feels as if one could trust him. "

At these words Rachel suffered an indescribable chill; her heart seemedto be pressed together by cold hands. 

"Why?" she asked. "Why can you trust him?"

"I don't know, " said Evelyn. "Don't you have feelings about people?Feelings you're absolutely certain are right? I had a long talk withTerence the other night. I felt we were really friends after that. There's something of a woman in him--" She paused as though she werethinking of very intimate things that Terence had told her, so at leastRachel interpreted her gaze. 

She tried to force herself to say, "Has to be proposed to you?" but thequestion was too tremendous, and in another moment Evelyn was sayingthat the finest men were like women, and women were nobler than men--forexample, one couldn't imagine a woman like Lillah Harrison thinking amean thing or having anything base about her. 

"How I'd like you to know her!" she exclaimed. 

She was becoming much calmer, and her cheeks were now quite dry. Hereyes had regained their usual expression of keen vitality, and sheseemed to have forgotten Alfred and Sinclair and her emotion. "Lillahruns a home for inebriate women in the Deptford Road, " she continued. "She started it, managed it, did everything off her own bat, and it'snow the biggest of its kind in England. You can't think what those womenare like--and their homes. But she goes among them at all hours of theday and night. I've often been with her. . . . That's what's the matterwith us. . . . We don't _do_ things. What do you _do_?" she demanded, looking at Rachel with a slightly ironical smile. Rachel had scarcelylistened to any of this, and her expression was vacant and unhappy. Shehad conceived an equal dislike for Lillah Harrison and her work in theDeptford Road, and for Evelyn M. And her profusion of love affairs. 

"I play, " she said with an affection of stolid composure. 

"That's about it!" Evelyn laughed. "We none of us do anything but play. And that's why women like Lillah Harrison, who's worth twenty of you andme, have to work themselves to the bone. But I'm tired of playing, " shewent on, lying flat on the bed, and raising her arms above her head. Thus stretched out, she looked more diminutive than ever. 

"I'm going to do something. I've got a splendid idea. Look here, youmust join. I'm sure you've got any amount of stuff in you, though youlook--well, as if you'd lived all your life in a garden. " She sat up, and began to explain with animation. "I belong to a club in London. Itmeets every Saturday, so it's called the Saturday Club. We're supposedto talk about art, but I'm sick of talking about art--what's the goodof it? With all kinds of real things going on round one? It isn't as ifthey'd got anything to say about art, either. So what I'm going to tell'em is that we've talked enough about art, and we'd better talk aboutlife for a change. Questions that really matter to people's lives, theWhite Slave Traffic, Women Suffrage, the Insurance Bill, and so on. Andwhen we've made up our mind what we want to do we could form ourselvesinto a society for doing it. . . . I'm certain that if people likeourselves were to take things in hand instead of leaving it to policemenand magistrates, we could put a stop to--prostitution"--she lowered hervoice at the ugly word--"in six months. My idea is that men and womenought to join in these matters. We ought to go into Piccadilly and stopone of these poor wretches and say: 'Now, look here, I'm no better thanyou are, and I don't pretend to be any better, but you're doing what youknow to be beastly, and I won't have you doing beastly things, becausewe're all the same under our skins, and if you do a beastly thing itdoes matter to me. ' That's what Mr. Bax was saying this morning, and it's true, though you clever people--you're clever too, aren'tyou?--don't believe it. "

When Evelyn began talking--it was a fact she often regretted--herthoughts came so quickly that she never had any time to listen to otherpeople's thoughts. She continued without more pause than was needed fortaking breath. 

"I don't see why the Saturday club people shouldn't do a really greatwork in that way, " she went on. "Of course it would want organisation, some one to give their life to it, but I'm ready to do that. My notion'sto think of the human beings first and let the abstract ideas take careof themselves. What's wrong with Lillah--if there is anything wrong--isthat she thinks of Temperance first and the women afterwards. Nowthere's one thing I'll say to my credit, " she continued; "I'm notintellectual or artistic or anything of that sort, but I'm jolly human. "She slipped off the bed and sat on the floor, looking up at Rachel. Shesearched up into her face as if she were trying to read what kind ofcharacter was concealed behind the face. She put her hand on Rachel'sknee. 

"It _is_ being human that counts, isn't it?" she continued. "Being real, whatever Mr. Hirst may say. Are you real?"

Rachel felt much as Terence had felt that Evelyn was too close to her, and that there was something exciting in this closeness, although it wasalso disagreeable. She was spared the need of finding an answer to thequestion, for Evelyn proceeded, "Do you _believe_ in anything?"

In order to put an end to the scrutiny of these bright blue eyes, and torelieve her own physical restlessness, Rachel pushed back her chair andexclaimed, "In everything!" and began to finger different objects, thebooks on the table, the photographs, the freshly leaved plant with thestiff bristles, which stood in a large earthenware pot in the window. 

"I believe in the bed, in the photographs, in the pot, in the balcony, in the sun, in Mrs. Flushing, " she remarked, still speaking recklessly, with something at the back of her mind forcing her to say the thingsthat one usually does not say. "But I don't believe in God, I don'tbelieve in Mr. Bax, I don't believe in the hospital nurse. I don'tbelieve--" She took up a photograph and, looking at it, did not finishher sentence. 

"That's my mother, " said Evelyn, who remained sitting on the floorbinding her knees together with her arms, and watching Rachel curiously. 

Rachel considered the portrait. "Well, I don't much believe in her, " sheremarked after a time in a low tone of voice. 

Mrs. Murgatroyd looked indeed as if the life had been crushed out ofher; she knelt on a chair, gazing piteously from behind the body of aPomeranian dog which she clasped to her cheek, as if for protection. 

"And that's my dad, " said Evelyn, for there were two photographs in oneframe. The second photograph represented a handsome soldier with highregular features and a heavy black moustache; his hand rested on thehilt of his sword; there was a decided likeness between him and Evelyn. 

"And it's because of them, " said Evelyn, "that I'm going to help theother women. You've heard about me, I suppose? They weren't married, yousee; I'm not anybody in particular. I'm not a bit ashamed of it. Theyloved each other anyhow, and that's more than most people can say oftheir parents. "

Rachel sat down on the bed, with the two pictures in her hands, andcompared them--the man and the woman who had, so Evelyn said, lovedeach other. That fact interested her more than the campaign on behalf ofunfortunate women which Evelyn was once more beginning to describe. Shelooked again from one to the other. 

"What d'you think it's like, " she asked, as Evelyn paused for a minute, "being in love?"

"Have you never been in love?" Evelyn asked. "Oh no--one's only got tolook at you to see that, " she added. She considered. "I really was inlove once, " she said. She fell into reflection, her eyes losingtheir bright vitality and approaching something like an expression oftenderness. "It was heavenly!--while it lasted. The worst of it is itdon't last, not with me. That's the bother. "

She went on to consider the difficulty with Alfred and Sinclair aboutwhich she had pretended to ask Rachel's advice. But she did not wantadvice; she wanted intimacy. When she looked at Rachel, who was stilllooking at the photographs on the bed, she could not help seeing thatRachel was not thinking about her. What was she thinking about, then?Evelyn was tormented by the little spark of life in her which was alwaystrying to work through to other people, and was always being rebuffed. Falling silent she looked at her visitor, her shoes, her stockings, thecombs in her hair, all the details of her dress in short, as though byseizing every detail she might get closer to the life within. 

Rachel at last put down the photographs, walked to the window andremarked, "It's odd. People talk as much about love as they do aboutreligion. "

"I wish you'd sit down and talk, " said Evelyn impatiently. 

Instead Rachel opened the window, which was made in two long panes, andlooked down into the garden below. 

"That's where we got lost the first night, " she said. "It must have beenin those bushes. "

"They kill hens down there, " said Evelyn. "They cut their heads off witha knife--disgusting! But tell me--what--"

"I'd like to explore the hotel, " Rachel interrupted. She drew her headin and looked at Evelyn, who still sat on the floor. 

"It's just like other hotels, " said Evelyn. 

That might be, although every room and passage and chair in the placehad a character of its own in Rachel's eyes; but she could not bringherself to stay in one place any longer. She moved slowly towards thedoor. 

"What is it you want?" said Evelyn. "You make me feel as if you werealways thinking of something you don't say. . . . Do say it!"

But Rachel made no response to this invitation either. She stopped withher fingers on the handle of the door, as if she remembered that somesort of pronouncement was due from her. 

"I suppose you'll marry one of them, " she said, and then turned thehandle and shut the door behind her. She walked slowly down the passage, running her hand along the wall beside her. She did not think which wayshe was going, and therefore walked down a passage which only led to awindow and a balcony. She looked down at the kitchen premises, the wrongside of the hotel life, which was cut off from the right side by a mazeof small bushes. The ground was bare, old tins were scattered about, andthe bushes wore towels and aprons upon their heads to dry. Every now andthen a waiter came out in a white apron and threw rubbish on to aheap. Two large women in cotton dresses were sitting on a bench withblood-smeared tin trays in front of them and yellow bodies acrosstheir knees. They were plucking the birds, and talking as they plucked. Suddenly a chicken came floundering, half flying, half running into thespace, pursued by a third woman whose age could hardly be under eighty. Although wizened and unsteady on her legs she kept up the chase, eggedon by the laughter of the others; her face was expressive of furiousrage, and as she ran she swore in Spanish. Frightened by hand-clappinghere, a napkin there, the bird ran this way and that in sharp angles, and finally fluttered straight at the old woman, who opened her scantygrey skirts to enclose it, dropped upon it in a bundle, and then holdingit out cut its head off with an expression of vindictive energy andtriumph combined. The blood and the ugly wriggling fascinated Rachel, sothat although she knew that some one had come up behind and was standingbeside her, she did not turn round until the old woman had settled downon the bench beside the others. Then she looked up sharply, because ofthe ugliness of what she had seen. It was Miss Allan who stood besideher. 

"Not a pretty sight, " said Miss Allan, "although I daresay it's reallymore humane than our method. . . . I don't believe you've ever been inmy room, " she added, and turned away as if she meant Rachel to followher. Rachel followed, for it seemed possible that each new person mightremove the mystery which burdened her. 

The bedrooms at the hotel were all on the same pattern, save that somewere larger and some smaller; they had a floor of dark red tiles;they had a high bed, draped in mosquito curtains; they had each awriting-table and a dressing-table, and a couple of arm-chairs. Butdirectly a box was unpacked the rooms became very different, so thatMiss Allan's room was very unlike Evelyn's room. There were no variouslycoloured hatpins on her dressing-table; no scent-bottles; no narrowcurved pairs of scissors; no great variety of shoes and boots; no silkpetticoats lying on the chairs. The room was extremely neat. Thereseemed to be two pairs of everything. The writing-table, however, was piled with manuscript, and a table was drawn out to stand by thearm-chair on which were two separate heaps of dark library books, inwhich there were many slips of paper sticking out at different degreesof thickness. Miss Allan had asked Rachel to come in out of kindness, thinking that she was waiting about with nothing to do. Moreover, sheliked young women, for she had taught many of them, and having receivedso much hospitality from the Ambroses she was glad to be able to repaya minute part of it. She looked about accordingly for something toshow her. The room did not provide much entertainment. She touchedher manuscript. "Age of Chaucer; Age of Elizabeth; Age of Dryden, "she reflected; "I'm glad there aren't many more ages. I'm still in themiddle of the eighteenth century. Won't you sit down, Miss Vinrace? Thechair, though small, is firm. . . . Euphues. The germ of the Englishnovel, " she continued, glancing at another page. "Is that the kind ofthing that interests you?"

She looked at Rachel with great kindness and simplicity, as thoughshe would do her utmost to provide anything she wished to have. Thisexpression had a remarkable charm in a face otherwise much lined withcare and thought. 

"Oh no, it's music with you, isn't it?" she continued, recollecting, "and I generally find that they don't go together. Sometimes of coursewe have prodigies--" She was looking about her for something and now sawa jar on the mantelpiece which she reached down and gave to Rachel. "Ifyou put your finger into this jar you may be able to extract a piece ofpreserved ginger. Are you a prodigy?"

But the ginger was deep and could not be reached. 

"Don't bother, " she said, as Miss Allan looked about for some otherimplement. "I daresay I shouldn't like preserved ginger. "

"You've never tried?" enquired Miss Allan. "Then I consider that it isyour duty to try now. Why, you may add a new pleasure to life, and asyou are still young--" She wondered whether a button-hook would do. "Imake it a rule to try everything, " she said. "Don't you think itwould be very annoying if you tasted ginger for the first time on yourdeath-bed, and found you never liked anything so much? I should beso exceedingly annoyed that I think I should get well on that accountalone. "

She was now successful, and a lump of ginger emerged on the end of thebutton-hook. While she went to wipe the button-hook, Rachel bit theginger and at once cried, "I must spit it out!"

"Are you sure you have really tasted it?" Miss Allan demanded. 

For answer Rachel threw it out of the window. 

"An experience anyhow, " said Miss Allan calmly. "Let me see--I havenothing else to offer you, unless you would like to taste this. " A smallcupboard hung above her bed, and she took out of it a slim elegant jarfilled with a bright green fluid. 

"Creme de Menthe, " she said. "Liqueur, you know. It looks as if I drank, doesn't it? As a matter of fact it goes to prove what an exceptionallyabstemious person I am. I've had that jar for six-and-twenty years, "she added, looking at it with pride, as she tipped it over, and fromthe height of the liquid it could be seen that the bottle was stilluntouched. 

"Twenty-six years?" Rachel exclaimed. 

Miss Allan was gratified, for she had meant Rachel to be surprised. 

"When I went to Dresden six-and-twenty years ago, " she said, "a certainfriend of mine announced her intention of making me a present. Shethought that in the event of shipwreck or accident a stimulant mightbe useful. However, as I had no occasion for it, I gave it back on myreturn. On the eve of any foreign journey the same bottle always makesits appearance, with the same note; on my return in safety it is alwayshanded back. I consider it a kind of charm against accidents. Though Iwas once detained twenty-four hours by an accident to the train in frontof me, I have never met with any accident myself. Yes, " she continued, now addressing the bottle, "we have seen many climes and cupboardstogether, have we not? I intend one of these days to have a silver labelmade with an inscription. It is a gentleman, as you may observe, and hisname is Oliver. . . . I do not think I could forgive you, Miss Vinrace, if you broke my Oliver, " she said, firmly taking the bottle out ofRachel's hands and replacing it in the cupboard. 

Rachel was swinging the bottle by the neck. She was interested by MissAllan to the point of forgetting the bottle. 

"Well, " she exclaimed, "I do think that odd; to have had a friend fortwenty-six years, and a bottle, and--to have made all those journeys. "

"Not at all; I call it the reverse of odd, " Miss Allan replied. "Ialways consider myself the most ordinary person I know. It's ratherdistinguished to be as ordinary as I am. I forget--are you a prodigy, ordid you say you were not a prodigy?"

She smiled at Rachel very kindly. She seemed to have known andexperienced so much, as she moved cumbrously about the room, that surelythere must be balm for all anguish in her words, could one induce her tohave recourse to them. But Miss Allan, who was now locking the cupboarddoor, showed no signs of breaking the reticence which had snowed herunder for years. An uncomfortable sensation kept Rachel silent; on theone hand, she wished to whirl high and strike a spark out of the coolpink flesh; on the other she perceived there was nothing to be done butto drift past each other in silence. 

"I'm not a prodigy. I find it very difficult to say what I mean--" sheobserved at length. 

"It's a matter of temperament, I believe, " Miss Allan helped her. "Thereare some people who have no difficulty; for myself I find there are agreat many things I simply cannot say. But then I consider myself veryslow. One of my colleagues now, knows whether she likes you or not--letme see, how does she do it?--by the way you say good-morning atbreakfast. It is sometimes a matter of years before I can make up mymind. But most young people seem to find it easy?"

"Oh no, " said Rachel. "It's hard!"

Miss Allan looked at Rachel quietly, saying nothing; she suspected thatthere were difficulties of some kind. Then she put her hand to the backof her head, and discovered that one of the grey coils of hair had comeloose. 

"I must ask you to be so kind as to excuse me, " she said, rising, "ifI do my hair. I have never yet found a satisfactory type of hairpin. I must change my dress, too, for the matter of that; and I should beparticularly glad of your assistance, because there is a tiresome set ofhooks which I _can_ fasten for myself, but it takes from ten to fifteenminutes; whereas with your help--"

She slipped off her coat and skirt and blouse, and stood doing her hairbefore the glass, a massive homely figure, her petticoat being so shortthat she stood on a pair of thick slate-grey legs. 

"People say youth is pleasant; I myself find middle age far pleasanter, "she remarked, removing hair pins and combs, and taking up her brush. When it fell loose her hair only came down to her neck. 

"When one was young, " she continued, "things could seem so very seriousif one was made that way. . . . And now my dress. "

In a wonderfully short space of time her hair had been reformed in itsusual loops. The upper half of her body now became dark green with blackstripes on it; the skirt, however, needed hooking at various angles, andRachel had to kneel on the floor, fitting the eyes to the hooks. 

"Our Miss Johnson used to find life very unsatisfactory, I remember, "Miss Allan continued. She turned her back to the light. "And then shetook to breeding guinea-pigs for their spots, and became absorbed inthat. I have just heard that the yellow guinea-pig has had a black baby. We had a bet of sixpence on about it. She will be very triumphant. "

The skirt was fastened. She looked at herself in the glass with thecurious stiffening of her face generally caused by looking in the glass. 

"Am I in a fit state to encounter my fellow-beings?" she asked. "Iforget which way it is--but they find black animals very rarely havecoloured babies--it may be the other way round. I have had it so oftenexplained to me that it is very stupid of me to have forgotten again. "

She moved about the room acquiring small objects with quiet force, and fixing them about her--a locket, a watch and chain, a heavy goldbracelet, and the parti-coloured button of a suffrage society. Finally, completely equipped for Sunday tea, she stood before Rachel, and smiledat her kindly. She was not an impulsive woman, and her life had schooledher to restrain her tongue. At the same time, she was possessed of anamount of good-will towards others, and in particular towards the young, which often made her regret that speech was so difficult. 

"Shall we descend?" she said. 

She put one hand upon Rachel's shoulder, and stooping, picked up a pairof walking-shoes with the other, and placed them neatly side by sideoutside her door. As they walked down the passage they passed many pairsof boots and shoes, some black and some brown, all side by side, and alldifferent, even to the way in which they lay together. 

"I always think that people are so like their boots, " said Miss Allan. "That is Mrs. Paley's--" but as she spoke the door opened, and Mrs. Paley rolled out in her chair, equipped also for tea. 

She greeted Miss Allan and Rachel. 

"I was just saying that people are so like their boots, " said MissAllan. Mrs. Paley did not hear. She repeated it more loudly still. Mrs. Paley did not hear. She repeated it a third time. Mrs. Paley heard, butshe did not understand. She was apparently about to repeat it for thefourth time, when Rachel suddenly said something inarticulate, anddisappeared down the corridor. This misunderstanding, which involveda complete block in the passage, seemed to her unbearable. She walkedquickly and blindly in the opposite direction, and found herself at theend of a _cul_ _de_ _sac_. There was a window, and a table and a chairin the window, and upon the table stood a rusty inkstand, an ashtray, anold copy of a French newspaper, and a pen with a broken nib. Rachelsat down, as if to study the French newspaper, but a tear fell on theblurred French print, raising a soft blot. She lifted her head sharply, exclaiming aloud, "It's intolerable!" Looking out of the window witheyes that would have seen nothing even had they not been dazed by tears, she indulged herself at last in violent abuse of the entire day. It hadbeen miserable from start to finish; first, the service in the chapel;then luncheon; then Evelyn; then Miss Allan; then old Mrs. Paleyblocking up the passage. All day long she had been tantalized and putoff. She had now reached one of those eminences, the result ofsome crisis, from which the world is finally displayed in itstrue proportions. She disliked the look of it immensely--churches, politicians, misfits, and huge impostures--men like Mr. Dalloway, men like Mr. Bax, Evelyn and her chatter, Mrs. Paley blocking up thepassage. Meanwhile the steady beat of her own pulse represented the hotcurrent of feeling that ran down beneath; beating, struggling, fretting. For the time, her own body was the source of all the life in the world, which tried to burst forth here--there--and was repressed now by Mr. Bax, now by Evelyn, now by the imposition of ponderous stupidity, theweight of the entire world. Thus tormented, she would twist her handstogether, for all things were wrong, all people stupid. Vaguely seeingthat there were people down in the garden beneath she represented themas aimless masses of matter, floating hither and thither, without aimexcept to impede her. What were they doing, those other people in theworld?

"Nobody knows, " she said. The force of her rage was beginning to spenditself, and the vision of the world which had been so vivid became dim. 

"It's a dream, " she murmured. She considered the rusty inkstand, the pen, the ash-tray, and the old French newspaper. These small andworthless objects seemed to her to represent human lives. 

"We're asleep and dreaming, " she repeated. But the possibility which nowsuggested itself that one of the shapes might be the shape of Terenceroused her from her melancholy lethargy. She became as restless as shehad been before she sat down. She was no longer able to see the worldas a town laid out beneath her. It was covered instead by a haze offeverish red mist. She had returned to the state in which she had beenall day. Thinking was no escape. Physical movement was the only refuge, in and out of rooms, in and out of people's minds, seeking she knew notwhat. Therefore she rose, pushed back the table, and went downstairs. She went out of the hall door, and, turning the corner of the hotel, found herself among the people whom she had seen from the window. Butowing to the broad sunshine after shaded passages, and to the substanceof living people after dreams, the group appeared with startlingintensity, as though the dusty surface had been peeled off everything, leaving only the reality and the instant. It had the look of a visionprinted on the dark at night. White and grey and purple figures werescattered on the green, round wicker tables, in the middle the flame ofthe tea-urn made the air waver like a faulty sheet of glass, a massivegreen tree stood over them as if it were a moving force held at rest. As she approached, she could hear Evelyn's voice repeating monotonously, "Here then--here--good doggie, come here"; for a moment nothing seemedto happen; it all stood still, and then she realised that one of thefigures was Helen Ambrose; and the dust again began to settle. 

The group indeed had come together in a miscellaneous way; one tea-tablejoining to another tea-table, and deck-chairs serving to connect twogroups. But even at a distance it could be seen that Mrs. Flushing, upright and imperious, dominated the party. She was talking vehementlyto Helen across the table. 

"Ten days under canvas, " she was saying. "No comforts. If you wantcomforts, don't come. But I may tell you, if you don't come you'llregret it all your life. You say yes?"

At this moment Mrs. Flushing caught sight of Rachel. 

"Ah, there's your niece. She's promised. You're coming, aren't you?"Having adopted the plan, she pursued it with the energy of a child. 

Rachel took her part with eagerness. 

"Of course I'm coming. So are you, Helen. And Mr. Pepper too. " As shesat she realised that she was surrounded by people she knew, but thatTerence was not among them. From various angles people began saying whatthey thought of the proposed expedition. According to some it would behot, but the nights would be cold; according to others, the difficultieswould lie rather in getting a boat, and in speaking the language. Mrs. Flushing disposed of all objections, whether due to man or due tonature, by announcing that her husband would settle all that. 

Meanwhile Mr. Flushing quietly explained to Helen that the expeditionwas really a simple matter; it took five days at the outside; and theplace--a native village--was certainly well worth seeing before shereturned to England. Helen murmured ambiguously, and did not commitherself to one answer rather than to another. 

The tea-party, however, included too many different kinds of peoplefor general conversation to flourish; and from Rachel's point of viewpossessed the great advantage that it was quite unnecessary for her totalk. Over there Susan and Arthur were explaining to Mrs. Paley that anexpedition had been proposed; and Mrs. Paley having grasped the fact, gave the advice of an old traveller that they should take nice cannedvegetables, fur cloaks, and insect powder. She leant over to Mrs. Flushing and whispered something which from the twinkle in her eyesprobably had reference to bugs. Then Helen was reciting "Toll for theBrave" to St. John Hirst, in order apparently to win a sixpence whichlay upon the table; while Mr. Hughling Elliot imposed silence upon hissection of the audience by his fascinating anecdote of Lord Curzon andthe undergraduate's bicycle. Mrs. Thornbury was trying to remember thename of a man who might have been another Garibaldi, and had written abook which they ought to read; and Mr. Thornbury recollected that he hada pair of binoculars at anybody's service. Miss Allan meanwhile murmuredwith the curious intimacy which a spinster often achieves with dogs, tothe fox-terrier which Evelyn had at last induced to come over to them. Little particles of dust or blossom fell on the plates now and then whenthe branches sighed above. Rachel seemed to see and hear a little ofeverything, much as a river feels the twigs that fall into it and seesthe sky above, but her eyes were too vague for Evelyn's liking. She cameacross, and sat on the ground at Rachel's feet. 

"Well?" she asked suddenly. "What are you thinking about?"

"Miss Warrington, " Rachel replied rashly, because she had to saysomething. She did indeed see Susan murmuring to Mrs. Elliot, whileArthur stared at her with complete confidence in his own love. BothRachel and Evelyn then began to listen to what Susan was saying. 

"There's the ordering and the dogs and the garden, and the childrencoming to be taught, " her voice proceeded rhythmically as if checkingthe list, "and my tennis, and the village, and letters to write forfather, and a thousand little things that don't sound much; but I neverhave a moment to myself, and when I got to bed, I'm so sleepy I'm offbefore my head touches the pillow. Besides I like to be a great dealwith my Aunts--I'm a great bore, aren't I, Aunt Emma?" (she smiled atold Mrs. Paley, who with head slightly drooped was regarding the cakewith speculative affection), "and father has to be very careful aboutchills in winter which means a great deal of running about, becausehe won't look after himself, any more than you will, Arthur! So it allmounts up!"

Her voice mounted too, in a mild ecstasy of satisfaction with her lifeand her own nature. Rachel suddenly took a violent dislike to Susan, ignoring all that was kindly, modest, and even pathetic about her. Sheappeared insincere and cruel; she saw her grown stout and prolific, thekind blue eyes now shallow and watery, the bloom of the cheeks congealedto a network of dry red canals. 

Helen turned to her. "Did you go to church?" she asked. She had won hersixpence and seemed making ready to go. 

"Yes, " said Rachel. "For the last time, " she added. 

In preparing to put on her gloves, Helen dropped one. 

"You're not going?" Evelyn asked, taking hold of one glove as if to keepthem. 

"It's high time we went, " said Helen. "Don't you see how silent everyone's getting--?"

A silence had fallen upon them all, caused partly by one of theaccidents of talk, and partly because they saw some one approaching. Helen could not see who it was, but keeping her eyes fixed upon Rachelobserved something which made her say to herself, "So it's Hewet. "She drew on her gloves with a curious sense of the significance of themoment. Then she rose, for Mrs. Flushing had seen Hewet too, and wasdemanding information about rivers and boats which showed that the wholeconversation would now come over again. 

Rachel followed her, and they walked in silence down the avenue. Inspite of what Helen had seen and understood, the feeling that wasuppermost in her mind was now curiously perverse; if she went on thisexpedition, she would not be able to have a bath, the effort appeared toher to be great and disagreeable. 

"It's so unpleasant, being cooped up with people one hardly knows, " sheremarked. "People who mind being seen naked. "

"You don't mean to go?" Rachel asked. 

The intensity with which this was spoken irritated Mrs. Ambrose. 

"I don't mean to go, and I don't mean not to go, " she replied. Shebecame more and more casual and indifferent. 

"After all, I daresay we've seen all there is to be seen; and there'sthe bother of getting there, and whatever they may say it's bound to bevilely uncomfortable. "

For some time Rachel made no reply; but every sentence Helen spokeincreased her bitterness. At last she broke out--

"Thank God, Helen, I'm not like you! I sometimes think you don't thinkor feel or care to do anything but exist! You're like Mr. Hirst. You seethat things are bad, and you pride yourself on saying so. It's whatyou call being honest; as a matter of fact it's being lazy, being dull, being nothing. You don't help; you put an end to things. "

Helen smiled as if she rather enjoyed the attack. 

"Well?" she enquired. 

"It seems to me bad--that's all, " Rachel replied. 

"Quite likely, " said Helen. 

At any other time Rachel would probably have been silenced by her Aunt'scandour; but this afternoon she was not in the mood to be silenced byany one. A quarrel would be welcome. 

"You're only half alive, " she continued. 

"Is that because I didn't accept Mr. Flushing's invitation?" Helenasked, "or do you always think that?"

At the moment it appeared to Rachel that she had always seen the samefaults in Helen, from the very first night on board the _Euphrosyne_, inspite of her beauty, in spite of her magnanimity and their love. 

"Oh, it's only what's the matter with every one!" she exclaimed. "Noone feels--no one does anything but hurt. I tell you, Helen, the world'sbad. It's an agony, living, wanting--"

Here she tore a handful of leaves from a bush and crushed them tocontrol herself. 

"The lives of these people, " she tried to explain, the aimlessness, theway they live. "One goes from one to another, and it's all the same. Onenever gets what one wants out of any of them. "

Her emotional state and her confusion would have made her an easy preyif Helen had wished to argue or had wished to draw confidences. Butinstead of talking she fell into a profound silence as they walked on. Aimless, trivial, meaningless, oh no--what she had seen at tea made itimpossible for her to believe that. The little jokes, the chatter, theinanities of the afternoon had shrivelled up before her eyes. Underneaththe likings and spites, the comings together and partings, great thingswere happening--terrible things, because they were so great. Her senseof safety was shaken, as if beneath twigs and dead leaves she had seenthe movement of a snake. It seemed to her that a moment's respitewas allowed, a moment's make-believe, and then again the profound andreasonless law asserted itself, moulding them all to its liking, makingand destroying. 

She looked at Rachel walking beside her, still crushing the leaves inher fingers and absorbed in her own thoughts. She was in love, and shepitied her profoundly. But she roused herself from these thoughtsand apologised. "I'm very sorry, " she said, "but if I'm dull, it's mynature, and it can't be helped. " If it was a natural defect, however, she found an easy remedy, for she went on to say that she thought Mr. Flushing's scheme a very good one, only needing a little consideration, which it appeared she had given it by the time they reached home. Bythat time they had settled that if anything more was said, they wouldaccept the invitation. 

Chapter XX

When considered in detail by Mr. Flushing and Mrs. Ambrose theexpedition proved neither dangerous nor difficult. They found also thatit was not even unusual. Every year at this season English people madeparties which steamed a short way up the river, landed, and looked atthe native village, bought a certain number of things from the natives, and returned again without damage done to mind or body. When it wasdiscovered that six people really wished the same thing the arrangementswere soon carried out. 

Since the time of Elizabeth very few people had seen the river, andnothing has been done to change its appearance from what it was to theeyes of the Elizabethan voyagers. The time of Elizabeth was only distantfrom the present time by a moment of space compared with the ages whichhad passed since the water had run between those banks, and the greenthickets swarmed there, and the small trees had grown to huge wrinkledtrees in solitude. Changing only with the change of the sun and theclouds, the waving green mass had stood there for century after century, and the water had run between its banks ceaselessly, sometimes washingaway earth and sometimes the branches of trees, while in other parts ofthe world one town had risen upon the ruins of another town, and the menin the towns had become more and more articulate and unlike each other. A few miles of this river were visible from the top of the mountainwhere some weeks before the party from the hotel had picnicked. Susanand Arthur had seen it as they kissed each other, and Terence and Rachelas they sat talking about Richmond, and Evelyn and Perrott as theystrolled about, imagining that they were great captains sent to colonisethe world. They had seen the broad blue mark across the sand where itflowed into the sea, and the green cloud of trees mass themselves aboutit farther up, and finally hide its waters altogether from sight. Atintervals for the first twenty miles or so houses were scattered on thebank; by degrees the houses became huts, and, later still, there wasneither hut nor house, but trees and grass, which were seen only byhunters, explorers, or merchants, marching or sailing, but making nosettlement. 

By leaving Santa Marina early in the morning, driving twenty milesand riding eight, the party, which was composed finally of six Englishpeople, reached the river-side as the night fell. They came canteringthrough the trees--Mr. And Mrs. Flushing, Helen Ambrose, Rachel, Terence, and St. John. The tired little horses then stoppedautomatically, and the English dismounted. Mrs. Flushing strode to theriver-bank in high spirits. The day had been long and hot, but she hadenjoyed the speed and the open air; she had left the hotel which shehated, and she found the company to her liking. The river was swirlingpast in the darkness; they could just distinguish the smooth movingsurface of the water, and the air was full of the sound of it. Theystood in an empty space in the midst of great tree-trunks, and out therea little green light moving slightly up and down showed them where thesteamer lay in which they were to embark. 

When they all stood upon its deck they found that it was a very smallboat which throbbed gently beneath them for a few minutes, and thenshoved smoothly through the water. They seemed to be driving into theheart of the night, for the trees closed in front of them, and theycould hear all round them the rustling of leaves. The great darkness hadthe usual effect of taking away all desire for communication by makingtheir words sound thin and small; and, after walking round the deckthree or four times, they clustered together, yawning deeply, andlooking at the same spot of deep gloom on the banks. Murmuring very lowin the rhythmical tone of one oppressed by the air, Mrs. Flushing beganto wonder where they were to sleep, for they could not sleep downstairs, they could not sleep in a doghole smelling of oil, they could not sleepon deck, they could not sleep--She yawned profoundly. It was as Helenhad foreseen; the question of nakedness had risen already, although theywere half asleep, and almost invisible to each other. With St. John'shelp she stretched an awning, and persuaded Mrs. Flushing that she couldtake off her clothes behind this, and that no one would notice if bychance some part of her which had been concealed for forty-five yearswas laid bare to the human eye. Mattresses were thrown down, rugsprovided, and the three women lay near each other in the soft open air. 

The gentlemen, having smoked a certain number of cigarettes, droppedthe glowing ends into the river, and looked for a time at the rippleswrinkling the black water beneath them, undressed too, and lay down atthe other end of the boat. They were very tired, and curtained from eachother by the darkness. The light from one lantern fell upon a few ropes, a few planks of the deck, and the rail of the boat, but beyond thatthere was unbroken darkness, no light reached their faces, or the treeswhich were massed on the sides of the river. 

Soon Wilfrid Flushing slept, and Hirst slept. Hewet alone lay awakelooking straight up into the sky. The gentle motion and the black shapesthat were drawn ceaselessly across his eyes had the effect of makingit impossible for him to think. Rachel's presence so near him lulledthought asleep. Being so near him, only a few paces off at the other endof the boat, she made it as impossible for him to think about her as itwould have been impossible to see her if she had stood quite close tohim, her forehead against his forehead. In some strange way the boatbecame identified with himself, and just as it would have been uselessfor him to get up and steer the boat, so was it useless for him tostruggle any longer with the irresistible force of his own feelings. Hewas drawn on and on away from all he knew, slipping over barriers andpast landmarks into unknown waters as the boat glided over thesmooth surface of the river. In profound peace, enveloped in deeperunconsciousness than had been his for many nights, he lay on deckwatching the tree-tops change their position slightly against the sky, and arch themselves, and sink and tower huge, until he passed fromseeing them into dreams where he lay beneath the shadow of the vasttrees, looking up into the sky. 

When they woke next morning they had gone a considerable way up theriver; on the right was a high yellow bank of sand tufted with trees, onthe left a swamp quivering with long reeds and tall bamboos on the topof which, swaying slightly, perched vivid green and yellow birds. Themorning was hot and still. After breakfast they drew chairs together andsat in an irregular semicircle in the bow. An awning above their headsprotected them from the heat of the sun, and the breeze which the boatmade aired them softly. Mrs. Flushing was already dotting and stripingher canvas, her head jerking this way and that with the action of a birdnervously picking up grain; the others had books or pieces of paperor embroidery on their knees, at which they looked fitfully and againlooked at the river ahead. At one point Hewet read part of a poem aloud, but the number of moving things entirely vanquished his words. He ceasedto read, and no one spoke. They moved on under the shelter of the trees. There was now a covey of red birds feeding on one of the little isletsto the left, or again a blue-green parrot flew shrieking from tree totree. As they moved on the country grew wilder and wilder. The trees andthe undergrowth seemed to be strangling each other near the ground in amultitudinous wrestle; while here and there a splendid tree towered highabove the swarm, shaking its thin green umbrellas lightly in the upperair. Hewet looked at his books again. The morning was peaceful as thenight had been, only it was very strange because he could see it waslight, and he could see Rachel and hear her voice and be near to her. He felt as if he were waiting, as if somehow he were stationary amongthings that passed over him and around him, voices, people's bodies, birds, only Rachel too was waiting with him. He looked at her sometimesas if she must know that they were waiting together, and being drawn ontogether, without being able to offer any resistance. Again he read fromhis book:

 Whoever you are holding me now in your hand, Without one thing all will be useless. 

A bird gave a wild laugh, a monkey chuckled a malicious question, and, as fire fades in the hot sunshine, his words flickered and went out. 

By degrees as the river narrowed, and the high sandbanks fell to levelground thickly grown with trees, the sounds of the forest could beheard. It echoed like a hall. There were sudden cries; and then longspaces of silence, such as there are in a cathedral when a boy's voicehas ceased and the echo of it still seems to haunt about the remoteplaces of the roof. Once Mr. Flushing rose and spoke to a sailor, andeven announced that some time after luncheon the steamer would stop, andthey could walk a little way through the forest. 

"There are tracks all through the trees there, " he explained. "We're nodistance from civilisation yet. "

He scrutinised his wife's painting. Too polite to praise it openly, he contented himself with cutting off one half of the picture with onehand, and giving a flourish in the air with the other. 

"God!" Hirst exclaimed, staring straight ahead. "Don't you think it'samazingly beautiful?"

"Beautiful?" Helen enquired. It seemed a strange little word, and Hirstand herself both so small that she forgot to answer him. 

Hewet felt that he must speak. 

"That's where the Elizabethans got their style, " he mused, staring intothe profusion of leaves and blossoms and prodigious fruits. 

"Shakespeare? I hate Shakespeare!" Mrs. Flushing exclaimed; and Wilfridreturned admiringly, "I believe you're the only person who dares to saythat, Alice. " But Mrs. Flushing went on painting. She did not appearto attach much value to her husband's compliment, and painted steadily, sometimes muttering a half-audible word or groan. 

The morning was now very hot. 

"Look at Hirst!" Mr. Flushing whispered. His sheet of paper had slippedon to the deck, his head lay back, and he drew a long snoring breath. 

Terence picked up the sheet of paper and spread it out before Rachel. Itwas a continuation of the poem on God which he had begun in the chapel, and it was so indecent that Rachel did not understand half of italthough she saw that it was indecent. Hewet began to fill in wordswhere Hirst had left spaces, but he soon ceased; his pencil rolled ondeck. Gradually they approached nearer and nearer to the bank on theright-hand side, so that the light which covered them became definitelygreen, falling through a shade of green leaves, and Mrs. Flushing setaside her sketch and stared ahead of her in silence. Hirst woke up; theywere then called to luncheon, and while they ate it, the steamer cameto a standstill a little way out from the bank. The boat which was towedbehind them was brought to the side, and the ladies were helped into it. 

For protection against boredom, Helen put a book of memoirs beneath herarm, and Mrs. Flushing her paint-box, and, thus equipped, they allowedthemselves to be set on shore on the verge of the forest. 

They had not strolled more than a few hundred yards along the trackwhich ran parallel with the river before Helen professed to find itwas unbearably hot. The river breeze had ceased, and a hot steamyatmosphere, thick with scents, came from the forest. 

"I shall sit down here, " she announced, pointing to the trunk of atree which had fallen long ago and was now laced across and acrossby creepers and thong-like brambles. She seated herself, opened herparasol, and looked at the river which was barred by the stems of trees. She turned her back to the trees which disappeared in black shadowbehind her. 

"I quite agree, " said Mrs. Flushing, and proceeded to undo herpaint-box. Her husband strolled about to select an interesting point ofview for her. Hirst cleared a space on the ground by Helen's side, andseated himself with great deliberation, as if he did not mean to moveuntil he had talked to her for a long time. Terence and Rachel were leftstanding by themselves without occupation. Terence saw that the timehad come as it was fated to come, but although he realised this hewas completely calm and master of himself. He chose to stand for a fewmoments talking to Helen, and persuading her to leave her seat. Racheljoined him too in advising her to come with them. 

"Of all the people I've ever met, " he said, "you're the leastadventurous. You might be sitting on green chairs in Hyde Park. Are yougoing to sit there the whole afternoon? Aren't you going to walk?"

"Oh, no, " said Helen, "one's only got to use one's eye. There'severything here--everything, " she repeated in a drowsy tone of voice. "What will you gain by walking?"

"You'll be hot and disagreeable by tea-time, we shall be cool andsweet, " put in Hirst. Into his eyes as he looked up at them had comeyellow and green reflections from the sky and the branches, robbing themof their intentness, and he seemed to think what he did not say. It wasthus taken for granted by them both that Terence and Rachel proposed towalk into the woods together; with one look at each other they turnedaway. 

"Good-bye!" cried Rachel. 

"Good-by. Beware of snakes, " Hirst replied. He settled himself stillmore comfortably under the shade of the fallen tree and Helen's figure. As they went, Mr. Flushing called after them, "We must start in an hour. Hewet, please remember that. An hour. "

Whether made by man, or for some reason preserved by nature, there wasa wide pathway striking through the forest at right angles to the river. It resembled a drive in an English forest, save that tropical busheswith their sword-like leaves grew at the side, and the ground wascovered with an unmarked springy moss instead of grass, starred withlittle yellow flowers. As they passed into the depths of the forest thelight grew dimmer, and the noises of the ordinary world were replacedby those creaking and sighing sounds which suggest to the traveller ina forest that he is walking at the bottom of the sea. The path narrowedand turned; it was hedged in by dense creepers which knotted tree totree, and burst here and there into star-shaped crimson blossoms. Thesighing and creaking up above were broken every now and then by thejarring cry of some startled animal. The atmosphere was close and theair came at them in languid puffs of scent. The vast green light wasbroken here and there by a round of pure yellow sunlight which fellthrough some gap in the immense umbrella of green above, and in theseyellow spaces crimson and black butterflies were circling and settling. Terence and Rachel hardly spoke. 

Not only did the silence weigh upon them, but they were both unable toframe any thoughts. There was something between them which had to bespoken of. One of them had to begin, but which of them was it to be?Then Hewet picked up a red fruit and threw it as high as he could. Whenit dropped, he would speak. They heard the flapping of great wings; theyheard the fruit go pattering through the leaves and eventually fall witha thud. The silence was again profound. 

"Does this frighten you?" Terence asked when the sound of the fruitfalling had completely died away. 

"No, " she answered. "I like it. "

She repeated "I like it. " She was walking fast, and holding herself moreerect than usual. There was another pause. 

"You like being with me?" Terence asked. 

"Yes, with you, " she replied. 

He was silent for a moment. Silence seemed to have fallen upon theworld. 

"That is what I have felt ever since I knew you, " he replied. "We arehappy together. " He did not seem to be speaking, or she to be hearing. 

"Very happy, " she answered. 

They continued to walk for some time in silence. Their stepsunconsciously quickened. 

"We love each other, " Terence said. 

"We love each other, " she repeated. 

The silence was then broken by their voices which joined in tones ofstrange unfamiliar sound which formed no words. Faster and faster theywalked; simultaneously they stopped, clasped each other in their arms, then releasing themselves, dropped to the earth. They sat side byside. Sounds stood out from the background making a bridge across theirsilence; they heard the swish of the trees and some beast croaking in aremote world. 

"We love each other, " Terence repeated, searching into her face. Theirfaces were both very pale and quiet, and they said nothing. He wasafraid to kiss her again. By degrees she drew close to him, and restedagainst him. In this position they sat for some time. She said "Terence"once; he answered "Rachel. "

"Terrible--terrible, " she murmured after another pause, but in sayingthis she was thinking as much of the persistent churning of the water asof her own feeling. On and on it went in the distance, the senseless andcruel churning of the water. She observed that the tears were runningdown Terence's cheeks. 

The next movement was on his part. A very long time seemed to havepassed. He took out his watch. 

"Flushing said an hour. We've been gone more than half an hour. "

"And it takes that to get back, " said Rachel. She raised herself veryslowly. When she was standing up she stretched her arms and drew a deepbreath, half a sigh, half a yawn. She appeared to be very tired. Hercheeks were white. "Which way?" she asked. 

"There, " said Terence. 

They began to walk back down the mossy path again. The sighing andcreaking continued far overhead, and the jarring cries of animals. Thebutterflies were circling still in the patches of yellow sunlight. At first Terence was certain of his way, but as they walked he becamedoubtful. They had to stop to consider, and then to return and startonce more, for although he was certain of the direction of the river hewas not certain of striking the point where they had left the others. Rachel followed him, stopping where he stopped, turning where he turned, ignorant of the way, ignorant why he stopped or why he turned. 

"I don't want to be late, " he said, "because--" He put a flower into herhand and her fingers closed upon it quietly. "We're so late--solate--so horribly late, " he repeated as if he were talking in his sleep. "Ah--this is right. We turn here. "

They found themselves again in the broad path, like the drive in theEnglish forest, where they had started when they left the others. Theywalked on in silence as people walking in their sleep, and were oddlyconscious now and again of the mass of their bodies. Then Rachelexclaimed suddenly, "Helen!"

In the sunny space at the edge of the forest they saw Helen stillsitting on the tree-trunk, her dress showing very white in the sun, with Hirst still propped on his elbow by her side. They stoppedinstinctively. At the sight of other people they could not go on. Theystood hand in hand for a minute or two in silence. They could not bearto face other people. 

"But we must go on, " Rachel insisted at last, in the curious dull toneof voice in which they had both been speaking, and with a great effortthey forced themselves to cover the short distance which lay betweenthem and the pair sitting on the tree-trunk. 

As they approached, Helen turned round and looked at them. She looked atthem for some time without speaking, and when they were close to her shesaid quietly:

"Did you meet Mr. Flushing? He has gone to find you. He thought you mustbe lost, though I told him you weren't lost. "

Hirst half turned round and threw his head back so that he looked at thebranches crossing themselves in the air above him. 

"Well, was it worth the effort?" he enquired dreamily. 

Hewet sat down on the grass by his side and began to fan himself. 

Rachel had balanced herself near Helen on the end of the tree trunk. 

"Very hot, " she said. 

"You look exhausted anyhow, " said Hirst. 

"It's fearfully close in those trees, " Helen remarked, picking up herbook and shaking it free from the dried blades of grass which had fallenbetween the leaves. Then they were all silent, looking at the riverswirling past in front of them between the trunks of the trees until Mr. Flushing interrupted them. He broke out of the trees a hundred yards tothe left, exclaiming sharply:

"Ah, so you found the way after all. But it's late--much later than wearranged, Hewet. "

He was slightly annoyed, and in his capacity as leader of theexpedition, inclined to be dictatorial. He spoke quickly, usingcuriously sharp, meaningless words. 

"Being late wouldn't matter normally, of course, " he said, "but whenit's a question of keeping the men up to time--"

He gathered them together and made them come down to the river-bank, where the boat was waiting to row them out to the steamer. 

The heat of the day was going down, and over their cups of tea theFlushings tended to become communicative. It seemed to Terence as helistened to them talking, that existence now went on in two differentlayers. Here were the Flushings talking, talking somewhere high up inthe air above him, and he and Rachel had dropped to the bottom ofthe world together. But with something of a child's directness, Mrs. Flushing had also the instinct which leads a child to suspect what itselders wish to keep hidden. She fixed Terence with her vivid blue eyesand addressed herself to him in particular. What would he do, she wantedto know, if the boat ran upon a rock and sank. 

"Would you care for anythin' but savin' yourself? Should I? No, no, " shelaughed, "not one scrap--don't tell me. There's only two creatures theordinary woman cares about, " she continued, "her child and her dog;and I don't believe it's even two with men. One reads a lot aboutlove--that's why poetry's so dull. But what happens in real life, he? Itain't love!" she cried. 

Terence murmured something unintelligible. Mr. Flushing, however, hadrecovered his urbanity. He was smoking a cigarette, and he now answeredhis wife. 

"You must always remember, Alice, " he said, "that your upbringingwas very unnatural--unusual, I should say. They had no mother, " heexplained, dropping something of the formality of his tone; "and afather--he was a very delightful man, I've no doubt, but he cared onlyfor racehorses and Greek statues. Tell them about the bath, Alice. "

"In the stable-yard, " said Mrs. Flushing. "Covered with ice in winter. We had to get in; if we didn't, we were whipped. The strong oneslived--the others died. What you call survival of the fittest--a mostexcellent plan, I daresay, if you've thirteen children!"

"And all this going on in the heart of England, in the nineteenthcentury!" Mr. Flushing exclaimed, turning to Helen. 

"I'd treat my children just the same if I had any, " said Mrs. Flushing. 

Every word sounded quite distinctly in Terence's ears; but what werethey saying, and who were they talking to, and who were they, thesefantastic people, detached somewhere high up in the air? Now that theyhad drunk their tea, they rose and leant over the bow of the boat. Thesun was going down, and the water was dark and crimson. The river hadwidened again, and they were passing a little island set like a darkwedge in the middle of the stream. Two great white birds with red lightson them stood there on stilt-like legs, and the beach of the island wasunmarked, save by the skeleton print of birds' feet. The branches ofthe trees on the bank looked more twisted and angular than ever, and thegreen of the leaves was lurid and splashed with gold. Then Hirst beganto talk, leaning over the bow. 

"It makes one awfully queer, don't you find?" he complained. "Thesetrees get on one's nerves--it's all so crazy. God's undoubtedly mad. What sane person could have conceived a wilderness like this, andpeopled it with apes and alligators? I should go mad if I livedhere--raving mad. "

Terence attempted to answer him, but Mrs. Ambrose replied instead. Shebade him look at the way things massed themselves--look at the amazingcolours, look at the shapes of the trees. She seemed to be protectingTerence from the approach of the others. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Flushing. "And in my opinion, " he continued, "theabsence of population to which Hirst objects is precisely thesignificant touch. You must admit, Hirst, that a little Italiantown even would vulgarise the whole scene, would detract from thevastness--the sense of elemental grandeur. " He swept his hands towardsthe forest, and paused for a moment, looking at the great green mass, which was now falling silent. "I own it makes us seem pretty small--us, not them. " He nodded his head at a sailor who leant over the sidespitting into the river. "And that, I think, is what my wife feels, theessential superiority of the peasant--" Under cover of Mr. Flushing'swords, which continued now gently reasoning with St. John and persuadinghim, Terence drew Rachel to the side, pointing ostensibly to a greatgnarled tree-trunk which had fallen and lay half in the water. Hewished, at any rate, to be near her, but he found that he could saynothing. They could hear Mr. Flushing flowing on, now about his wife, now about art, now about the future of the country, little meaninglesswords floating high in air. As it was becoming cold he began to pacethe deck with Hirst. Fragments of their talk came out distinctly as theypassed--art, emotion, truth, reality. 

"Is it true, or is it a dream?" Rachel murmured, when they had passed. 

"It's true, it's true, " he replied. 

But the breeze freshened, and there was a general desire for movement. When the party rearranged themselves under cover of rugs and cloaks, Terence and Rachel were at opposite ends of the circle, and could notspeak to each other. But as the dark descended, the words of the othersseemed to curl up and vanish as the ashes of burnt paper, and left themsitting perfectly silent at the bottom of the world. Occasional startsof exquisite joy ran through them, and then they were peaceful again. 

Chapter XXI

Thanks to Mr. Flushing's discipline, the right stages of the river werereached at the right hours, and when next morning after breakfast thechairs were again drawn out in a semicircle in the bow, the launchwas within a few miles of the native camp which was the limit of thejourney. Mr. Flushing, as he sat down, advised them to keep their eyesfixed on the left bank, where they would soon pass a clearing, and inthat clearing, was a hut where Mackenzie, the famous explorer, haddied of fever some ten years ago, almost within reach ofcivilisation--Mackenzie, he repeated, the man who went farther inlandthan any one's been yet. Their eyes turned that way obediently. The eyesof Rachel saw nothing. Yellow and green shapes did, it is true, passbefore them, but she only knew that one was large and another small;she did not know that they were trees. These directions to look hereand there irritated her, as interruptions irritate a person absorbed inthought, although she was not thinking of anything. She was annoyed withall that was said, and with the aimless movements of people's bodies, because they seemed to interfere with her and to prevent her fromspeaking to Terence. Very soon Helen saw her staring moodily at a coilof rope, and making no effort to listen. Mr. Flushing and St. John wereengaged in more or less continuous conversation about the future of thecountry from a political point of view, and the degree to which ithad been explored; the others, with their legs stretched out, or chinspoised on the hands, gazed in silence. 

Mrs. Ambrose looked and listened obediently enough, but inwardly shewas prey to an uneasy mood not readily to be ascribed to any one cause. Looking on shore as Mr. Flushing bade her, she thought the countryvery beautiful, but also sultry and alarming. She did not like to feelherself the victim of unclassified emotions, and certainly as the launchslipped on and on, in the hot morning sun, she felt herself unreasonablymoved. Whether the unfamiliarity of the forest was the cause of it, or something less definite, she could not determine. Her mind left thescene and occupied itself with anxieties for Ridley, for her children, for far-off things, such as old age and poverty and death. Hirst, too, was depressed. He had been looking forward to this expedition as to aholiday, for, once away from the hotel, surely wonderful things wouldhappen, instead of which nothing happened, and here they were asuncomfortable, as restrained, as self-conscious as ever. That, ofcourse, was what came of looking forward to anything; one was alwaysdisappointed. He blamed Wilfrid Flushing, who was so well dressed and soformal; he blamed Hewet and Rachel. Why didn't they talk? He looked atthem sitting silent and self-absorbed, and the sight annoyed him. Hesupposed that they were engaged, or about to become engaged, butinstead of being in the least romantic or exciting, that was as dull aseverything else; it annoyed him, too, to think that they were in love. He drew close to Helen and began to tell her how uncomfortable his nighthad been, lying on the deck, sometimes too hot, sometimes too cold, andthe stars so bright that he couldn't get to sleep. He had lain awakeall night thinking, and when it was light enough to see, he had writtentwenty lines of his poem on God, and the awful thing was that he'dpractically proved the fact that God did not exist. He did not see thathe was teasing her, and he went on to wonder what would happen if Goddid exist--"an old gentleman in a beard and a long blue dressing gown, extremely testy and disagreeable as he's bound to be? Can you suggest arhyme? God, rod, sod--all used; any others?"

Although he spoke much as usual, Helen could have seen, had she looked, that he was also impatient and disturbed. But she was not called upon toanswer, for Mr. Flushing now exclaimed "There!" They looked at the huton the bank, a desolate place with a large rent in the roof, and theground round it yellow, scarred with fires and scattered with rusty opentins. 

"Did they find his dead body there?" Mrs. Flushing exclaimed, leaningforward in her eagerness to see the spot where the explorer had died. 

"They found his body and his skins and a notebook, " her husband replied. But the boat had soon carried them on and left the place behind. 

It was so hot that they scarcely moved, except now to change a foot, or, again, to strike a match. Their eyes, concentrated upon the bank, werefull of the same green reflections, and their lips were slightly pressedtogether as though the sights they were passing gave rise to thoughts, save that Hirst's lips moved intermittently as half consciously hesought rhymes for God. Whatever the thoughts of the others, no one saidanything for a considerable space. They had grown so accustomed to thewall of trees on either side that they looked up with a start when thelight suddenly widened out and the trees came to an end. 

"It almost reminds one of an English park, " said Mr. Flushing. 

Indeed no change could have been greater. On both banks of the river layan open lawn-like space, grass covered and planted, for the gentlenessand order of the place suggested human care, with graceful trees on thetop of little mounds. As far as they could gaze, this lawn rose and sankwith the undulating motion of an old English park. The change of scenenaturally suggested a change of position, grateful to most of them. Theyrose and leant over the rail. 

"It might be Arundel or Windsor, " Mr. Flushing continued, "if you cutdown that bush with the yellow flowers; and, by Jove, look!"

Rows of brown backs paused for a moment and then leapt with a motion asif they were springing over waves out of sight. For a moment no one ofthem could believe that they had really seen live animals in the open--aherd of wild deer, and the sight aroused a childlike excitement in them, dissipating their gloom. 

"I've never in my life seen anything bigger than a hare!" Hirstexclaimed with genuine excitement. "What an ass I was not to bring myKodak!"

Soon afterwards the launch came gradually to a standstill, and thecaptain explained to Mr. Flushing that it would be pleasant for thepassengers if they now went for a stroll on shore; if they chose toreturn within an hour, he would take them on to the village; if theychose to walk--it was only a mile or two farther on--he would meet themat the landing-place. 

The matter being settled, they were once more put on shore: the sailors, producing raisins and tobacco, leant upon the rail and watched thesix English, whose coats and dresses looked so strange upon the green, wander off. A joke that was by no means proper set them all laughing, and then they turned round and lay at their ease upon the deck. 

Directly they landed, Terence and Rachel drew together slightly inadvance of the others. 

"Thank God!" Terence exclaimed, drawing a long breath. "At last we'realone. "

"And if we keep ahead we can talk, " said Rachel. 

Nevertheless, although their position some yards in advance of theothers made it possible for them to say anything they chose, they wereboth silent. 

"You love me?" Terence asked at length, breaking the silence painfully. To speak or to be silent was equally an effort, for when they weresilent they were keenly conscious of each other's presence, and yetwords were either too trivial or too large. 

She murmured inarticulately, ending, "And you?"

"Yes, yes, " he replied; but there were so many things to be said, andnow that they were alone it seemed necessary to bring themselves stillmore near, and to surmount a barrier which had grown up since they hadlast spoken. It was difficult, frightening even, oddly embarrassing. Atone moment he was clear-sighted, and, at the next, confused. 

"Now I'm going to begin at the beginning, " he said resolutely. "I'mgoing to tell you what I ought to have told you before. In the firstplace, I've never been in love with other women, but I've had otherwomen. Then I've great faults. I'm very lazy, I'm moody--" He persisted, in spite of her exclamation, "You've got to know the worst of me. I'mlustful. I'm overcome by a sense of futility--incompetence. I oughtnever to have asked you to marry me, I expect. I'm a bit of a snob; I'mambitious--"

"Oh, our faults!" she cried. "What do they matter?" Then she demanded, "Am I in love--is this being in love--are we to marry each other?"

Overcome by the charm of her voice and her presence, he exclaimed, "Oh, you're free, Rachel. To you, time will make no difference, or marriageor--"

The voices of the others behind them kept floating, now farther, nownearer, and Mrs. Flushing's laugh rose clearly by itself. 

"Marriage?" Rachel repeated. 

The shouts were renewed behind, warning them that they were bearing toofar to the left. Improving their course, he continued, "Yes, marriage. "The feeling that they could not be united until she knew all about himmade him again endeavour to explain. 

"All that's been bad in me, the things I've put up with--the secondbest--"

She murmured, considered her own life, but could not describe how itlooked to her now. 

"And the loneliness!" he continued. A vision of walking with her throughthe streets of London came before his eyes. "We will go for walkstogether, " he said. The simplicity of the idea relieved them, and forthe first time they laughed. They would have liked had they dared totake each other by the hand, but the consciousness of eyes fixed on themfrom behind had not yet deserted them. 

"Books, people, sights--Mrs. Nutt, Greeley, Hutchinson, " Hewet murmured. 

With every word the mist which had enveloped them, making them seemunreal to each other, since the previous afternoon melted a littlefurther, and their contact became more and more natural. Up through thesultry southern landscape they saw the world they knew appear clearerand more vividly than it had ever appeared before As upon that occasionat the hotel when she had sat in the window, the world once morearranged itself beneath her gaze very vividly and in its trueproportions. She glanced curiously at Terence from time to time, observing his grey coat and his purple tie; observing the man with whomshe was to spend the rest of her life. 

After one of these glances she murmured, "Yes, I'm in love. There's nodoubt; I'm in love with you. "

Nevertheless, they remained uncomfortably apart; drawn so closetogether, as she spoke, that there seemed no division between them, andthe next moment separate and far away again. Feeling this painfully, sheexclaimed, "It will be a fight. "

But as she looked at him she perceived from the shape of his eyes, thelines about his mouth, and other peculiarities that he pleased her, andshe added:

"Where I want to fight, you have compassion. You're finer than I am;you're much finer. "

He returned her glance and smiled, perceiving, much as she had done, thevery small individual things about her which made her delightful tohim. She was his for ever. This barrier being surmounted, innumerabledelights lay before them both. 

"I'm not finer, " he answered. "I'm only older, lazier; a man, not awoman. "

"A man, " she repeated, and a curious sense of possession coming overher, it struck her that she might now touch him; she put out her handand lightly touched his cheek. His fingers followed where hers had been, and the touch of his hand upon his face brought back the overpoweringsense of unreality. This body of his was unreal; the whole world wasunreal. 

"What's happened?" he began. "Why did I ask you to marry me? How did ithappen?"

"Did you ask me to marry you?" she wondered. They faded far away fromeach other, and neither of them could remember what had been said. 

"We sat upon the ground, " he recollected. 

"We sat upon the ground, " she confirmed him. The recollection of sittingupon the ground, such as it was, seemed to unite them again, and theywalked on in silence, their minds sometimes working with difficulty andsometimes ceasing to work, their eyes alone perceiving the things roundthem. Now he would attempt again to tell her his faults, and why heloved her; and she would describe what she had felt at this time or atthat time, and together they would interpret her feeling. So beautifulwas the sound of their voices that by degrees they scarcely listenedto the words they framed. Long silences came between their words, which were no longer silences of struggle and confusion but refreshingsilences, in which trivial thoughts moved easily. They began to speaknaturally of ordinary things, of the flowers and the trees, how theygrew there so red, like garden flowers at home, and there bent andcrooked like the arm of a twisted old man. 

Very gently and quietly, almost as if it were the blood singing in herveins, or the water of the stream running over stones, Rachel becameconscious of a new feeling within her. She wondered for a moment what itwas, and then said to herself, with a little surprise at recognising inher own person so famous a thing:

"This is happiness, I suppose. " And aloud to Terence she spoke, "This ishappiness. "

On the heels of her words he answered, "This is happiness, " upon whichthey guessed that the feeling had sprung in both of them the same time. They began therefore to describe how this felt and that felt, how likeit was and yet how different; for they were very different. 

Voices crying behind them never reached through the waters in whichthey were now sunk. The repetition of Hewet's name in short, disseveredsyllables was to them the crack of a dry branch or the laughter of abird. The grasses and breezes sounding and murmuring all round them, they never noticed that the swishing of the grasses grew louder andlouder, and did not cease with the lapse of the breeze. A hand droppedabrupt as iron on Rachel's shoulder; it might have been a bolt fromheaven. She fell beneath it, and the grass whipped across her eyes andfilled her mouth and ears. Through the waving stems she saw a figure, large and shapeless against the sky. Helen was upon her. Rolled thisway and that, now seeing only forests of green, and now the high blueheaven; she was speechless and almost without sense. At last she laystill, all the grasses shaken round her and before her by her panting. Over her loomed two great heads, the heads of a man and woman, ofTerence and Helen. 

Both were flushed, both laughing, and the lips were moving; they cametogether and kissed in the air above her. Broken fragments of speechcame down to her on the ground. She thought she heard them speak of loveand then of marriage. Raising herself and sitting up, she too realisedHelen's soft body, the strong and hospitable arms, and happinessswelling and breaking in one vast wave. When this fell away, and thegrasses once more lay low, and the sky became horizontal, and the earthrolled out flat on each side, and the trees stood upright, she was thefirst to perceive a little row of human figures standing patiently inthe distance. For the moment she could not remember who they were. 

"Who are they?" she asked, and then recollected. 

Falling into line behind Mr. Flushing, they were careful to leave atleast three yards' distance between the toe of his boot and the rim ofher skirt. 

He led them across a stretch of green by the river-bank and then througha grove of trees, and bade them remark the signs of human habitation, the blackened grass, the charred tree-stumps, and there, through thetrees, strange wooden nests, drawn together in an arch where the treesdrew apart, the village which was the goal of their journey. 

Stepping cautiously, they observed the women, who were squatting on theground in triangular shapes, moving their hands, either plaiting strawor in kneading something in bowls. But when they had looked for a momentundiscovered, they were seen, and Mr. Flushing, advancing into thecentre of the clearing, was engaged in talk with a lean majestic man, whose bones and hollows at once made the shapes of the Englishman's bodyappear ugly and unnatural. The women took no notice of the strangers, except that their hands paused for a moment and their long narrow eyesslid round and fixed upon them with the motionless inexpensive gaze ofthose removed from each other far far beyond the plunge of speech. Theirhands moved again, but the stare continued. It followed them as theywalked, as they peered into the huts where they could distinguish gunsleaning in the corner, and bowls upon the floor, and stacks of rushes;in the dusk the solemn eyes of babies regarded them, and old womenstared out too. As they sauntered about, the stare followed them, passing over their legs, their bodies, their heads, curiously notwithout hostility, like the crawl of a winter fly. As she drew apart hershawl and uncovered her breast to the lips of her baby, the eyes of awoman never left their faces, although they moved uneasily under herstare, and finally turned away, rather than stand there looking at herany longer. When sweetmeats were offered them, they put out greatred hands to take them, and felt themselves treading cumbrously liketight-coated soldiers among these soft instinctive people. But soon thelife of the village took no notice of them; they had become absorbedin it. The women's hands became busy again with the straw; their eyesdropped. If they moved, it was to fetch something from the hut, or tocatch a straying child, or to cross the space with a jar balanced ontheir heads; if they spoke, it was to cry some harsh unintelligiblecry. Voices rose when a child was beaten, and fell again; voices rosein song, which slid up a little way and down a little way, and settledagain upon the same low and melancholy note. Seeking each other, Terenceand Rachel drew together under a tree. Peaceful, and even beautiful atfirst, the sight of the women, who had given up looking at them, madethem now feel very cold and melancholy. 

"Well, " Terence sighed at length, "it makes us seem insignificant, doesn't it?"

Rachel agreed. So it would go on for ever and ever, she said, thosewomen sitting under the trees, the trees and the river. They turned awayand began to walk through the trees, leaning, without fear of discovery, upon each other's arms. They had not gone far before they began toassure each other once more that they were in love, were happy, werecontent; but why was it so painful being in love, why was there so muchpain in happiness?

The sight of the village indeed affected them all curiously though alldifferently. St. John had left the others and was walking slowly down tothe river, absorbed in his own thoughts, which were bitter and unhappy, for he felt himself alone; and Helen, standing by herself in the sunnyspace among the native women, was exposed to presentiments of disaster. The cries of the senseless beasts rang in her ears high and low inthe air, as they ran from tree-trunk to tree-top. How small the littlefigures looked wandering through the trees! She became acutely consciousof the little limbs, the thin veins, the delicate flesh of men andwomen, which breaks so easily and lets the life escape compared withthese great trees and deep waters. A falling branch, a foot that slips, and the earth has crushed them or the water drowned them. Thus thinking, she kept her eyes anxiously fixed upon the lovers, as if by doing so shecould protect them from their fate. Turning, she found the Flushings byher side. 

They were talking about the things they had bought and arguing whetherthey were really old, and whether there were not signs here and thereof European influence. Helen was appealed to. She was made to look ata brooch, and then at a pair of ear-rings. But all the time she blamedthem for having come on this expedition, for having ventured too far andexposed themselves. Then she roused herself and tried to talk, but in afew moments she caught herself seeing a picture of a boat upset on theriver in England, at midday. It was morbid, she knew, to imagine suchthings; nevertheless she sought out the figures of the others betweenthe trees, and whenever she saw them she kept her eyes fixed on them, sothat she might be able to protect them from disaster. 

But when the sun went down and the steamer turned and began tosteam back towards civilisation, again her fears were calmed. In thesemi-darkness the chairs on deck and the people sitting in them wereangular shapes, the mouth being indicated by a tiny burning spot, andthe arm by the same spot moving up or down as the cigar or cigarettewas lifted to and from the lips. Words crossed the darkness, but, notknowing where they fell, seemed to lack energy and substance. Deepsights proceeded regularly, although with some attempt at suppression, from the large white mound which represented the person of Mrs. Flushing. The day had been long and very hot, and now that all thecolours were blotted out the cool night air seemed to press soft fingersupon the eyelids, sealing them down. Some philosophical remark directed, apparently, at St. John Hirst missed its aim, and hung so long suspendedin the air until it was engulfed by a yawn, that it was considered dead, and this gave the signal for stirring of legs and murmurs about sleep. The white mound moved, finally lengthened itself and disappeared, andafter a few turns and paces St. John and Mr. Flushing withdrew, leavingthe three chairs still occupied by three silent bodies. The light whichcame from a lamp high on the mast and a sky pale with stars leftthem with shapes but without features; but even in this darkness thewithdrawal of the others made them feel each other very near, for theywere all thinking of the same thing. For some time no one spoke, thenHelen said with a sigh, "So you're both very happy?"

As if washed by the air her voice sounded more spiritual and softer thanusual. Voices at a little distance answered her, "Yes. "

Through the darkness she was looking at them both, and trying todistinguish him. What was there for her to say? Rachel had passed beyondher guardianship. A voice might reach her ears, but never again wouldit carry as far as it had carried twenty-four hours ago. Nevertheless, speech seemed to be due from her before she went to bed. She wished tospeak, but she felt strangely old and depressed. 

"D'you realise what you're doing?" she demanded. "She's young, you'reboth young; and marriage--" Here she ceased. They begged her, however, to continue, with such earnestness in their voices, as if they onlycraved advice, that she was led to add:

"Marriage! well, it's not easy. "

"That's what we want to know, " they answered, and she guessed that nowthey were looking at each other. 

"It depends on both of you, " she stated. Her face was turned towardsTerence, and although he could hardly see her, he believed that herwords really covered a genuine desire to know more about him. He raisedhimself from his semi-recumbent position and proceeded to tell her whatshe wanted to know. He spoke as lightly as he could in order to takeaway her depression. 

"I'm twenty-seven, and I've about seven hundred a year, " he began. "Mytemper is good on the whole, and health excellent, though Hirst detectsa gouty tendency. Well, then, I think I'm very intelligent. " He pausedas if for confirmation. 

Helen agreed. 

"Though, unfortunately, rather lazy. I intend to allow Rachel to be afool if she wants to, and--Do you find me on the whole satisfactory inother respects?" he asked shyly. 

"Yes, I like what I know of you, " Helen replied. 

"But then--one knows so little. "

"We shall live in London, " he continued, "and--" With one voice theysuddenly enquired whether she did not think them the happiest peoplethat she had ever known. 

"Hush, " she checked them, "Mrs. Flushing, remember. She's behind us. "

Then they fell silent, and Terence and Rachel felt instinctively thattheir happiness had made her sad, and, while they were anxious to go ontalking about themselves, they did not like to. 

"We've talked too much about ourselves, " Terence said. "Tell us--"

"Yes, tell us--" Rachel echoed. They were both in the mood to believethat every one was capable of saying something very profound. 

"What can I tell you?" Helen reflected, speaking more to herself in arambling style than as a prophetess delivering a message. She forcedherself to speak. 

"After all, though I scold Rachel, I'm not much wiser myself. I'molder, of course, I'm half-way through, and you're just beginning. It'spuzzling--sometimes, I think, disappointing; the great things aren't asgreat, perhaps, as one expects--but it's interesting--Oh, yes, you'recertain to find it interesting--And so it goes on, " they becameconscious here of the procession of dark trees into which, as far asthey could see, Helen was now looking, "and there are pleasures whereone doesn't expect them (you must write to your father), and you'll bevery happy, I've no doubt. But I must go to bed, and if you are sensibleyou will follow in ten minutes, and so, " she rose and stood before them, almost featureless and very large, "Good-night. " She passed behind thecurtain. 

After sitting in silence for the greater part of the ten minutes sheallowed them, they rose and hung over the rail. Beneath them thesmooth black water slipped away very fast and silently. The spark of acigarette vanished behind them. "A beautiful voice, " Terence murmured. 

Rachel assented. Helen had a beautiful voice. 

After a silence she asked, looking up into the sky, "Are we on the deckof a steamer on a river in South America? Am I Rachel, are you Terence?"

The great black world lay round them. As they were drawn smoothly alongit seemed possessed of immense thickness and endurance. They coulddiscern pointed tree-tops and blunt rounded tree-tops. Raising theireyes above the trees, they fixed them on the stars and the pale borderof sky above the trees. The little points of frosty light infinitely faraway drew their eyes and held them fixed, so that it seemed as ifthey stayed a long time and fell a great distance when once morethey realised their hands grasping the rail and their separate bodiesstanding side by side. 

"You'd forgotten completely about me, " Terence reproached her, takingher arm and beginning to pace the deck, "and I never forget you. "

"Oh, no, " she whispered, she had not forgotten, only the stars--thenight--the dark--

"You're like a bird half asleep in its nest, Rachel. You're asleep. You're talking in your sleep. "

Half asleep, and murmuring broken words, they stood in the angle made bythe bow of the boat. It slipped on down the river. Now a bell struck onthe bridge, and they heard the lapping of water as it rippled away oneither side, and once a bird startled in its sleep creaked, flew on tothe next tree, and was silent again. The darkness poured down profusely, and left them with scarcely any feeling of life, except that they werestanding there together in the darkness. 

Chapter XXII

The darkness fell, but rose again, and as each day spread widely overthe earth and parted them from the strange day in the forest when theyhad been forced to tell each other what they wanted, this wish of theirswas revealed to other people, and in the process became slightly strangeto themselves. Apparently it was not anything unusual that had happened;it was that they had become engaged to marry each other. The world, which consisted for the most part of the hotel and the villa, expresseditself glad on the whole that two people should marry, and allowed themto see that they were not expected to take part in the work which has tobe done in order that the world shall go on, but might absent themselvesfor a time. They were accordingly left alone until they felt the silenceas if, playing in a vast church, the door had been shut on them. Theywere driven to walk alone, and sit alone, to visit secret places wherethe flowers had never been picked and the trees were solitary. Insolitude they could express those beautiful but too vast desires whichwere so oddly uncomfortable to the ears of other men and women--desiresfor a world, such as their own world which contained two people seemedto them to be, where people knew each other intimately and thus judgedeach other by what was good, and never quarrelled, because that waswaste of time. 

They would talk of such questions among books, or out in the sun, or sitting in the shade of a tree undisturbed. They were no longerembarrassed, or half-choked with meaning which could not express itself;they were not afraid of each other, or, like travellers down a twistingriver, dazzled with sudden beauties when the corner is turned; theunexpected happened, but even the ordinary was lovable, and in manyways preferable to the ecstatic and mysterious, for it was refreshinglysolid, and called out effort, and effort under such circumstances wasnot effort but delight. 

While Rachel played the piano, Terence sat near her, engaged, as faras the occasional writing of a word in pencil testified, in shapingthe world as it appeared to him now that he and Rachel were going to bemarried. It was different certainly. The book called _Silence_ would notnow be the same book that it would have been. He would then put down hispencil and stare in front of him, and wonder in what respects the worldwas different--it had, perhaps, more solidity, more coherence, moreimportance, greater depth. Why, even the earth sometimes seemed to himvery deep; not carved into hills and cities and fields, but heaped ingreat masses. He would look out of the window for ten minutes at a time;but no, he did not care for the earth swept of human beings. He likedhuman beings--he liked them, he suspected, better than Rachel did. Thereshe was, swaying enthusiastically over her music, quite forgetful ofhim, --but he liked that quality in her. He liked the impersonality whichit produced in her. At last, having written down a series of littlesentences, with notes of interrogation attached to them, he observedaloud, "'Women--'under the heading Women I've written:

"'Not really vainer than men. Lack of self-confidence at the base ofmost serious faults. Dislike of own sex traditional, or founded on fact?Every woman not so much a rake at heart, as an optimist, because theydon't think. ' What do you say, Rachel?" He paused with his pencil in hishand and a sheet of paper on his knee. 

Rachel said nothing. Up and up the steep spiral of a very late Beethovensonata she climbed, like a person ascending a ruined staircase, energetically at first, then more laboriously advancing her feet witheffort until she could go no higher and returned with a run to begin atthe very bottom again. 

"'Again, it's the fashion now to say that women are more practical andless idealistic than men, also that they have considerable organisingability but no sense of honour'--query, what is meant by masculine term, honour?--what corresponds to it in your sex? Eh?"

Attacking her staircase once more, Rachel again neglected thisopportunity of revealing the secrets of her sex. She had, indeed, advanced so far in the pursuit of wisdom that she allowed these secretsto rest undisturbed; it seemed to be reserved for a later generation todiscuss them philosophically. 

Crashing down a final chord with her left hand, she exclaimed at last, swinging round upon him:

"No, Terence, it's no good; here am I, the best musician in SouthAmerica, not to speak of Europe and Asia, and I can't play a notebecause of you in the room interrupting me every other second. "

"You don't seem to realise that that's what I've been aiming at forthe last half-hour, " he remarked. "I've no objection to nice simpletunes--indeed, I find them very helpful to my literary composition, butthat kind of thing is merely like an unfortunate old dog going round onits hind legs in the rain. "

He began turning over the little sheets of note-paper which werescattered on the table, conveying the congratulations of their friends. 

"'--all possible wishes for all possible happiness, '" he read; "correct, but not very vivid, are they?"

"They're sheer nonsense!" Rachel exclaimed. "Think of words comparedwith sounds!" she continued. "Think of novels and plays and histories--"Perched on the edge of the table, she stirred the red and yellow volumescontemptuously. She seemed to herself to be in a position where shecould despise all human learning. Terence looked at them too. 

"God, Rachel, you do read trash!" he exclaimed. "And you're behindthe times too, my dear. No one dreams of reading this kind of thingnow--antiquated problem plays, harrowing descriptions of life in theeast end--oh, no, we've exploded all that. Read poetry, Rachel, poetry, poetry, poetry!"

Picking up one of the books, he began to read aloud, his intention beingto satirise the short sharp bark of the writer's English; but she paidno attention, and after an interval of meditation exclaimed:

"Does it ever seem to you, Terence, that the world is composed entirelyof vast blocks of matter, and that we're nothing but patches of light--"she looked at the soft spots of sun wavering over the carpet and up thewall--"like that?"

"No, " said Terence, "I feel solid; immensely solid; the legs of my chairmight be rooted in the bowels of the earth. But at Cambridge, I canremember, there were times when one fell into ridiculous statesof semi-coma about five o'clock in the morning. Hirst does now, Iexpect--oh, no, Hirst wouldn't. "

Rachel continued, "The day your note came, asking us to go on thepicnic, I was sitting where you're sitting now, thinking that; I wonderif I could think that again? I wonder if the world's changed? and if so, when it'll stop changing, and which is the real world?"

"When I first saw you, " he began, "I thought you were like a creaturewho'd lived all its life among pearls and old bones. Your hands werewet, d'you remember, and you never said a word until I gave you a bit ofbread, and then you said, 'Human Beings!'"

"And I thought you--a prig, " she recollected. "No; that's not quite it. There were the ants who stole the tongue, and I thought you and St. Johnwere like those ants--very big, very ugly, very energetic, with all yourvirtues on your backs. However, when I talked to you I liked you--"

"You fell in love with me, " he corrected her. "You were in love with meall the time, only you didn't know it. "

"No, I never fell in love with you, " she asserted. 

"Rachel--what a lie--didn't you sit here looking at my window--didn'tyou wander about the hotel like an owl in the sun--?"

"No, " she repeated, "I never fell in love, if falling in love is whatpeople say it is, and it's the world that tells the lies and I tell thetruth. Oh, what lies--what lies!"

She crumpled together a handful of letters from Evelyn M. , from Mr. Pepper, from Mrs. Thornbury and Miss Allan, and Susan Warrington. Itwas strange, considering how very different these people were, that theyused almost the same sentences when they wrote to congratulate her uponher engagement. 

That any one of these people had ever felt what she felt, or could everfeel it, or had even the right to pretend for a single second that theywere capable of feeling it, appalled her much as the church servicehad done, much as the face of the hospital nurse had done; and if theydidn't feel a thing why did they go and pretend to? The simplicity andarrogance and hardness of her youth, now concentrated into a singlespark as it was by her love of him, puzzled Terence; being engaged hadnot that effect on him; the world was different, but not in that way;he still wanted the things he had always wanted, and in particular hewanted the companionship of other people more than ever perhaps. He tookthe letters out of her hand, and protested:

"Of course they're absurd, Rachel; of course they say things justbecause other people say them, but even so, what a nice woman Miss Allanis; you can't deny that; and Mrs. Thornbury too; she's got too manychildren I grant you, but if half-a-dozen of them had gone to the badinstead of rising infallibly to the tops of their trees--hasn't she akind of beauty--of elemental simplicity as Flushing would say? Isn'tshe rather like a large old tree murmuring in the moonlight, or a rivergoing on and on and on? By the way, Ralph's been made governor of theCarroway Islands--the youngest governor in the service; very good, isn'tit?"

But Rachel was at present unable to conceive that the vast majority ofthe affairs of the world went on unconnected by a single thread with herown destiny. 

"I won't have eleven children, " she asserted; "I won't have the eyes ofan old woman. She looks at one up and down, up and down, as if one werea horse. "

"We must have a son and we must have a daughter, " said Terence, puttingdown the letters, "because, let alone the inestimable advantage of beingour children, they'd be so well brought up. " They went on to sketch anoutline of the ideal education--how their daughter should be requiredfrom infancy to gaze at a large square of cardboard painted blue, tosuggest thoughts of infinity, for women were grown too practical;and their son--he should be taught to laugh at great men, that is, atdistinguished successful men, at men who wore ribands and rose to thetops of their trees. He should in no way resemble (Rachel added) St. John Hirst. 

At this Terence professed the greatest admiration for St. John Hirst. Dwelling upon his good qualities he became seriously convinced of them;he had a mind like a torpedo, he declared, aimed at falsehood. Whereshould we all be without him and his like? Choked in weeds; Christians, bigots, --why, Rachel herself, would be a slave with a fan to sing songsto men when they felt drowsy. 

"But you'll never see it!" he exclaimed; "because with all your virtuesyou don't, and you never will, care with every fibre of your beingfor the pursuit of truth! You've no respect for facts, Rachel; you'reessentially feminine. " She did not trouble to deny it, nor did she thinkgood to produce the one unanswerable argument against the merits whichTerence admired. St. John Hirst said that she was in love with him; shewould never forgive that; but the argument was not one to appeal to aman. 

"But I like him, " she said, and she thought to herself that she alsopitied him, as one pities those unfortunate people who are outside thewarm mysterious globe full of changes and miracles in which we ourselvesmove about; she thought that it must be very dull to be St. John Hirst. 

She summed up what she felt about him by saying that she would not kisshim supposing he wished it, which was not likely. 

As if some apology were due to Hirst for the kiss which she thenbestowed upon him, Terence protested:

"And compared with Hirst I'm a perfect Zany. "

The clock here struck twelve instead of eleven. 

"We're wasting the morning--I ought to be writing my book, and you oughtto be answering these. "

"We've only got twenty-one whole mornings left, " said Rachel. "And myfather'll be here in a day or two. "

However, she drew a pen and paper towards her and began to writelaboriously, "My dear Evelyn--"

Terence, meanwhile, read a novel which some one else had written, aprocess which he found essential to the composition of his own. For aconsiderable time nothing was to be heard but the ticking of the clockand the fitful scratch of Rachel's pen, as she produced phrases whichbore a considerable likeness to those which she had condemned. She wasstruck by it herself, for she stopped writing and looked up; lookedat Terence deep in the arm-chair, looked at the different pieces offurniture, at her bed in the corner, at the window-pane which showed thebranches of a tree filled in with sky, heard the clock ticking, and wasamazed at the gulf which lay between all that and her sheet of paper. Would there ever be a time when the world was one and indivisible? Evenwith Terence himself--how far apart they could be, how little she knewwhat was passing in his brain now! She then finished her sentence, whichwas awkward and ugly, and stated that they were "both very happy, andgoing to be married in the autumn probably and hope to live in London, where we hope you will come and see us when we get back. " Choosing"affectionately, " after some further speculation, rather than sincerely, she signed the letter and was doggedly beginning on another when Terenceremarked, quoting from his book:

"Listen to this, Rachel. 'It is probable that Hugh' (he's the hero, aliterary man), 'had not realised at the time of his marriage, any morethan the young man of parts and imagination usually does realise, thenature of the gulf which separates the needs and desires of the malefrom the needs and desires of the female. . . . At first they had beenvery happy. The walking tour in Switzerland had been a time of jollycompanionship and stimulating revelations for both of them. Betty hadproved herself the ideal comrade. . . . They had shouted _Love_ _in__the_ _Valley_ to each other across the snowy slopes of the Riffelhorn'(and so on, and so on--I'll skip the descriptions). . . . 'But inLondon, after the boy's birth, all was changed. Betty was an admirablemother; but it did not take her long to find out that motherhood, asthat function is understood by the mother of the upper middle classes, did not absorb the whole of her energies. She was young and strong, withhealthy limbs and a body and brain that called urgently for exercise.. . . ' (In short she began to give tea-parties. ) . . . 'Coming in latefrom this singular talk with old Bob Murphy in his smoky, book-linedroom, where the two men had each unloosened his soul to the other, withthe sound of the traffic humming in his ears, and the foggy London skyslung tragically across his mind . . . He found women's hats dottedabout among his papers. Women's wraps and absurd little feminine shoesand umbrellas were in the hall. . . . Then the bills began to come in.. . . He tried to speak frankly to her. He found her lying on the greatpolar-bear skin in their bedroom, half-undressed, for they were diningwith the Greens in Wilton Crescent, the ruddy firelight making thediamonds wink and twinkle on her bare arms and in the delicious curve ofher breast--a vision of adorable femininity. He forgave her all. ' (Well, this goes from bad to worse, and finally about fifty pages later, Hughtakes a week-end ticket to Swanage and 'has it out with himself on thedowns above Corfe. ' . . . Here there's fifteen pages or so which we'llskip. The conclusion is . . . ) 'They were different. Perhaps, in the farfuture, when generations of men had struggled and failed as he must nowstruggle and fail, woman would be, indeed, what she now made a pretenceof being--the friend and companion--not the enemy and parasite of man. '

"The end of it is, you see, Hugh went back to his wife, poor fellow. Itwas his duty, as a married man. Lord, Rachel, " he concluded, "will it belike that when we're married?"

Instead of answering him she asked, "Why don't people write about the things they do feel?"

"Ah, that's the difficulty!" he sighed, tossing the book away. 

"Well, then, what will it be like when we're married? What are thethings people do feel?"

She seemed doubtful. 

"Sit on the floor and let me look at you, " he commanded. Resting herchin on his knee, she looked straight at him. 

He examined her curiously. 

"You're not beautiful, " he began, "but I like your face. I like theway your hair grows down in a point, and your eyes too--they never seeanything. Your mouth's too big, and your cheeks would be better if theyhad more colour in them. But what I like about your face is that itmakes one wonder what the devil you're thinking about--it makes me wantto do that--" He clenched his fist and shook it so near her that shestarted back, "because now you look as if you'd blow my brains out. There are moments, " he continued, "when, if we stood on a rock together, you'd throw me into the sea. "

Hypnotised by the force of his eyes in hers, she repeated, "If we stoodon a rock together--"

To be flung into the sea, to be washed hither and thither, and drivenabout the roots of the world--the idea was incoherently delightful. Shesprang up, and began moving about the room, bending and thrusting asidethe chairs and tables as if she were indeed striking through the waters. He watched her with pleasure; she seemed to be cleaving a passage forherself, and dealing triumphantly with the obstacles which would hindertheir passage through life. 

"It does seem possible!" he exclaimed, "though I've always thought itthe most unlikely thing in the world--I shall be in love with you all mylife, and our marriage will be the most exciting thing that's ever beendone! We'll never have a moment's peace--" He caught her in his arms asshe passed him, and they fought for mastery, imagining a rock, and thesea heaving beneath them. At last she was thrown to the floor, where shelay gasping, and crying for mercy. 

"I'm a mermaid! I can swim, " she cried, "so the game's up. " Her dresswas torn across, and peace being established, she fetched a needle andthread and began to mend the tear. 

"And now, " she said, "be quiet and tell me about the world; tell meabout everything that's ever happened, and I'll tell you--let me see, what can I tell you?--I'll tell you about Miss Montgomerie and the riverparty. She was left, you see, with one foot in the boat, and the otheron shore. "

They had spent much time already in thus filling out for the other thecourse of their past lives, and the characters of their friends andrelations, so that very soon Terence knew not only what Rachel'saunts might be expected to say upon every occasion, but also how theirbedrooms were furnished, and what kind of bonnets they wore. He couldsustain a conversation between Mrs. Hunt and Rachel, and carry on atea-party including the Rev. William Johnson and Miss Macquoid, theChristian Scientists, with remarkable likeness to the truth. But he hadknown many more people, and was far more highly skilled in the art ofnarrative than Rachel was, whose experiences were, for the most part, of a curiously childlike and humorous kind, so that it generally fell toher lot to listen and ask questions. 

He told her not only what had happened, but what he had thought andfelt, and sketched for her portraits which fascinated her of what othermen and women might be supposed to be thinking and feeling, so that shebecame very anxious to go back to England, which was full of people, where she could merely stand in the streets and look at them. Accordingto him, too, there was an order, a pattern which made life reasonable, or if that word was foolish, made it of deep interest anyhow, forsometimes it seemed possible to understand why things happened as theydid. Nor were people so solitary and uncommunicative as she believed. She should look for vanity--for vanity was a common quality--first inherself, and then in Helen, in Ridley, in St. John, they all had theirshare of it--and she would find it in ten people out of every twelve shemet; and once linked together by one such tie she would find them notseparate and formidable, but practically indistinguishable, and shewould come to love them when she found that they were like herself. 

If she denied this, she must defend her belief that human beings were asvarious as the beasts at the Zoo, which had stripes and manes, andhorns and humps; and so, wrestling over the entire list of theiracquaintances, and diverging into anecdote and theory and speculation, they came to know each other. The hours passed quickly, and seemed tothem full to leaking-point. After a night's solitude they were alwaysready to begin again. 

The virtues which Mrs. Ambrose had once believed to exist in free talkbetween men and women did in truth exist for both of them, although notquite in the measure she prescribed. Far more than upon the nature ofsex they dwelt upon the nature of poetry, but it was true that talkwhich had no boundaries deepened and enlarged the strangely small brightview of a girl. In return for what he could tell her she brought himsuch curiosity and sensitiveness of perception, that he was led to doubtwhether any gift bestowed by much reading and living was quite the equalof that for pleasure and pain. What would experience give her after all, except a kind of ridiculous formal balance, like that of a drilled dogin the street? He looked at her face and wondered how it would lookin twenty years' time, when the eyes had dulled, and the forehead worethose little persistent wrinkles which seem to show that the middle-agedare facing something hard which the young do not see? What would thehard thing be for them, he wondered? Then his thoughts turned to theirlife in England. 

The thought of England was delightful, for together they would see theold things freshly; it would be England in June, and there would be Junenights in the country; and the nightingales singing in the lanes, into which they could steal when the room grew hot; and there would beEnglish meadows gleaming with water and set with stolid cows, and cloudsdipping low and trailing across the green hills. As he sat in the roomwith her, he wished very often to be back again in the thick of life, doing things with Rachel. 

He crossed to the window and exclaimed, "Lord, how good it is to thinkof lanes, muddy lanes, with brambles and nettles, you know, and realgrass fields, and farmyards with pigs and cows, and men walking besidecarts with pitchforks--there's nothing to compare with that here--lookat the stony red earth, and the bright blue sea, and the glaring whitehouses--how tired one gets of it! And the air, without a stain or awrinkle. I'd give anything for a sea mist. "

Rachel, too, had been thinking of the English country: the flat landrolling away to the sea, and the woods and the long straight roads, where one can walk for miles without seeing any one, and the greatchurch towers and the curious houses clustered in the valleys, and thebirds, and the dusk, and the rain falling against the windows. 

"But London, London's the place, " Terence continued. They lookedtogether at the carpet, as though London itself were to be seen therelying on the floor, with all its spires and pinnacles pricking throughthe smoke. 

"On the whole, what I should like best at this moment, " Terencepondered, "would be to find myself walking down Kingsway, by those bigplacards, you know, and turning into the Strand. Perhaps I might go andlook over Waterloo Bridge for a moment. Then I'd go along the Strandpast the shops with all the new books in them, and through the littlearchway into the Temple. I always like the quiet after the uproar. Youhear your own footsteps suddenly quite loud. The Temple's very pleasant. I think I should go and see if I could find dear old Hodgkin--the manwho writes books about Van Eyck, you know. When I left England he wasvery sad about his tame magpie. He suspected that a man had poisoned it. And then Russell lives on the next staircase. I think you'd like him. He's a passion for Handel. Well, Rachel, " he concluded, dismissing thevision of London, "we shall be doing that together in six weeks' time, and it'll be the middle of June then--and June in London--my God! howpleasant it all is!"

"And we're certain to have it too, " she said. "It isn't as if we wereexpecting a great deal--only to walk about and look at things. "

"Only a thousand a year and perfect freedom, " he replied. "How manypeople in London d'you think have that?"

"And now you've spoilt it, " she complained. "Now we've got to think ofthe horrors. " She looked grudgingly at the novel which had once causedher perhaps an hour's discomfort, so that she had never opened itagain, but kept it on her table, and looked at it occasionally, as somemedieval monk kept a skull, or a crucifix to remind him of the frailtyof the body. 

"Is it true, Terence, " she demanded, "that women die with bugs crawlingacross their faces?"

"I think it's very probable, " he said. "But you must admit, Rachel, thatwe so seldom think of anything but ourselves that an occasional twingeis really rather pleasant. "

Accusing him of an affection of cynicism which was just as bad assentimentality itself, she left her position by his side and knelt uponthe window sill, twisting the curtain tassels between her fingers. Avague sense of dissatisfaction filled her. 

"What's so detestable in this country, " she exclaimed, "is theblue--always blue sky and blue sea. It's like a curtain--all the thingsone wants are on the other side of that. I want to know what's going onbehind it. I hate these divisions, don't you, Terence? One person allin the dark about another person. Now I liked the Dalloways, " shecontinued, "and they're gone. I shall never see them again. Just bygoing on a ship we cut ourselves off entirely from the rest ofthe world. I want to see England there--London there--all sorts ofpeople--why shouldn't one? why should one be shut up all by oneself in aroom?"

While she spoke thus half to herself and with increasing vagueness, because her eye was caught by a ship that had just come into the bay, she did not see that Terence had ceased to stare contentedly in front ofhim, and was looking at her keenly and with dissatisfaction. She seemedto be able to cut herself adrift from him, and to pass away to unknownplaces where she had no need of him. The thought roused his jealousy. 

"I sometimes think you're not in love with me and never will be, " hesaid energetically. She started and turned round at his words. 

"I don't satisfy you in the way you satisfy me, " he continued. "There'ssomething I can't get hold of in you. You don't want me as I wantyou--you're always wanting something else. "

He began pacing up and down the room. 

"Perhaps I ask too much, " he went on. "Perhaps it isn't really possibleto have what I want. Men and women are too different. You can'tunderstand--you don't understand--"

He came up to where she stood looking at him in silence. 

It seemed to her now that what he was saying was perfectly true, andthat she wanted many more things than the love of one human being--thesea, the sky. She turned again the looked at the distant blue, which wasso smooth and serene where the sky met the sea; she could not possiblywant only one human being. 

"Or is it only this damnable engagement?" he continued. "Let's bemarried here, before we go back--or is it too great a risk? Are we surewe want to marry each other?"

They began pacing up and down the room, but although they came very neareach other in their pacing, they took care not to touch each other. Thehopelessness of their position overcame them both. They were impotent;they could never love each other sufficiently to overcome all thesebarriers, and they could never be satisfied with less. Realising thiswith intolerable keenness she stopped in front of him and exclaimed:

"Let's break it off, then. "

The words did more to unite them than any amount of argument. As if theystood on the edge of a precipice they clung together. They knew thatthey could not separate; painful and terrible it might be, but theywere joined for ever. They lapsed into silence, and after a time crepttogether in silence. Merely to be so close soothed them, and sittingside by side the divisions disappeared, and it seemed as if the worldwere once more solid and entire, and as if, in some strange way, theyhad grown larger and stronger. 

It was long before they moved, and when they moved it was with greatreluctance. They stood together in front of the looking-glass, andwith a brush tried to make themselves look as if they had been feelingnothing all the morning, neither pain nor happiness. But it chilledthem to see themselves in the glass, for instead of being vast andindivisible they were really very small and separate, the size of theglass leaving a large space for the reflection of other things. 

Chapter XXIII

But no brush was able to efface completely the expression of happiness, so that Mrs. Ambrose could not treat them when they came downstairsas if they had spent the morning in a way that could be discussednaturally. This being so, she joined in the world's conspiracy toconsider them for the time incapacitated from the business of life, struck by their intensity of feeling into enmity against life, andalmost succeeded in dismissing them from her thoughts. 

She reflected that she had done all that it was necessary to do inpractical matters. She had written a great many letters, and hadobtained Willoughby's consent. She had dwelt so often upon Mr. Hewet'sprospects, his profession, his birth, appearance, and temperament, thatshe had almost forgotten what he was really like. When she refreshedherself by a look at him, she used to wonder again what he was like, andthen, concluding that they were happy at any rate, thought no more aboutit. 

She might more profitably consider what would happen in three years'time, or what might have happened if Rachel had been left to explore theworld under her father's guidance. The result, she was honest enoughto own, might have been better--who knows? She did not disguise fromherself that Terence had faults. She was inclined to think him too easyand tolerant, just as he was inclined to think her perhaps a triflehard--no, it was rather that she was uncompromising. In some ways shefound St. John preferable; but then, of course, he would never havesuited Rachel. Her friendship with St. John was established, foralthough she fluctuated between irritation and interest in a way thatdid credit to the candour of her disposition, she liked his company onthe whole. He took her outside this little world of love and emotion. He had a grasp of facts. Supposing, for instance, that England made asudden move towards some unknown port on the coast of Morocco, St. John knew what was at the back of it, and to hear him engaged with herhusband in argument about finance and the balance of power, gave heran odd sense of stability. She respected their arguments without alwayslistening to them, much as she respected a solid brick wall, or oneof those immense municipal buildings which, although they compose thegreater part of our cities, have been built day after day and year afteryear by unknown hands. She liked to sit and listen, and even felt alittle elated when the engaged couple, after showing their profound lackof interest, slipped from the room, and were seen pulling flowers topieces in the garden. It was not that she was jealous of them, but shedid undoubtedly envy them their great unknown future that lay beforethem. Slipping from one such thought to another, she was at thedining-room with fruit in her hands. Sometimes she stopped to straightena candle stooping with the heat, or disturbed some too rigid arrangementof the chairs. She had reason to suspect that Chailey had been balancingherself on the top of a ladder with a wet duster during their absence, and the room had never been quite like itself since. Returning from thedining-room for the third time, she perceived that one of the arm-chairswas now occupied by St. John. He lay back in it, with his eyes halfshut, looking, as he always did, curiously buttoned up in a neat greysuit and fenced against the exuberance of a foreign climate which mightat any moment proceed to take liberties with him. Her eyes rested onhim gently and then passed on over his head. Finally she took the chairopposite. 

"I didn't want to come here, " he said at last, "but I was positivelydriven to it. . . . Evelyn M. , " he groaned. 

He sat up, and began to explain with mock solemnity how the detestablewoman was set upon marrying him. 

"She pursues me about the place. This morning she appeared in thesmoking-room. All I could do was to seize my hat and fly. I didn't wantto come, but I couldn't stay and face another meal with her. "

"Well, we must make the best of it, " Helen replied philosophically. Itwas very hot, and they were indifferent to any amount of silence, sothat they lay back in their chairs waiting for something to happen. Thebell rang for luncheon, but there was no sound of movement in the house. Was there any news? Helen asked; anything in the papers? St. John shookhis head. O yes, he had a letter from home, a letter from his mother, describing the suicide of the parlour-maid. She was called Susan Jane, and she came into the kitchen one afternoon, and said that she wantedcook to keep her money for her; she had twenty pounds in gold. Then shewent out to buy herself a hat. She came in at half-past five and saidthat she had taken poison. They had only just time to get her into bedand call a doctor before she died. 

"Well?" Helen enquired. 

"There'll have to be an inquest, " said St. John. 

Why had she done it? He shrugged his shoulders. Why do people killthemselves? Why do the lower orders do any of the things they do do?Nobody knows. They sat in silence. 

"The bell's run fifteen minutes and they're not down, " said Helen atlength. 

When they appeared, St. John explained why it had been necessary forhim to come to luncheon. He imitated Evelyn's enthusiastic tone as sheconfronted him in the smoking-room. "She thinks there can be nothing_quite_ so thrilling as mathematics, so I've lent her a large work intwo volumes. It'll be interesting to see what she makes of it. "

Rachel could now afford to laugh at him. She reminded him of Gibbon;she had the first volume somewhere still; if he were undertaking theeducation of Evelyn, that surely was the test; or she had heard thatBurke, upon the American Rebellion--Evelyn ought to read them bothsimultaneously. When St. John had disposed of her argument and hadsatisfied his hunger, he proceeded to tell them that the hotel wasseething with scandals, some of the most appalling kind, which hadhappened in their absence; he was indeed much given to the study of hiskind. 

"Evelyn M. , for example--but that was told me in confidence. "

"Nonsense!" Terence interposed. 

"You've heard about poor Sinclair, too?"

"Oh, yes, I've heard about Sinclair. He's retired to his mine with arevolver. He writes to Evelyn daily that he's thinking of committingsuicide. I've assured her that he's never been so happy in his life, and, on the whole, she's inclined to agree with me. "

"But then she's entangled herself with Perrott, " St. John continued;"and I have reason to think, from something I saw in the passage, thateverything isn't as it should be between Arthur and Susan. There's ayoung female lately arrived from Manchester. A very good thing if itwere broken off, in my opinion. Their married life is something toohorrible to contemplate. Oh, and I distinctly heard old Mrs. Paleyrapping out the most fearful oaths as I passed her bedroom door. It'ssupposed that she tortures her maid in private--it's practically certainshe does. One can tell it from the look in her eyes. "

"When you're eighty and the gout tweezes you, you'll be swearing likea trooper, " Terence remarked. "You'll be very fat, very testy, verydisagreeable. Can't you imagine him--bald as a coot, with a pair ofsponge-bag trousers, a little spotted tie, and a corporation?"

After a pause Hirst remarked that the worst infamy had still to be told. He addressed himself to Helen. 

"They've hoofed out the prostitute. One night while we were away thatold numskull Thornbury was doddering about the passages very late. (Nobody seems to have asked him what _he_ was up to. ) He saw the SignoraLola Mendoza, as she calls herself, cross the passage in her nightgown. He communicated his suspicions next morning to Elliot, with the resultthat Rodriguez went to the woman and gave her twenty-four hours in whichto clear out of the place. No one seems to have enquired into the truthof the story, or to have asked Thornbury and Elliot what business it wasof theirs; they had it entirely their own way. I propose that we shouldall sign a Round Robin, go to Rodriguez in a body, and insist upon afull enquiry. Something's got to be done, don't you agree?"

Hewet remarked that there could be no doubt as to the lady's profession. 

"Still, " he added, "it's a great shame, poor woman; only I don't seewhat's to be done--"

"I quite agree with you, St. John, " Helen burst out. "It's monstrous. The hypocritical smugness of the English makes my blood boil. A manwho's made a fortune in trade as Mr. Thornbury has is bound to be twiceas bad as any prostitute. "

She respected St. John's morality, which she took far more seriouslythan any one else did, and now entered into a discussion with him as tothe steps that were to be taken to enforce their peculiar view of whatwas right. The argument led to some profoundly gloomy statements of ageneral nature. Who were they, after all--what authority had they--whatpower against the mass of superstition and ignorance? It was theEnglish, of course; there must be something wrong in the English blood. Directly you met an English person, of the middle classes, you wereconscious of an indefinable sensation of loathing; directly you saw thebrown crescent of houses above Dover, the same thing came over you. Butunfortunately St. John added, you couldn't trust these foreigners--

They were interrupted by sounds of strife at the further end of thetable. Rachel appealed to her aunt. 

"Terence says we must go to tea with Mrs. Thornbury because she's beenso kind, but I don't see it; in fact, I'd rather have my right hand sawnin pieces--just imagine! the eyes of all those women!"

"Fiddlesticks, Rachel, " Terence replied. "Who wants to look at you?You're consumed with vanity! You're a monster of conceit! Surely, Helen, you ought to have taught her by this time that she's a person of noconceivable importance whatever--not beautiful, or well dressed, orconspicuous for elegance or intellect, or deportment. A more ordinarysight than you are, " he concluded, "except for the tear across yourdress has never been seen. However, stay at home if you want to. I'mgoing. "

She appealed again to her aunt. It wasn't the being looked at, sheexplained, but the things people were sure to say. The women inparticular. She liked women, but where emotion was concerned they wereas flies on a lump of sugar. They would be certain to ask her questions. Evelyn M. Would say: "Are you in love? Is it nice being in love?"And Mrs. Thornbury--her eyes would go up and down, up and down--sheshuddered at the thought of it. Indeed, the retirement of their lifesince their engagement had made her so sensitive, that she was notexaggerating her case. 

She found an ally in Helen, who proceeded to expound her views of thehuman race, as she regarded with complacency the pyramid of variegatedfruits in the centre of the table. It wasn't that they were cruel, ormeant to hurt, or even stupid exactly; but she had always found that theordinary person had so little emotion in his own life that the scent ofit in the lives of others was like the scent of blood in the nostrils ofa bloodhound. Warming to the theme, she continued:

"Directly anything happens--it may be a marriage, or a birth, or adeath--on the whole they prefer it to be a death--every one wants to seeyou. They insist upon seeing you. They've got nothing to say; theydon't care a rap for you; but you've got to go to lunch or to tea or todinner, and if you don't you're damned. It's the smell of blood, " shecontinued; "I don't blame 'em; only they shan't have mind if I know it!"

She looked about her as if she had called up a legion of human beings, all hostile and all disagreeable, who encircled the table, with mouthsgaping for blood, and made it appear a little island of neutral countryin the midst of the enemy's country. 

Her words roused her husband, who had been muttering rhythmically tohimself, surveying his guests and his food and his wife with eyes thatwere now melancholy and now fierce, according to the fortunes of thelady in his ballad. He cut Helen short with a protest. He hated eventhe semblance of cynicism in women. "Nonsense, nonsense, " he remarkedabruptly. 

Terence and Rachel glanced at each other across the table, whichmeant that when they were married they would not behave like that. Theentrance of Ridley into the conversation had a strange effect. It becameat once more formal and more polite. It would have been impossible totalk quite easily of anything that came into their heads, and to say theword prostitute as simply as any other word. The talk now turned uponliterature and politics, and Ridley told stories of the distinguishedpeople he had known in his youth. Such talk was of the nature of an art, and the personalities and informalities of the young were silenced. Asthey rose to go, Helen stopped for a moment, leaning her elbows on thetable. 

"You've all been sitting here, " she said, "for almost an hour, andyou haven't noticed my figs, or my flowers, or the way the light comesthrough, or anything. I haven't been listening, because I've beenlooking at you. You looked very beautiful; I wish you'd go on sittingfor ever. "

She led the way to the drawing-room, where she took up her embroidery, and began again to dissuade Terence from walking down to the hotel inthis heat. But the more she dissuaded, the more he was determined to go. He became irritated and obstinate. There were moments when they almostdisliked each other. He wanted other people; he wanted Rachel, to seethem with him. He suspected that Mrs. Ambrose would now try to dissuadeher from going. He was annoyed by all this space and shade and beauty, and Hirst, recumbent, drooping a magazine from his wrist. 

"I'm going, " he repeated. "Rachel needn't come unless she wants to. "

"If you go, Hewet, I wish you'd make enquiries about the prostitute, "said Hirst. "Look here, " he added, "I'll walk half the way with you. "

Greatly to their surprise he raised himself, looked at his watch, andremarked that, as it was now half an hour since luncheon, the gastricjuices had had sufficient time to secrete; he was trying a system, heexplained, which involved short spells of exercise interspaced by longerintervals of rest. 

"I shall be back at four, " he remarked to Helen, "when I shall lie downon the sofa and relax all my muscles completely. "

"So you're going, Rachel?" Helen asked. "You won't stay with me?"

She smiled, but she might have been sad. 

Was she sad, or was she really laughing? Rachel could not tell, and shefelt for the moment very uncomfortable between Helen and Terence. Then she turned away, saying merely that she would go with Terence, oncondition that he did all the talking. 

A narrow border of shadow ran along the road, which was broad enough fortwo, but not broad enough for three. St. John therefore dropped a littlebehind the pair, and the distance between them increased by degrees. Walking with a view to digestion, and with one eye upon his watch, helooked from time to time at the pair in front of him. They seemed to beso happy, so intimate, although they were walking side by side much asother people walk. They turned slightly toward each other now and then, and said something which he thought must be something very private. Theywere really disputing about Helen's character, and Terence was trying toexplain why it was that she annoyed him so much sometimes. But St. Johnthought that they were saying things which they did not want him tohear, and was led to think of his own isolation. These people werehappy, and in some ways he despised them for being made happy so simply, and in other ways he envied them. He was much more remarkable than theywere, but he was not happy. People never liked him; he doubted sometimeswhether even Helen liked him. To be simple, to be able to say simplywhat one felt, without the terrific self-consciousness which possessedhim, and showed him his own face and words perpetually in a mirror, thatwould be worth almost any other gift, for it made one happy. Happiness, happiness, what was happiness? He was never happy. He saw too clearlythe little vices and deceits and flaws of life, and, seeing them, itseemed to him honest to take notice of them. That was the reason, nodoubt, why people generally disliked him, and complained that he washeartless and bitter. Certainly they never told him the things he wantedto be told, that he was nice and kind, and that they liked him. But itwas true that half the sharp things that he said about them were saidbecause he was unhappy or hurt himself. But he admitted that he hadvery seldom told any one that he cared for them, and when he had beendemonstrative, he had generally regretted it afterwards. His feelingsabout Terence and Rachel were so complicated that he had never yet beenable to bring himself to say that he was glad that they were going tobe married. He saw their faults so clearly, and the inferior nature ofa great deal of their feeling for each other, and he expected that theirlove would not last. He looked at them again, and, very strangely, forhe was so used to thinking that he seldom saw anything, the look of themfilled him with a simple emotion of affection in which there were sometraces of pity also. What, after all, did people's faults matter incomparison with what was good in them? He resolved that he would nowtell them what he felt. He quickened his pace and came up with them justas they reached the corner where the lane joined the main road. Theystood still and began to laugh at him, and to ask him whether thegastric juices--but he stopped them and began to speak very quickly andstiffly. 

"D'you remember the morning after the dance?" he demanded. "It was herewe sat, and you talked nonsense, and Rachel made little heaps of stones. I, on the other hand, had the whole meaning of life revealed to me ina flash. " He paused for a second, and drew his lips together in a tightlittle purse. "Love, " he said. "It seems to me to explain everything. So, on the whole, I'm very glad that you two are going to be married. "He then turned round abruptly, without looking at them, and walked backto the villa. He felt both exalted and ashamed of himself for havingthus said what he felt. Probably they were laughing at him, probablythey thought him a fool, and, after all, had he really said what hefelt?

It was true that they laughed when he was gone; but the dispute aboutHelen which had become rather sharp, ceased, and they became peacefuland friendly. 

Chapter XXIV

They reached the hotel rather early in the afternoon, so that mostpeople were still lying down, or sitting speechless in their bedrooms, and Mrs. Thornbury, although she had asked them to tea, was nowhere tobe seen. They sat down, therefore, in the shady hall, which was almostempty, and full of the light swishing sounds of air going to and fro ina large empty space. Yes, this arm-chair was the same arm-chair in whichRachel had sat that afternoon when Evelyn came up, and this was themagazine she had been looking at, and this the very picture, a pictureof New York by lamplight. How odd it seemed--nothing had changed. 

By degrees a certain number of people began to come down the stairs andto pass through the hall, and in this dim light their figures possesseda sort of grace and beauty, although they were all unknown people. Sometimes they went straight through and out into the garden by theswing door, sometimes they stopped for a few minutes and bent over thetables and began turning over the newspapers. Terence and Rachel satwatching them through their half-closed eyelids--the Johnsons, the Parkers, the Baileys, the Simmons', the Lees, the Morleys, theCampbells, the Gardiners. Some were dressed in white flannels and werecarrying racquets under their arms, some were short, some tall, somewere only children, and some perhaps were servants, but they all hadtheir standing, their reason for following each other through the hall, their money, their position, whatever it might be. Terence soon gave uplooking at them, for he was tired; and, closing his eyes, he fell halfasleep in his chair. Rachel watched the people for some time longer; shewas fascinated by the certainty and the grace of their movements, and bythe inevitable way in which they seemed to follow each other, and loiterand pass on and disappear. But after a time her thoughts wandered, andshe began to think of the dance, which had been held in this room, onlythen the room itself looked quite different. Glancing round, she couldhardly believe that it was the same room. It had looked so bare andso bright and formal on that night when they came into it out of thedarkness; it had been filled, too, with little red, excited faces, always moving, and people so brightly dressed and so animated that theydid not seem in the least like real people, nor did you feel that youcould talk to them. And now the room was dim and quiet, and beautifulsilent people passed through it, to whom you could go and say anythingyou liked. She felt herself amazingly secure as she sat in herarm-chair, and able to review not only the night of the dance, but theentire past, tenderly and humorously, as if she had been turning in afog for a long time, and could now see exactly where she had turned. Forthe methods by which she had reached her present position, seemed to hervery strange, and the strangest thing about them was that she had notknown where they were leading her. That was the strange thing, thatone did not know where one was going, or what one wanted, and followedblindly, suffering so much in secret, always unprepared and amazed andknowing nothing; but one thing led to another and by degrees somethinghad formed itself out of nothing, and so one reached at last this calm, this quiet, this certainty, and it was this process that people calledliving. Perhaps, then, every one really knew as she knew now where theywere going; and things formed themselves into a pattern not only forher, but for them, and in that pattern lay satisfaction and meaning. When she looked back she could see that a meaning of some kind wasapparent in the lives of her aunts, and in the brief visit of theDalloways whom she would never see again, and in the life of her father. 

The sound of Terence, breathing deep in his slumber, confirmed her inher calm. She was not sleepy although she did not see anything verydistinctly, but although the figures passing through the hall becamevaguer and vaguer, she believed that they all knew exactly where theywere going, and the sense of their certainty filled her with comfort. For the moment she was as detached and disinterested as if she hadno longer any lot in life, and she thought that she could now acceptanything that came to her without being perplexed by the form in whichit appeared. What was there to frighten or to perplex in the prospectof life? Why should this insight ever again desert her? The world was intruth so large, so hospitable, and after all it was so simple. "Love, "St. John had said, "that seems to explain it all. " Yes, but it was notthe love of man for woman, of Terence for Rachel. Although they sat soclose together, they had ceased to be little separate bodies; they hadceased to struggle and desire one another. There seemed to be peacebetween them. It might be love, but it was not the love of man forwoman. 

Through her half-closed eyelids she watched Terence lying back in hischair, and she smiled as she saw how big his mouth was, and his chinso small, and his nose curved like a switchback with a knob at the end. Naturally, looking like that he was lazy, and ambitious, and full ofmoods and faults. She remembered their quarrels, and in particularhow they had been quarreling about Helen that very afternoon, and shethought how often they would quarrel in the thirty, or forty, or fiftyyears in which they would be living in the same house together, catchingtrains together, and getting annoyed because they were so different. Butall this was superficial, and had nothing to do with the life thatwent on beneath the eyes and the mouth and the chin, for that life wasindependent of her, and independent of everything else. So too, althoughshe was going to marry him and to live with him for thirty, or forty, or fifty years, and to quarrel, and to be so close to him, shewas independent of him; she was independent of everything else. Nevertheless, as St. John said, it was love that made her understandthis, for she had never felt this independence, this calm, and thiscertainty until she fell in love with him, and perhaps this too waslove. She wanted nothing else. 

For perhaps two minutes Miss Allan had been standing at a littledistance looking at the couple lying back so peacefully in theirarm-chairs. She could not make up her mind whether to disturb them ornot, and then, seeming to recollect something, she came across the hall. The sound of her approach woke Terence, who sat up and rubbed his eyes. He heard Miss Allan talking to Rachel. 

"Well, " she was saying, "this is very nice. It is very nice indeed. Getting engaged seems to be quite the fashion. It cannot often happenthat two couples who have never seen each other before meet in the samehotel and decide to get married. " Then she paused and smiled, and seemedto have nothing more to say, so that Terence rose and asked her whetherit was true that she had finished her book. Some one had said thatshe had really finished it. Her face lit up; she turned to him with alivelier expression than usual. 

"Yes, I think I can fairly say I have finished it, " she said. "Thatis, omitting Swinburne--Beowulf to Browning--I rather like the two B'smyself. Beowulf to Browning, " she repeated, "I think that is the kind oftitle which might catch one's eye on a railway book-stall. "

She was indeed very proud that she had finished her book, for no oneknew what an amount of determination had gone to the making of it. Alsoshe thought that it was a good piece of work, and, considering whatanxiety she had been in about her brother while she wrote it, she couldnot resist telling them a little more about it. 

"I must confess, " she continued, "that if I had known how many classicsthere are in English literature, and how verbose the best of themcontrive to be, I should never have undertaken the work. They only allowone seventy thousand words, you see. "

"Only seventy thousand words!" Terence exclaimed. 

"Yes, and one has to say something about everybody, " Miss Allan added. "That is what I find so difficult, saying something different abouteverybody. " Then she thought that she had said enough about herself, andshe asked whether they had come down to join the tennis tournament. "Theyoung people are very keen about it. It begins again in half an hour. "

Her gaze rested benevolently upon them both, and, after a momentarypause, she remarked, looking at Rachel as if she had rememberedsomething that would serve to keep her distinct from other people. 

"You're the remarkable person who doesn't like ginger. " But the kindnessof the smile in her rather worn and courageous face made them feel thatalthough she would scarcely remember them as individuals, she had laidupon them the burden of the new generation. 

"And in that I quite agree with her, " said a voice behind; Mrs. Thornbury had overheard the last few words about not liking ginger. "It's associated in my mind with a horrid old aunt of ours (poor thing, she suffered dreadfully, so it isn't fair to call her horrid) who usedto give it to us when we were small, and we never had the courageto tell her we didn't like it. We just had to put it out in theshrubbery--she had a big house near Bath. "

They began moving slowly across the hall, when they were stopped by theimpact of Evelyn, who dashed into them, as though in running downstairsto catch them her legs had got beyond her control. 

"Well, " she exclaimed, with her usual enthusiasm, seizing Rachel by thearm, "I call this splendid! I guessed it was going to happen from thevery beginning! I saw you two were made for each other. Now you've justgot to tell me all about it--when's it to be, where are you going tolive--are you both tremendously happy?"

But the attention of the group was diverted to Mrs. Elliot, who waspassing them with her eager but uncertain movement, carrying in herhands a plate and an empty hot-water bottle. She would have passed them, but Mrs. Thornbury went up and stopped her. 

"Thank you, Hughling's better, " she replied, in answer to Mrs. Thornbury's enquiry, "but he's not an easy patient. He wants to knowwhat his temperature is, and if I tell him he gets anxious, and if Idon't tell him he suspects. You know what men are when they're ill! Andof course there are none of the proper appliances, and, though heseems very willing and anxious to help" (here she lowered her voicemysteriously), "one can't feel that Dr. Rodriguez is the same as aproper doctor. If you would come and see him, Mr. Hewet, " she added, "I know it would cheer him up--lying there in bed all day--and theflies--But I must go and find Angelo--the food here--of course, with aninvalid, one wants things particularly nice. " And she hurried past themin search of the head waiter. The worry of nursing her husband had fixeda plaintive frown upon her forehead; she was pale and looked unhappy andmore than usually inefficient, and her eyes wandered more vaguely thanever from point to point. 

"Poor thing!" Mrs. Thornbury exclaimed. She told them that for somedays Hughling Elliot had been ill, and the only doctor available was thebrother of the proprietor, or so the proprietor said, whose right to thetitle of doctor was not above suspicion. 

"I know how wretched it is to be ill in a hotel, " Mrs. Thornburyremarked, once more leading the way with Rachel to the garden. "I spentsix weeks on my honeymoon in having typhoid at Venice, " she continued. "But even so, I look back upon them as some of the happiest weeks in mylife. Ah, yes, " she said, taking Rachel's arm, "you think yourself happynow, but it's nothing to the happiness that comes afterwards. And Iassure you I could find it in my heart to envy you young people! You'vea much better time than we had, I may tell you. When I look back uponit, I can hardly believe how things have changed. When we were engagedI wasn't allowed to go for walks with William alone--some one had alwaysto be in the room with us--I really believe I had to show my parents allhis letters!--though they were very fond of him too. Indeed, I may saythey looked upon him as their own son. It amuses me, " she continued, "to think how strict they were to us, when I see how they spoil theirgrand-children!"

The table was laid under the tree again, and taking her place beforethe teacups, Mrs. Thornbury beckoned and nodded until she had collectedquite a number of people, Susan and Arthur and Mr. Pepper, who werestrolling about, waiting for the tournament to begin. A murmuring tree, a river brimming in the moonlight, Terence's words came back to Rachelas she sat drinking the tea and listening to the words which flowed onso lightly, so kindly, and with such silvery smoothness. This long lifeand all these children had left her very smooth; they seemed to haverubbed away the marks of individuality, and to have left only what wasold and maternal. 

"And the things you young people are going to see!" Mrs. Thornburycontinued. She included them all in her forecast, she included them allin her maternity, although the party comprised William Pepper and MissAllan, both of whom might have been supposed to have seen a fair shareof the panorama. "When I see how the world has changed in my lifetime, "she went on, "I can set no limit to what may happen in the next fiftyyears. Ah, no, Mr. Pepper, I don't agree with you in the least, " shelaughed, interrupting his gloomy remark about things going steadily frombad to worse. "I know I ought to feel that, but I don't, I'm afraid. They're going to be much better people than we were. Surely everythinggoes to prove that. All round me I see women, young women, women withhousehold cares of every sort, going out and doing things that we shouldnot have thought it possible to do. "

Mr. Pepper thought her sentimental and irrational like all old women, but her manner of treating him as if he were a cross old baby baffledhim and charmed him, and he could only reply to her with a curiousgrimace which was more a smile than a frown. 

"And they remain women, " Mrs. Thornbury added. "They give a great dealto their children. "

As she said this she smiled slightly in the direction of Susan andRachel. They did not like to be included in the same lot, but they bothsmiled a little self-consciously, and Arthur and Terence glanced ateach other too. She made them feel that they were all in the same boattogether, and they looked at the women they were going to marry andcompared them. It was inexplicable how any one could wish to marryRachel, incredible that any one should be ready to spend his life withSusan; but singular though the other's taste must be, they bore eachother no ill-will on account of it; indeed, they liked each other ratherthe better for the eccentricity of their choice. 

"I really must congratulate you, " Susan remarked, as she leant acrossthe table for the jam. 

There seemed to be no foundation for St. John's gossip about Arthur andSusan. Sunburnt and vigorous they sat side by side, with their racquetsacross their knees, not saying much but smiling slightly all the time. Through the thin white clothes which they wore, it was possible tosee the lines of their bodies and legs, the beautiful curves of theirmuscles, his leanness and her flesh, and it was natural to think of thefirm-fleshed sturdy children that would be theirs. Their faces had toolittle shape in them to be beautiful, but they had clear eyes and anappearance of great health and power of endurance, for it seemed as ifthe blood would never cease to run in his veins, or to lie deeply andcalmly in her cheeks. Their eyes at the present moment were brighterthan usual, and wore the peculiar expression of pleasure andself-confidence which is seen in the eyes of athletes, for they had beenplaying tennis, and they were both first-rate at the game. 

Evelyn had not spoken, but she had been looking from Susan to Rachel. Well--they had both made up their minds very easily, they had done in avery few weeks what it sometimes seemed to her that she would never beable to do. Although they were so different, she thought that she couldsee in each the same look of satisfaction and completion, the samecalmness of manner, and the same slowness of movement. It was thatslowness, that confidence, that content which she hated, she thought toherself. They moved so slowly because they were not single but double, and Susan was attached to Arthur, and Rachel to Terence, and for thesake of this one man they had renounced all other men, and movement, andthe real things of life. Love was all very well, and those snug domestichouses, with the kitchen below and the nursery above, which were sosecluded and self-contained, like little islands in the torrents of theworld; but the real things were surely the things that happened, thecauses, the wars, the ideals, which happened in the great world outside, and went so independently of these women, turning so quietly andbeautifully towards the men. She looked at them sharply. Of coursethey were happy and content, but there must be better things than that. Surely one could get nearer to life, one could get more out of life, one could enjoy more and feel more than they would ever do. Rachel inparticular looked so young--what could she know of life? She becamerestless, and getting up, crossed over to sit beside Rachel. Shereminded her that she had promised to join her club. 

"The bother is, " she went on, "that I mayn't be able to start workseriously till October. I've just had a letter from a friend of minewhose brother is in business in Moscow. They want me to stay with them, and as they're in the thick of all the conspiracies and anarchists, I'vea good mind to stop on my way home. It sounds too thrilling. " She wantedto make Rachel see how thrilling it was. "My friend knows a girl offifteen who's been sent to Siberia for life merely because they caughther addressing a letter to an anarchist. And the letter wasn't from her, either. I'd give all I have in the world to help on a revolution againstthe Russian government, and it's bound to come. "

She looked from Rachel to Terence. They were both a little touched bythe sight of her remembering how lately they had been listening to evilwords about her, and Terence asked her what her scheme was, and sheexplained that she was going to found a club--a club for doing things, really doing them. She became very animated, as she talked on and on, for she professed herself certain that if once twenty people--no, tenwould be enough if they were keen--set about doing things instead oftalking about doing them, they could abolish almost every evil thatexists. It was brains that were needed. If only people with brains--ofcourse they would want a room, a nice room, in Bloomsbury preferably, where they could meet once a week. . . . 

As she talked Terence could see the traces of fading youth in her face, the lines that were being drawn by talk and excitement round her mouthand eyes, but he did not pity her; looking into those bright, ratherhard, and very courageous eyes, he saw that she did not pity herself, or feel any desire to exchange her own life for the more refined andorderly lives of people like himself and St. John, although, as theyears went by, the fight would become harder and harder. Perhaps, though, she would settle down; perhaps, after all, she would marryPerrott. While his mind was half occupied with what she was saying, he thought of her probable destiny, the light clouds of tobacco smokeserving to obscure his face from her eyes. 

Terence smoked and Arthur smoked and Evelyn smoked, so that the air wasfull of the mist and fragrance of good tobacco. In the intervals whenno one spoke, they heard far off the low murmur of the sea, as the wavesquietly broke and spread the beach with a film of water, and withdrew tobreak again. The cool green light fell through the leaves of the tree, and there were soft crescents and diamonds of sunshine upon the platesand the tablecloth. Mrs. Thornbury, after watching them all for a timein silence, began to ask Rachel kindly questions--When did they allgo back? Oh, they expected her father. She must want to see herfather--there would be a great deal to tell him, and (she lookedsympathetically at Terence) he would be so happy, she felt sure. Yearsago, she continued, it might have been ten or twenty years ago, sheremembered meeting Mr. Vinrace at a party, and, being so much struckby his face, which was so unlike the ordinary face one sees at a party, that she had asked who he was, and she was told that it was Mr. Vinrace, and she had always remembered the name, --an uncommon name, --and he hada lady with him, a very sweet-looking woman, but it was one of thosedreadful London crushes, where you don't talk, --you only look at eachother, --and although she had shaken hands with Mr. Vinrace, she didn'tthink they had said anything. She sighed very slightly, remembering thepast. 

Then she turned to Mr. Pepper, who had become very dependent on her, so that he always chose a seat near her, and attended to what she wassaying, although he did not often make any remark of his own. 

"You who know everything, Mr. Pepper, " she said, "tell us how did thosewonderful French ladies manage their salons? Did we ever do anything ofthe same kind in England, or do you think that there is some reason whywe cannot do it in England?"

Mr. Pepper was pleased to explain very accurately why there has neverbeen an English salon. There were three reasons, and they were verygood ones, he said. As for himself, when he went to a party, as one wassometimes obliged to, from a wish not to give offence--his niece, forexample, had been married the other day--he walked into the middle ofthe room, said "Ha! ha!" as loud as ever he could, considered that hehad done his duty, and walked away again. Mrs. Thornbury protested. Shewas going to give a party directly she got back, and they were all to beinvited, and she should set people to watch Mr. Pepper, and if sheheard that he had been caught saying "Ha! ha!" she would--she would dosomething very dreadful indeed to him. Arthur Venning suggested thatwhat she must do was to rig up something in the nature of a surprise--aportrait, for example, of a nice old lady in a lace cap, concealing abath of cold water, which at a signal could be sprung on Pepper's head;or they'd have a chair which shot him twenty feet high directly he saton it. 

Susan laughed. She had done her tea; she was feeling very wellcontented, partly because she had been playing tennis brilliantly, andthen every one was so nice; she was beginning to find it so much easierto talk, and to hold her own even with quite clever people, for somehowclever people did not frighten her any more. Even Mr. Hirst, whom shehad disliked when she first met him, really wasn't disagreeable; and, poor man, he always looked so ill; perhaps he was in love; perhaps hehad been in love with Rachel--she really shouldn't wonder; or perhaps itwas Evelyn--she was of course very attractive to men. Leaning forward, she went on with the conversation. She said that she thought that thereason why parties were so dull was mainly because gentlemen will notdress: even in London, she stated, it struck her very much how peopledon't think it necessary to dress in the evening, and of course if theydon't dress in London they won't dress in the country. It was reallyquite a treat at Christmas-time when there were the Hunt balls, and thegentlemen wore nice red coats, but Arthur didn't care for dancing, soshe supposed that they wouldn't go even to the ball in their littlecountry town. She didn't think that people who were fond of one sportoften care for another, although her father was an exception. But thenhe was an exception in every way--such a gardener, and he knew all aboutbirds and animals, and of course he was simply adored by all the oldwomen in the village, and at the same time what he really liked best wasa book. You always knew where to find him if he were wanted; he would bein his study with a book. Very likely it would be an old, old book, somefusty old thing that no one else would dream of reading. She used totell him that he would have made a first-rate old bookworm if only hehadn't had a family of six to support, and six children, she added, charmingly confident of universal sympathy, didn't leave one much timefor being a bookworm. 

Still talking about her father, of whom she was very proud, she rose, for Arthur upon looking at his watch found that it was time they wentback again to the tennis court. The others did not move. 

"They're very happy!" said Mrs. Thornbury, looking benignantly afterthem. Rachel agreed; they seemed to be so certain of themselves; theyseemed to know exactly what they wanted. 

"D'you think they _are_ happy?" Evelyn murmured to Terence in anundertone, and she hoped that he would say that he did not think themhappy; but, instead, he said that they must go too--go home, for theywere always being late for meals, and Mrs. Ambrose, who was very sternand particular, didn't like that. Evelyn laid hold of Rachel's skirt andprotested. Why should they go? It was still early, and she had so manythings to say to them. "No, " said Terence, "we must go, because we walkso slowly. We stop and look at things, and we talk. "

"What d'you talk about?" Evelyn enquired, upon which he laughed and saidthat they talked about everything. 

Mrs. Thornbury went with them to the gate, trailing very slowly andgracefully across the grass and the gravel, and talking all the timeabout flowers and birds. She told them that she had taken up the studyof botany since her daughter married, and it was wonderful what a numberof flowers there were which she had never seen, although she had livedin the country all her life and she was now seventy-two. It was a goodthing to have some occupation which was quite independent of otherpeople, she said, when one got old. But the odd thing was that one neverfelt old. She always felt that she was twenty-five, not a day more or aday less, but, of course, one couldn't expect other people to agree tothat. 

"It must be very wonderful to be twenty-five, and not merely to imaginethat you're twenty-five, " she said, looking from one to the other withher smooth, bright glance. "It must be very wonderful, very wonderfulindeed. " She stood talking to them at the gate for a long time; sheseemed reluctant that they should go. 

Chapter XXV

The afternoon was very hot, so hot that the breaking of the waves onthe shore sounded like the repeated sigh of some exhausted creature, and even on the terrace under an awning the bricks were hot, and theair danced perpetually over the short dry grass. The red flowers in thestone basins were drooping with the heat, and the white blossoms whichhad been so smooth and thick only a few weeks ago were now dry, andtheir edges were curled and yellow. Only the stiff and hostile plantsof the south, whose fleshy leaves seemed to be grown upon spines, stillremained standing upright and defied the sun to beat them down. Itwas too hot to talk, and it was not easy to find any book that wouldwithstand the power of the sun. Many books had been tried and then letfall, and now Terence was reading Milton aloud, because he said thewords of Milton had substance and shape, so that it was not necessary tounderstand what he was saying; one could merely listen to his words; onecould almost handle them. 

There is a gentle nymph not far from hence, he read, That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream. Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine, That had the sceptre from his father Brute. 

The words, in spite of what Terence had said, seemed to be laden withmeaning, and perhaps it was for this reason that it was painful tolisten to them; they sounded strange; they meant different things fromwhat they usually meant. Rachel at any rate could not keep her attentionfixed upon them, but went off upon curious trains of thought suggestedby words such as "curb" and "Locrine" and "Brute, " which broughtunpleasant sights before her eyes, independently of their meaning. Owingto the heat and the dancing air the garden too looked strange--the treeswere either too near or too far, and her head almost certainly ached. She was not quite certain, and therefore she did not know, whether totell Terence now, or to let him go on reading. She decided that shewould wait until he came to the end of a stanza, and if by that time shehad turned her head this way and that, and it ached in every positionundoubtedly, she would say very calmly that her head ached. 

 Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, In twisted braids of lilies knitting The loose train of thy amber dropping hair, Listen for dear honour's sake, Goddess of the silver lake, Listen and save!

But her head ached; it ached whichever way she turned it. 

She sat up and said as she had determined, "My head aches so thatI shall go indoors. " He was half-way through the next verse, but hedropped the book instantly. 

"Your head aches?" he repeated. 

For a few moments they sat looking at one another in silence, holdingeach other's hands. During this time his sense of dismay and catastrophewere almost physically painful; all round him he seemed to hear theshiver of broken glass which, as it fell to earth, left him sitting inthe open air. But at the end of two minutes, noticing that she was notsharing his dismay, but was only rather more languid and heavy-eyed thanusual, he recovered, fetched Helen, and asked her to tell him what theyhad better do, for Rachel had a headache. 

Mrs. Ambrose was not discomposed, but advised that she should go to bed, and added that she must expect her head to ache if she sat up to allhours and went out in the heat, but a few hours in bed would cure itcompletely. Terence was unreasonably reassured by her words, as he hadbeen unreasonably depressed the moment before. Helen's sense seemedto have much in common with the ruthless good sense of nature, whichavenged rashness by a headache, and, like nature's good sense, might bedepended upon. 

Rachel went to bed; she lay in the dark, it seemed to her, for a verylong time, but at length, waking from a transparent kind of sleep, shesaw the windows white in front of her, and recollected that some timebefore she had gone to bed with a headache, and that Helen had said itwould be gone when she woke. She supposed, therefore, that she was nowquite well again. At the same time the wall of her room was painfullywhite, and curved slightly, instead of being straight and flat. Turningher eyes to the window, she was not reassured by what she saw there. Themovement of the blind as it filled with air and blew slowly out, drawingthe cord with a little trailing sound along the floor, seemed to herterrifying, as if it were the movement of an animal in the room. Sheshut her eyes, and the pulse in her head beat so strongly that eachthump seemed to tread upon a nerve, piercing her forehead with a littlestab of pain. It might not be the same headache, but she certainly had aheadache. She turned from side to side, in the hope that the coolnessof the sheets would cure her, and that when she next opened her eyesto look the room would be as usual. After a considerable number of vainexperiments, she resolved to put the matter beyond a doubt. She got outof bed and stood upright, holding on to the brass ball at the end of thebedstead. Ice-cold at first, it soon became as hot as the palm of herhand, and as the pains in her head and body and the instability of thefloor proved that it would be far more intolerable to stand and walkthan to lie in bed, she got into bed again; but though the change wasrefreshing at first, the discomfort of bed was soon as great as thediscomfort of standing up. She accepted the idea that she would haveto stay in bed all day long, and as she laid her head on the pillow, relinquished the happiness of the day. 

When Helen came in an hour or two later, suddenly stopped her cheerfulwords, looked startled for a second and then unnaturally calm, the factthat she was ill was put beyond a doubt. It was confirmed when the wholehousehold knew of it, when the song that some one was singing in thegarden stopped suddenly, and when Maria, as she brought water, slippedpast the bed with averted eyes. There was all the morning to getthrough, and then all the afternoon, and at intervals she made an effortto cross over into the ordinary world, but she found that her heat anddiscomfort had put a gulf between her world and the ordinary world whichshe could not bridge. At one point the door opened, and Helen came inwith a little dark man who had--it was the chief thing she noticed abouthim--very hairy hands. She was drowsy and intolerably hot, and as heseemed shy and obsequious she scarcely troubled to answer him, althoughshe understood that he was a doctor. At another point the door openedand Terence came in very gently, smiling too steadily, as she realised, for it to be natural. He sat down and talked to her, stroking her handsuntil it became irksome to her to lie any more in the same position andshe turned round, and when she looked up again Helen was beside her andTerence had gone. It did not matter; she would see him to-morrow whenthings would be ordinary again. Her chief occupation during the day wasto try to remember how the lines went:

 Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, In twisted braids of lilies knitting The loose train of thy amber dropping hair;

and the effort worried her because the adjectives persisted in gettinginto the wrong places. 

The second day did not differ very much from the first day, except thather bed had become very important, and the world outside, when shetried to think of it, appeared distinctly further off. The glassy, cool, translucent wave was almost visible before her, curling up at the endof the bed, and as it was refreshingly cool she tried to keep hermind fixed upon it. Helen was here, and Helen was there all day long;sometimes she said that it was lunchtime, and sometimes that it wasteatime; but by the next day all landmarks were obliterated, and theouter world was so far away that the different sounds, such as thesounds of people moving overhead, could only be ascribed to their causeby a great effort of memory. The recollection of what she had felt, orof what she had been doing and thinking three days before, had fadedentirely. On the other hand, every object in the room, and the beditself, and her own body with its various limbs and their differentsensations were more and more important each day. She was completelycut off, and unable to communicate with the rest of the world, isolatedalone with her body. 

Hours and hours would pass thus, without getting any further through themorning, or again a few minutes would lead from broad daylight to thedepths of the night. One evening when the room appeared very dim, eitherbecause it was evening or because the blinds were drawn, Helen said toher, "Some one is going to sit here to-night. You won't mind?"

Opening her eyes, Rachel saw not only Helen but a nurse in spectacles, whose face vaguely recalled something that she had once seen. She hadseen her in the chapel. "Nurse McInnis, " said Helen, and the nursesmiled steadily as they all did, and said that she did not find manypeople who were frightened of her. After waiting for a moment they bothdisappeared, and having turned on her pillow Rachel woke to find herselfin the midst of one of those interminable nights which do not end attwelve, but go on into the double figures--thirteen, fourteen, and soon until they reach the twenties, and then the thirties, and then theforties. She realised that there is nothing to prevent nights from doingthis if they choose. At a great distance an elderly woman sat with herhead bent down; Rachel raised herself slightly and saw with dismay thatshe was playing cards by the light of a candle which stood in the hollowof a newspaper. The sight had something inexplicably sinister about it, and she was terrified and cried out, upon which the woman laid downher cards and came across the room, shading the candle with her hands. Coming nearer and nearer across the great space of the room, she stoodat last above Rachel's head and said, "Not asleep? Let me make youcomfortable. "

She put down the candle and began to arrange the bedclothes. It struckRachel that a woman who sat playing cards in a cavern all night longwould have very cold hands, and she shrunk from the touch of them. 

"Why, there's a toe all the way down there!" the woman said, proceedingto tuck in the bedclothes. Rachel did not realise that the toe was hers. 

"You must try and lie still, " she proceeded, "because if you lie stillyou will be less hot, and if you toss about you will make yourself morehot, and we don't want you to be any hotter than you are. " She stoodlooking down upon Rachel for an enormous length of time. 

"And the quieter you lie the sooner you will be well, " she repeated. 

Rachel kept her eyes fixed upon the peaked shadow on the ceiling, andall her energy was concentrated upon the desire that this shadow shouldmove. But the shadow and the woman seemed to be eternally fixed aboveher. She shut her eyes. When she opened them again several more hourshad passed, but the night still lasted interminably. The woman was stillplaying cards, only she sat now in a tunnel under a river, and the lightstood in a little archway in the wall above her. She cried "Terence!"and the peaked shadow again moved across the ceiling, as the woman withan enormous slow movement rose, and they both stood still above her. 

"It's just as difficult to keep you in bed as it was to keep Mr. Forrestin bed, " the woman said, "and he was such a tall gentleman. "

In order to get rid of this terrible stationary sight Rachel again shuther eyes, and found herself walking through a tunnel under the Thames, where there were little deformed women sitting in archways playingcards, while the bricks of which the wall was made oozed with damp, which collected into drops and slid down the wall. But the little oldwomen became Helen and Nurse McInnis after a time, standing in thewindow together whispering, whispering incessantly. 

Meanwhile outside her room the sounds, the movements, and the lives ofthe other people in the house went on in the ordinary light of the sun, throughout the usual succession of hours. When, on the first day of herillness, it became clear that she would not be absolutely well, for hertemperature was very high, until Friday, that day being Tuesday, Terencewas filled with resentment, not against her, but against the forceoutside them which was separating them. He counted up the number of daysthat would almost certainly be spoilt for them. He realised, with an oddmixture of pleasure and annoyance, that, for the first time in his life, he was so dependent upon another person that his happiness was in herkeeping. The days were completely wasted upon trifling, immaterialthings, for after three weeks of such intimacy and intensity all theusual occupations were unbearably flat and beside the point. The leastintolerable occupation was to talk to St. John about Rachel's illness, and to discuss every symptom and its meaning, and, when this subject wasexhausted, to discuss illness of all kinds, and what caused them, andwhat cured them. 

Twice every day he went in to sit with Rachel, and twice every day thesame thing happened. On going into her room, which was not very dark, where the music was lying about as usual, and her books and letters, hisspirits rose instantly. When he saw her he felt completely reassured. She did not look very ill. Sitting by her side he would tell her whathe had been doing, using his natural voice to speak to her, only a fewtones lower down than usual; but by the time he had sat there for fiveminutes he was plunged into the deepest gloom. She was not the same;he could not bring them back to their old relationship; but although heknew that it was foolish he could not prevent himself from endeavouringto bring her back, to make her remember, and when this failed he was indespair. He always concluded as he left her room that it was worse tosee her than not to see her, but by degrees, as the day wore on, thedesire to see her returned and became almost too great to be borne. 

On Thursday morning when Terence went into her room he felt the usualincrease of confidence. She turned round and made an effort to remembercertain facts from the world that was so many millions of miles away. 

"You have come up from the hotel?" she asked. 

"No; I'm staying here for the present, " he said. "We've just hadluncheon, " he continued, "and the mail has come in. There's a bundle ofletters for you--letters from England. "

Instead of saying, as he meant her to say, that she wished to see them, she said nothing for some time. 

"You see, there they go, rolling off the edge of the hill, " she saidsuddenly. 

"Rolling, Rachel? What do you see rolling? There's nothing rolling. "

"The old woman with the knife, " she replied, not speaking to Terencein particular, and looking past him. As she appeared to be looking at avase on the shelf opposite, he rose and took it down. 

"Now they can't roll any more, " he said cheerfully. Nevertheless she laygazing at the same spot, and paid him no further attention although hespoke to her. He became so profoundly wretched that he could not endureto sit with her, but wandered about until he found St. John, who wasreading _The_ _Times_ in the verandah. He laid it aside patiently, andheard all that Terence had to say about delirium. He was very patientwith Terence. He treated him like a child. 

By Friday it could not be denied that the illness was no longer anattack that would pass off in a day or two; it was a real illness thatrequired a good deal of organisation, and engrossed the attention ofat least five people, but there was no reason to be anxious. Insteadof lasting five days it was going to last ten days. Rodriguez wasunderstood to say that there were well-known varieties of this illness. Rodriguez appeared to think that they were treating the illness withundue anxiety. His visits were always marked by the same show ofconfidence, and in his interviews with Terence he always waved asidehis anxious and minute questions with a kind of flourish which seemedto indicate that they were all taking it much too seriously. He seemedcuriously unwilling to sit down. 

"A high temperature, " he said, looking furtively about the room, and appearing to be more interested in the furniture and in Helen'sembroidery than in anything else. "In this climate you must expect ahigh temperature. You need not be alarmed by that. It is the pulse wego by" (he tapped his own hairy wrist), "and the pulse continuesexcellent. "

Thereupon he bowed and slipped out. The interview was conductedlaboriously upon both sides in French, and this, together with thefact that he was optimistic, and that Terence respected the medicalprofession from hearsay, made him less critical than he would have beenhad he encountered the doctor in any other capacity. Unconsciouslyhe took Rodriguez' side against Helen, who seemed to have taken anunreasonable prejudice against him. 

When Saturday came it was evident that the hours of the day must be morestrictly organised than they had been. St. John offered his services; hesaid that he had nothing to do, and that he might as well spend theday at the villa if he could be of use. As if they were starting on adifficult expedition together, they parcelled out their duties betweenthem, writing out an elaborate scheme of hours upon a large sheet ofpaper which was pinned to the drawing-room door. Their distance fromthe town, and the difficulty of procuring rare things with unknownnames from the most unexpected places, made it necessary to think verycarefully, and they found it unexpectedly difficult to do the simplebut practical things that were required of them, as if they, being verytall, were asked to stoop down and arrange minute grains of sand in apattern on the ground. 

It was St. John's duty to fetch what was needed from the town, sothat Terence would sit all through the long hot hours alone in thedrawing-room, near the open door, listening for any movement upstairs, or call from Helen. He always forgot to pull down the blinds, so that hesat in bright sunshine, which worried him without his knowing what wasthe cause of it. The room was terribly stiff and uncomfortable. Therewere hats in the chairs, and medicine bottles among the books. He triedto read, but good books were too good, and bad books were too bad, andthe only thing he could tolerate was the newspaper, which with itsnews of London, and the movements of real people who were givingdinner-parties and making speeches, seemed to give a little backgroundof reality to what was otherwise mere nightmare. Then, just as hisattention was fixed on the print, a soft call would come from Helen, orMrs. Chailey would bring in something which was wanted upstairs, and hewould run up very quietly in his socks, and put the jug on the littletable which stood crowded with jugs and cups outside the bedroom door;or if he could catch Helen for a moment he would ask, "How is she?"

"Rather restless. . . . On the whole, quieter, I think. "

The answer would be one or the other. 

As usual she seemed to reserve something which she did not say, andTerence was conscious that they disagreed, and, without saying italoud, were arguing against each other. But she was too hurried andpre-occupied to talk. 

The strain of listening and the effort of making practical arrangementsand seeing that things worked smoothly, absorbed all Terence's power. Involved in this long dreary nightmare, he did not attempt to think whatit amounted to. Rachel was ill; that was all; he must see that therewas medicine and milk, and that things were ready when they were wanted. Thought had ceased; life itself had come to a standstill. Sunday wasrather worse than Saturday had been, simply because the strain wasa little greater every day, although nothing else had changed. Theseparate feelings of pleasure, interest, and pain, which combine to makeup the ordinary day, were merged in one long-drawn sensation of sordidmisery and profound boredom. He had never been so bored since he wasshut up in the nursery alone as a child. The vision of Rachel as she wasnow, confused and heedless, had almost obliterated the vision of her asshe had been once long ago; he could hardly believe that they had everbeen happy, or engaged to be married, for what were feelings, whatwas there to be felt? Confusion covered every sight and person, and heseemed to see St. John, Ridley, and the stray people who came up now andthen from the hotel to enquire, through a mist; the only people who werenot hidden in this mist were Helen and Rodriguez, because they couldtell him something definite about Rachel. 

Nevertheless the day followed the usual forms. At certain hours theywent into the dining-room, and when they sat round the table they talkedabout indifferent things. St. John usually made it his business to startthe talk and to keep it from dying out. 

"I've discovered the way to get Sancho past the white house, " said St. John on Sunday at luncheon. "You crackle a piece of paper in his ear, then he bolts for about a hundred yards, but he goes on quite well afterthat. "

"Yes, but he wants corn. You should see that he has corn. "

"I don't think much of the stuff they give him; and Angelo seems a dirtylittle rascal. "

There was then a long silence. Ridley murmured a few lines of poetryunder his breath, and remarked, as if to conceal the fact that he haddone so, "Very hot to-day. "

"Two degrees higher than it was yesterday, " said St. John. "I wonderwhere these nuts come from, " he observed, taking a nut out of the plate, turning it over in his fingers, and looking at it curiously. 

"London, I should think, " said Terence, looking at the nut too. 

"A competent man of business could make a fortune here in no time, " St. John continued. "I suppose the heat does something funny to people'sbrains. Even the English go a little queer. Anyhow they're hopelesspeople to deal with. They kept me three-quarters of an hour waiting atthe chemist's this morning, for no reason whatever. "

There was another long pause. Then Ridley enquired, "Rodriguez seemssatisfied?"

"Quite, " said Terence with decision. "It's just got to run its course. "Whereupon Ridley heaved a deep sigh. He was genuinely sorry for everyone, but at the same time he missed Helen considerably, and was a littleaggrieved by the constant presence of the two young men. 

They moved back into the drawing-room. 

"Look here, Hirst, " said Terence, "there's nothing to be done for twohours. " He consulted the sheet pinned to the door. "You go and lie down. I'll wait here. Chailey sits with Rachel while Helen has her luncheon. "

It was asking a good deal of Hirst to tell him to go without waiting fora sight of Helen. These little glimpses of Helen were the only respitesfrom strain and boredom, and very often they seemed to make up for thediscomfort of the day, although she might not have anything to tellthem. However, as they were on an expedition together, he had made uphis mind to obey. 

Helen was very late in coming down. She looked like a person who hasbeen sitting for a long time in the dark. She was pale and thinner, and the expression of her eyes was harassed but determined. She ateher luncheon quickly, and seemed indifferent to what she was doing. Shebrushed aside Terence's enquiries, and at last, as if he had not spoken, she looked at him with a slight frown and said:

"We can't go on like this, Terence. Either you've got to find anotherdoctor, or you must tell Rodriguez to stop coming, and I'll managefor myself. It's no use for him to say that Rachel's better; she's notbetter; she's worse. "

Terence suffered a terrific shock, like that which he had suffered whenRachel said, "My head aches. " He stilled it by reflecting that Helen wasoverwrought, and he was upheld in this opinion by his obstinate sensethat she was opposed to him in the argument. 

"Do you think she's in danger?" he asked. 

"No one can go on being as ill as that day after day--" Helen replied. She looked at him, and spoke as if she felt some indignation withsomebody. 

"Very well, I'll talk to Rodriguez this afternoon, " he replied. 

Helen went upstairs at once. 

Nothing now could assuage Terence's anxiety. He could not read, norcould he sit still, and his sense of security was shaken, in spite ofthe fact that he was determined that Helen was exaggerating, and thatRachel was not very ill. But he wanted a third person to confirm him inhis belief. 

Directly Rodriguez came down he demanded, "Well, how is she? Do youthink her worse?"

"There is no reason for anxiety, I tell you--none, " Rodriguez replied inhis execrable French, smiling uneasily, and making little movements allthe time as if to get away. 

Hewet stood firmly between him and the door. He was determined to seefor himself what kind of man he was. His confidence in the man vanishedas he looked at him and saw his insignificance, his dirty appearance, his shiftiness, and his unintelligent, hairy face. It was strange thathe had never seen this before. 

"You won't object, of course, if we ask you to consult another doctor?"he continued. 

At this the little man became openly incensed. 

"Ah!" he cried. "You have not confidence in me? You object to mytreatment? You wish me to give up the case?"

"Not at all, " Terence replied, "but in serious illness of this kind--"

Rodriguez shrugged his shoulders. 

"It is not serious, I assure you. You are overanxious. The young lady isnot seriously ill, and I am a doctor. The lady of course is frightened, "he sneered. "I understand that perfectly. "

"The name and address of the doctor is--?" Terence continued. 

"There is no other doctor, " Rodriguez replied sullenly. "Every one hasconfidence in me. Look! I will show you. "

He took out a packet of old letters and began turning them over as if insearch of one that would confute Terence's suspicions. As he searched, he began to tell a story about an English lord who had trusted him--agreat English lord, whose name he had, unfortunately, forgotten. 

"There is no other doctor in the place, " he concluded, still turningover the letters. 

"Never mind, " said Terence shortly. "I will make enquiries for myself. "Rodriguez put the letters back in his pocket. 

"Very well, " he remarked. "I have no objection. "

He lifted his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, as if to repeat thatthey took the illness much too seriously and that there was no otherdoctor, and slipped out, leaving behind him an impression that he wasconscious that he was distrusted, and that his malice was aroused. 

After this Terence could no longer stay downstairs. He went up, knockedat Rachel's door, and asked Helen whether he might see her for a fewminutes. He had not seen her yesterday. She made no objection, and wentand sat at a table in the window. 

Terence sat down by the bedside. Rachel's face was changed. She lookedas though she were entirely concentrated upon the effort of keepingalive. Her lips were drawn, and her cheeks were sunken and flushed, though without colour. Her eyes were not entirely shut, the lower halfof the white part showing, not as if she saw, but as if they remainedopen because she was too much exhausted to close them. She opened themcompletely when he kissed her. But she only saw an old woman slicing aman's head off with a knife. 

"There it falls!" she murmured. She then turned to Terence and askedhim anxiously some question about a man with mules, which he could notunderstand. "Why doesn't he come? Why doesn't he come?" she repeated. Hewas appalled to think of the dirty little man downstairs in connectionwith illness like this, and turning instinctively to Helen, but she wasdoing something at a table in the window, and did not seem to realisehow great the shock to him must be. He rose to go, for he could notendure to listen any longer; his heart beat quickly and painfully withanger and misery. As he passed Helen she asked him in the same weary, unnatural, but determined voice to fetch her more ice, and to have thejug outside filled with fresh milk. 

When he had done these errands he went to find Hirst. Exhausted and veryhot, St. John had fallen asleep on a bed, but Terence woke him withoutscruple. 

"Helen thinks she's worse, " he said. "There's no doubt she's frightfullyill. Rodriguez is useless. We must get another doctor. "

"But there is no other doctor, " said Hirst drowsily, sitting up andrubbing his eyes. 

"Don't be a damned fool!" Terence exclaimed. "Of course there's anotherdoctor, and, if there isn't, you've got to find one. It ought to havebeen done days ago. I'm going down to saddle the horse. " He could notstay still in one place. 

In less than ten minutes St. John was riding to the town in thescorching heat in search of a doctor, his orders being to find one andbring him back if he had to be fetched in a special train. 

"We ought to have done it days ago, " Hewet repeated angrily. 

When he went back into the drawing-room he found that Mrs. Flushing wasthere, standing very erect in the middle of the room, having arrived, as people did in these days, by the kitchen or through the gardenunannounced. 

"She's better?" Mrs. Flushing enquired abruptly; they did not attempt toshake hands. 

"No, " said Terence. "If anything, they think she's worse. "

Mrs. Flushing seemed to consider for a moment or two, looking straightat Terence all the time. 

"Let me tell you, " she said, speaking in nervous jerks, "it's alwaysabout the seventh day one begins to get anxious. I daresay you've beensittin' here worryin' by yourself. You think she's bad, but any onecomin' with a fresh eye would see she was better. Mr. Elliot's hadfever; he's all right now, " she threw out. "It wasn't anythin' shecaught on the expedition. What's it matter--a few days' fever? Mybrother had fever for twenty-six days once. And in a week or two he wasup and about. We gave him nothin' but milk and arrowroot--"

Here Mrs. Chailey came in with a message. 

"I'm wanted upstairs, " said Terence. 

"You see--she'll be better, " Mrs. Flushing jerked out as he left theroom. Her anxiety to persuade Terence was very great, and when he lefther without saying anything she felt dissatisfied and restless; she didnot like to stay, but she could not bear to go. She wandered from roomto room looking for some one to talk to, but all the rooms were empty. 

Terence went upstairs, stood inside the door to take Helen's directions, looked over at Rachel, but did not attempt to speak to her. She appearedvaguely conscious of his presence, but it seemed to disturb her, and sheturned, so that she lay with her back to him. 

For six days indeed she had been oblivious of the world outside, becauseit needed all her attention to follow the hot, red, quick sights whichpassed incessantly before her eyes. She knew that it was of enormousimportance that she should attend to these sights and grasp theirmeaning, but she was always being just too late to hear or see somethingwhich would explain it all. For this reason, the faces, --Helen'sface, the nurse's, Terence's, the doctor's, --which occasionally forcedthemselves very close to her, were worrying because they distracted herattention and she might miss the clue. However, on the fourth afternoonshe was suddenly unable to keep Helen's face distinct from the sightsthemselves; her lips widened as she bent down over the bed, and shebegan to gabble unintelligibly like the rest. The sights were allconcerned in some plot, some adventure, some escape. The nature of whatthey were doing changed incessantly, although there was always a reasonbehind it, which she must endeavour to grasp. Now they were among treesand savages, now they were on the sea, now they were on the tops of hightowers; now they jumped; now they flew. But just as the crisis was aboutto happen, something invariably slipped in her brain, so that the wholeeffort had to begin over again. The heat was suffocating. At last thefaces went further away; she fell into a deep pool of sticky water, which eventually closed over her head. She saw nothing and heard nothingbut a faint booming sound, which was the sound of the sea rolling overher head. While all her tormentors thought that she was dead, shewas not dead, but curled up at the bottom of the sea. There she lay, sometimes seeing darkness, sometimes light, while every now and thensome one turned her over at the bottom of the sea. 

After St. John had spent some hours in the heat of the sun wranglingwith evasive and very garrulous natives, he extracted the informationthat there was a doctor, a French doctor, who was at present away ona holiday in the hills. It was quite impossible, so they said, to findhim. With his experience of the country, St. John thought it unlikelythat a telegram would either be sent or received; but having reduced thedistance of the hill town, in which he was staying, from a hundred milesto thirty miles, and having hired a carriage and horses, he startedat once to fetch the doctor himself. He succeeded in finding him, andeventually forced the unwilling man to leave his young wife and returnforthwith. They reached the villa at midday on Tuesday. 

Terence came out to receive them, and St. John was struck by the factthat he had grown perceptibly thinner in the interval; he was white too;his eyes looked strange. But the curt speech and the sulky masterfulmanner of Dr. Lesage impressed them both favourably, although at thesame time it was obvious that he was very much annoyed at the wholeaffair. Coming downstairs he gave his directions emphatically, but itnever occurred to him to give an opinion either because of the presenceof Rodriguez who was now obsequious as well as malicious, or because hetook it for granted that they knew already what was to be known. 

"Of course, " he said with a shrug of his shoulders, when Terence askedhim, "Is she very ill?"

They were both conscious of a certain sense of relief when Dr. Lesagewas gone, leaving explicit directions, and promising another visit in afew hours' time; but, unfortunately, the rise of their spirits led themto talk more than usual, and in talking they quarrelled. They quarrelledabout a road, the Portsmouth Road. St. John said that it is macadamisedwhere it passes Hindhead, and Terence knew as well as he knew his ownname that it is not macadamised at that point. In the course of theargument they said some very sharp things to each other, and the restof the dinner was eaten in silence, save for an occasional half-stifledreflection from Ridley. 

When it grew dark and the lamps were brought in, Terence felt unable tocontrol his irritation any longer. St. John went to bed in a stateof complete exhaustion, bidding Terence good-night with rather moreaffection than usual because of their quarrel, and Ridley retired to hisbooks. Left alone, Terence walked up and down the room; he stood at theopen window. 

The lights were coming out one after another in the town beneath, and itwas very peaceful and cool in the garden, so that he stepped out on tothe terrace. As he stood there in the darkness, able only to see theshapes of trees through the fine grey light, he was overcome by a desireto escape, to have done with this suffering, to forget that Rachel wasill. He allowed himself to lapse into forgetfulness of everything. As ifa wind that had been raging incessantly suddenly fell asleep, the fretand strain and anxiety which had been pressing on him passed away. He seemed to stand in an unvexed space of air, on a little island byhimself; he was free and immune from pain. It did not matter whetherRachel was well or ill; it did not matter whether they were apart ortogether; nothing mattered--nothing mattered. The waves beat on theshore far away, and the soft wind passed through the branches of thetrees, seeming to encircle him with peace and security, with dark andnothingness. Surely the world of strife and fret and anxiety was not thereal world, but this was the real world, the world that lay beneath thesuperficial world, so that, whatever happened, one was secure. The quietand peace seemed to lap his body in a fine cool sheet, soothing everynerve; his mind seemed once more to expand, and become natural. 

But when he had stood thus for a time a noise in the house roused him;he turned instinctively and went into the drawing-room. The sight of thelamp-lit room brought back so abruptly all that he had forgotten that hestood for a moment unable to move. He remembered everything, the hour, the minute even, what point they had reached, and what was to come. He cursed himself for making believe for a minute that things weredifferent from what they are. The night was now harder to face thanever. 

Unable to stay in the empty drawing-room, he wandered out and sat on thestairs half-way up to Rachel's room. He longed for some one to talkto, but Hirst was asleep, and Ridley was asleep; there was no soundin Rachel's room. The only sound in the house was the sound of Chaileymoving in the kitchen. At last there was a rustling on the stairsoverhead, and Nurse McInnis came down fastening the links in her cuffs, in preparation for the night's watch. Terence rose and stopped her. Hehad scarcely spoken to her, but it was possible that she might confirmhim in the belief which still persisted in his own mind that Rachel wasnot seriously ill. He told her in a whisper that Dr. Lesage had been andwhat he had said. 

"Now, Nurse, " he whispered, "please tell me your opinion. Do youconsider that she is very seriously ill? Is she in any danger?"

"The doctor has said--" she began. 

"Yes, but I want your opinion. You have had experience of many caseslike this?"

"I could not tell you more than Dr. Lesage, Mr. Hewet, " she repliedcautiously, as though her words might be used against her. "The case isserious, but you may feel quite certain that we are doing all we can forMiss Vinrace. " She spoke with some professional self-approbation. Butshe realised perhaps that she did not satisfy the young man, who stillblocked her way, for she shifted her feet slightly upon the stair andlooked out of the window where they could see the moon over the sea. 

"If you ask me, " she began in a curiously stealthy tone, "I never likeMay for my patients. "

"May?" Terence repeated. 

"It may be a fancy, but I don't like to see anybody fall ill in May, "she continued. "Things seem to go wrong in May. Perhaps it's the moon. They say the moon affects the brain, don't they, Sir?"

He looked at her but he could not answer her; like all the others, whenone looked at her she seemed to shrivel beneath one's eyes and becomeworthless, malicious, and untrustworthy. 

She slipped past him and disappeared. 

Though he went to his room he was unable even to take his clothes off. For a long time he paced up and down, and then leaning out of the windowgazed at the earth which lay so dark against the paler blue of the sky. With a mixture of fear and loathing he looked at the slim black cypresstrees which were still visible in the garden, and heard the unfamiliarcreaking and grating sounds which show that the earth is still hot. All these sights and sounds appeared sinister and full of hostility andforeboding; together with the natives and the nurse and the doctor andthe terrible force of the illness itself they seemed to be in conspiracyagainst him. They seemed to join together in their effort to extract thegreatest possible amount of suffering from him. He could not get used tohis pain, it was a revelation to him. He had never realised before thatunderneath every action, underneath the life of every day, pain lies, quiescent, but ready to devour; he seemed to be able to see suffering, as if it were a fire, curling up over the edges of all action, eatingaway the lives of men and women. He thought for the first time withunderstanding of words which had before seemed to him empty: thestruggle of life; the hardness of life. Now he knew for himself thatlife is hard and full of suffering. He looked at the scattered lights inthe town beneath, and thought of Arthur and Susan, or Evelyn and Perrottventuring out unwittingly, and by their happiness laying themselvesopen to suffering such as this. How did they dare to love each other, hewondered; how had he himself dared to live as he had lived, rapidly andcarelessly, passing from one thing to another, loving Rachel as he hadloved her? Never again would he feel secure; he would never believe inthe stability of life, or forget what depths of pain lie beneath smallhappiness and feelings of content and safety. It seemed to him as helooked back that their happiness had never been so great as his painwas now. There had always been something imperfect in their happiness, something they had wanted and had not been able to get. It had beenfragmentary and incomplete, because they were so young and had not knownwhat they were doing. 

The light of his candle flickered over the boughs of a tree outside thewindow, and as the branch swayed in the darkness there came before hismind a picture of all the world that lay outside his window; he thoughtof the immense river and the immense forest, the vast stretches of dryearth and the plains of the sea that encircled the earth; from the seathe sky rose steep and enormous, and the air washed profoundly betweenthe sky and the sea. How vast and dark it must be tonight, lying exposedto the wind; and in all this great space it was curious to think howfew the towns were, and how small little rings of light, or singleglow-worms he figured them, scattered here and there, among the swellinguncultivated folds of the world. And in those towns were little men andwomen, tiny men and women. Oh, it was absurd, when one thought of it, to sit here in a little room suffering and caring. What did anythingmatter? Rachel, a tiny creature, lay ill beneath him, and here in hislittle room he suffered on her account. The nearness of their bodies inthis vast universe, and the minuteness of their bodies, seemed to himabsurd and laughable. Nothing mattered, he repeated; they had no power, no hope. He leant on the window-sill, thinking, until he almost forgotthe time and the place. Nevertheless, although he was convinced thatit was absurd and laughable, and that they were small and hopeless, henever lost the sense that these thoughts somehow formed part of a lifewhich he and Rachel would live together. 

Owing perhaps to the change of doctor, Rachel appeared to be ratherbetter next day. Terribly pale and worn though Helen looked, there was aslight lifting of the cloud which had hung all these days in her eyes. 

"She talked to me, " she said voluntarily. "She asked me what day of theweek it was, like herself. "

Then suddenly, without any warning or any apparent reason, the tearsformed in her eyes and rolled steadily down her cheeks. She criedwith scarcely any attempt at movement of her features, and without anyattempt to stop herself, as if she did not know that she was crying. Inspite of the relief which her words gave him, Terence was dismayed bythe sight; had everything given way? Were there no limits to the powerof this illness? Would everything go down before it? Helen had alwaysseemed to him strong and determined, and now she was like a child. Hetook her in his arms, and she clung to him like a child, crying softlyand quietly upon his shoulder. Then she roused herself and wiped hertears away; it was silly to behave like that, she said; very silly, sherepeated, when there could be no doubt that Rachel was better. She askedTerence to forgive her for her folly. She stopped at the door and cameback and kissed him without saying anything. 

On this day indeed Rachel was conscious of what went on round her. Shehad come to the surface of the dark, sticky pool, and a wave seemed tobear her up and down with it; she had ceased to have any will of herown; she lay on the top of the wave conscious of some pain, but chieflyof weakness. The wave was replaced by the side of a mountain. Her bodybecame a drift of melting snow, above which her knees rose in hugepeaked mountains of bare bone. It was true that she saw Helen and sawher room, but everything had become very pale and semi-transparent. Sometimes she could see through the wall in front of her. Sometimes whenHelen went away she seemed to go so far that Rachel's eyes could hardlyfollow her. The room also had an odd power of expanding, and though shepushed her voice out as far as possible until sometimes it became abird and flew away, she thought it doubtful whether it ever reached theperson she was talking to. There were immense intervals or chasms, forthings still had the power to appear visibly before her, between onemoment and the next; it sometimes took an hour for Helen to raise herarm, pausing long between each jerky movement, and pour out medicine. Helen's form stooping to raise her in bed appeared of gigantic size, andcame down upon her like the ceiling falling. But for long spaces of timeshe would merely lie conscious of her body floating on the top of thebed and her mind driven to some remote corner of her body, or escapedand gone flitting round the room. All sights were something of aneffort, but the sight of Terence was the greatest effort, because heforced her to join mind to body in the desire to remember something. Shedid not wish to remember; it troubled her when people tried to disturbher loneliness; she wished to be alone. She wished for nothing else inthe world. 

Although she had cried, Terence observed Helen's greater hopefulnesswith something like triumph; in the argument between them she had madethe first sign of admitting herself in the wrong. He waited for Dr. Lesage to come down that afternoon with considerable anxiety, but withthe same certainty at the back of his mind that he would in time forcethem all to admit that they were in the wrong. 

As usual, Dr. Lesage was sulky in his manner and very short in hisanswers. To Terence's demand, "She seems to be better?" he replied, looking at him in an odd way, "She has a chance of life. "

The door shut and Terence walked across to the window. He leant hisforehead against the pane. 

"Rachel, " he repeated to himself. "She has a chance of life. Rachel. "

How could they say these things of Rachel? Had any one yesterdayseriously believed that Rachel was dying? They had been engaged for fourweeks. A fortnight ago she had been perfectly well. What could fourteendays have done to bring her from that state to this? To realise whatthey meant by saying that she had a chance of life was beyond him, knowing as he did that they were engaged. He turned, still enveloped inthe same dreary mist, and walked towards the door. Suddenly he saw itall. He saw the room and the garden, and the trees moving in the air, they could go on without her; she could die. For the first time sinceshe fell ill he remembered exactly what she looked like and the way inwhich they cared for each other. The immense happiness of feeling herclose to him mingled with a more intense anxiety than he had felt yet. He could not let her die; he could not live without her. But after amomentary struggle, the curtain fell again, and he saw nothing and feltnothing clearly. It was all going on--going on still, in the same way asbefore. Save for a physical pain when his heart beat, and the fact thathis fingers were icy cold, he did not realise that he was anxious aboutanything. Within his mind he seemed to feel nothing about Rachel orabout any one or anything in the world. He went on giving orders, arranging with Mrs. Chailey, writing out lists, and every now and thenhe went upstairs and put something quietly on the table outside Rachel'sdoor. That night Dr. Lesage seemed to be less sulky than usual. Hestayed voluntarily for a few moments, and, addressing St. John andTerence equally, as if he did not remember which of them was engaged tothe young lady, said, "I consider that her condition to-night is verygrave. "

Neither of them went to bed or suggested that the other should go tobed. They sat in the drawing-room playing picquet with the door open. St. John made up a bed upon the sofa, and when it was ready insistedthat Terence should lie upon it. They began to quarrel as to who shouldlie on the sofa and who should lie upon a couple of chairs covered withrugs. St. John forced Terence at last to lie down upon the sofa. 

"Don't be a fool, Terence, " he said. "You'll only get ill if you don'tsleep. "

"Old fellow, " he began, as Terence still refused, and stopped abruptly, fearing sentimentality; he found that he was on the verge of tears. 

He began to say what he had long been wanting to say, that he was sorryfor Terence, that he cared for him, that he cared for Rachel. Did sheknow how much he cared for her--had she said anything, asked perhaps? Hewas very anxious to say this, but he refrained, thinking that it was aselfish question after all, and what was the use of bothering Terence totalk about such things? He was already half asleep. But St. John couldnot sleep at once. If only, he thought to himself, as he lay in thedarkness, something would happen--if only this strain would come to anend. He did not mind what happened, so long as the succession of thesehard and dreary days was broken; he did not mind if she died. He felthimself disloyal in not minding it, but it seemed to him that he had nofeelings left. 

All night long there was no call or movement, except the opening andshutting of the bedroom door once. By degrees the light returned intothe untidy room. At six the servants began to move; at seven they creptdownstairs into the kitchen; and half an hour later the day began again. 

Nevertheless it was not the same as the days that had gone before, although it would have been hard to say in what the differenceconsisted. Perhaps it was that they seemed to be waiting for something. There were certainly fewer things to be done than usual. People driftedthrough the drawing-room--Mr. Flushing, Mr. And Mrs. Thornbury. Theyspoke very apologetically in low tones, refusing to sit down, butremaining for a considerable time standing up, although the only thingthey had to say was, "Is there anything we can do?" and there wasnothing they could do. 

Feeling oddly detached from it all, Terence remembered how Helen hadsaid that whenever anything happened to you this was how people behaved. Was she right, or was she wrong? He was too little interested to framean opinion of his own. He put things away in his mind, as if one ofthese days he would think about them, but not now. The mist of unrealityhad deepened and deepened until it had produced a feeling of numbnessall over his body. Was it his body? Were those really his own hands?

This morning also for the first time Ridley found it impossible to sitalone in his room. He was very uncomfortable downstairs, and, as hedid not know what was going on, constantly in the way; but he would notleave the drawing-room. Too restless to read, and having nothing to do, he began to pace up and down reciting poetry in an undertone. Occupiedin various ways--now in undoing parcels, now in uncorking bottles, nowin writing directions, the sound of Ridley's song and the beat of hispacing worked into the minds of Terence and St. John all the morning asa half comprehended refrain. 

 They wrestled up, they wrestled down, They wrestled sore and still: The fiend who blinds the eyes of men, That night he had his will. 

 Like stags full spent, among the bent They dropped awhile to rest--

"Oh, it's intolerable!" Hirst exclaimed, and then checked himself, as ifit were a breach of their agreement. Again and again Terence would creephalf-way up the stairs in case he might be able to glean news of Rachel. But the only news now was of a very fragmentary kind; she had drunksomething; she had slept a little; she seemed quieter. In the same way, Dr. Lesage confined himself to talking about details, save once whenhe volunteered the information that he had just been called in toascertain, by severing a vein in the wrist, that an old lady ofeighty-five was really dead. She had a horror of being buried alive. 

"It is a horror, " he remarked, "that we generally find in the very old, and seldom in the young. " They both expressed their interest in what hetold them; it seemed to them very strange. Another strange thing aboutthe day was that the luncheon was forgotten by all of them until it waslate in the afternoon, and then Mrs. Chailey waited on them, and lookedstrange too, because she wore a stiff print dress, and her sleeves wererolled up above her elbows. She seemed as oblivious of her appearance, however, as if she had been called out of her bed by a midnight alarmof fire, and she had forgotten, too, her reserve and her composure; shetalked to them quite familiarly as if she had nursed them and held themnaked on her knee. She assured them over and over again that it wastheir duty to eat. 

The afternoon, being thus shortened, passed more quickly than theyexpected. Once Mrs. Flushing opened the door, but on seeing them shut itagain quickly; once Helen came down to fetch something, but she stoppedas she left the room to look at a letter addressed to her. She stood fora moment turning it over, and the extraordinary and mournful beautyof her attitude struck Terence in the way things struck him now--assomething to be put away in his mind and to be thought about afterwards. They scarcely spoke, the argument between them seeming to be suspendedor forgotten. 

Now that the afternoon sun had left the front of the house, Ridley pacedup and down the terrace repeating stanzas of a long poem, in a subduedbut suddenly sonorous voice. Fragments of the poem were wafted in at theopen window as he passed and repassed. 

 Peor and Baalim Forsake their Temples dim, With that twice batter'd God of Palestine And mooned Astaroth--

The sound of these words were strangely discomforting to both the youngmen, but they had to be borne. As the evening drew on and the redlight of the sunset glittered far away on the sea, the same sense ofdesperation attacked both Terence and St. John at the thought that theday was nearly over, and that another night was at hand. The appearanceof one light after another in the town beneath them produced in Hirst arepetition of his terrible and disgusting desire to break down and sob. Then the lamps were brought in by Chailey. She explained that Maria, inopening a bottle, had been so foolish as to cut her arm badly, but shehad bound it up; it was unfortunate when there was so much work to bedone. Chailey herself limped because of the rheumatism in her feet, butit appeared to her mere waste of time to take any notice of the unrulyflesh of servants. The evening went on. Dr. Lesage arrived unexpectedly, and stayed upstairs a very long time. He came down once and drank a cupof coffee. 

"She is very ill, " he said in answer to Ridley's question. All theannoyance had by this time left his manner, he was grave and formal, butat the same time it was full of consideration, which had not markedit before. He went upstairs again. The three men sat together in thedrawing-room. Ridley was quite quiet now, and his attention seemed tobe thoroughly awakened. Save for little half-voluntary movements andexclamations that were stifled at once, they waited in complete silence. It seemed as if they were at last brought together face to face withsomething definite. 

It was nearly eleven o'clock when Dr. Lesage again appeared in the room. He approached them very slowly, and did not speak at once. He lookedfirst at St. John and then at Terence, and said to Terence, "Mr. Hewet, I think you should go upstairs now. "

Terence rose immediately, leaving the others seated with Dr. Lesagestanding motionless between them. 

Chailey was in the passage outside, repeating over and over again, "It'swicked--it's wicked. "

Terence paid her no attention; he heard what she was saying, but itconveyed no meaning to his mind. All the way upstairs he kept saying tohimself, "This has not happened to me. It is not possible that this hashappened to me. "

He looked curiously at his own hand on the banisters. The stairs werevery steep, and it seemed to take him a long time to surmount them. Instead of feeling keenly, as he knew that he ought to feel, he feltnothing at all. When he opened the door he saw Helen sitting by thebedside. There were shaded lights on the table, and the room, thoughit seemed to be full of a great many things, was very tidy. There was afaint and not unpleasant smell of disinfectants. Helen rose and gave upher chair to him in silence. As they passed each other their eyes met ina peculiar level glance, he wondered at the extraordinary clearness ofhis eyes, and at the deep calm and sadness that dwelt in them. He satdown by the bedside, and a moment afterwards heard the door shut gentlybehind her. He was alone with Rachel, and a faint reflection of thesense of relief that they used to feel when they were left alonepossessed him. He looked at her. He expected to find some terriblechange in her, but there was none. She looked indeed very thin, and, asfar as he could see, very tired, but she was the same as she had alwaysbeen. Moreover, she saw him and knew him. She smiled at him and said, "Hullo, Terence. "

The curtain which had been drawn between them for so long vanishedimmediately. 

"Well, Rachel, " he replied in his usual voice, upon which she opened hereyes quite widely and smiled with her familiar smile. He kissed her andtook her hand. 

"It's been wretched without you, " he said. 

She still looked at him and smiled, but soon a slight look of fatigue orperplexity came into her eyes and she shut them again. 

"But when we're together we're perfectly happy, " he said. He continuedto hold her hand. 

The light being dim, it was impossible to see any change in her face. An immense feeling of peace came over Terence, so that he had no wishto move or to speak. The terrible torture and unreality of the last dayswere over, and he had come out now into perfect certainty and peace. Hismind began to work naturally again and with great ease. The longer hesat there the more profoundly was he conscious of the peace invadingevery corner of his soul. Once he held his breath and listened acutely;she was still breathing; he went on thinking for some time; they seemedto be thinking together; he seemed to be Rachel as well as himself;and then he listened again; no, she had ceased to breathe. So much thebetter--this was death. It was nothing; it was to cease to breathe. It was happiness, it was perfect happiness. They had now what they hadalways wanted to have, the union which had been impossible while theylived. Unconscious whether he thought the words or spoke them aloud, hesaid, "No two people have ever been so happy as we have been. No one hasever loved as we have loved. "

It seemed to him that their complete union and happiness filled the roomwith rings eddying more and more widely. He had no wish in the worldleft unfulfilled. They possessed what could never be taken from them. 

He was not conscious that any one had come into the room, but later, moments later, or hours later perhaps, he felt an arm behind him. Thearms were round him. He did not want to have arms round him, and themysterious whispering voices annoyed him. He laid Rachel's hand, whichwas now cold, upon the counterpane, and rose from his chair, and walkedacross to the window. The windows were uncurtained, and showed the moon, and a long silver pathway upon the surface of the waves. 

"Why, " he said, in his ordinary tone of voice, "look at the moon. There's a halo round the moon. We shall have rain to-morrow. "

The arms, whether they were the arms of man or of woman, were round himagain; they were pushing him gently towards the door. He turned of hisown accord and walked steadily in advance of the arms, conscious ofa little amusement at the strange way in which people behaved merelybecause some one was dead. He would go if they wished it, but nothingthey could do would disturb his happiness. 

As he saw the passage outside the room, and the table with the cups andthe plates, it suddenly came over him that here was a world in which hewould never see Rachel again. 

"Rachel! Rachel!" he shrieked, trying to rush back to her. But theyprevented him, and pushed him down the passage and into a bedroom farfrom her room. Downstairs they could hear the thud of his feet on thefloor, as he struggled to break free; and twice they heard him shout, "Rachel, Rachel!"

Chapter XXVI

For two or three hours longer the moon poured its light through theempty air. Unbroken by clouds it fell straightly, and lay almost likea chill white frost over the sea and the earth. During these hours thesilence was not broken, and the only movement was caused by the movementof trees and branches which stirred slightly, and then the shadows thatlay across the white spaces of the land moved too. In this profoundsilence one sound only was audible, the sound of a slight but continuousbreathing which never ceased, although it never rose and never fell. Itcontinued after the birds had begun to flutter from branch to branch, and could be heard behind the first thin notes of their voices. Itcontinued all through the hours when the east whitened, and grew red, and a faint blue tinged the sky, but when the sun rose it ceased, andgave place to other sounds. 

The first sounds that were heard were little inarticulate cries, thecries, it seemed, of children or of the very poor, of people who werevery weak or in pain. But when the sun was above the horizon, the airwhich had been thin and pale grew every moment richer and warmer, andthe sounds of life became bolder and more full of courage and authority. By degrees the smoke began to ascend in wavering breaths over thehouses, and these slowly thickened, until they were as round andstraight as columns, and instead of striking upon pale white blinds, thesun shone upon dark windows, beyond which there was depth and space. 

The sun had been up for many hours, and the great dome of air was warmedthrough and glittering with thin gold threads of sunlight, before anyone moved in the hotel. White and massive it stood in the early light, half asleep with its blinds down. 

At about half-past nine Miss Allan came very slowly into the hall, andwalked very slowly to the table where the morning papers were laid, butshe did not put out her hand to take one; she stood still, thinking, with her head a little sunk upon her shoulders. She looked curiouslyold, and from the way in which she stood, a little hunched together andvery massive, you could see what she would be like when she was reallyold, how she would sit day after day in her chair looking placidly infront of her. Other people began to come into the room, and to pass her, but she did not speak to any of them or even look at them, and at last, as if it were necessary to do something, she sat down in a chair, andlooked quietly and fixedly in front of her. She felt very old thismorning, and useless too, as if her life had been a failure, as if ithad been hard and laborious to no purpose. She did not want to go onliving, and yet she knew that she would. She was so strong that shewould live to be a very old woman. She would probably live to be eighty, and as she was now fifty, that left thirty years more for her tolive. She turned her hands over and over in her lap and looked at themcuriously; her old hands, that had done so much work for her. There didnot seem to be much point in it all; one went on, of course one wenton. . . . She looked up to see Mrs. Thornbury standing beside her, withlines drawn upon her forehead, and her lips parted as if she were aboutto ask a question. 

Miss Allan anticipated her. 

"Yes, " she said. "She died this morning, very early, about threeo'clock. "

Mrs. Thornbury made a little exclamation, drew her lips together, andthe tears rose in her eyes. Through them she looked at the hall whichwas now laid with great breadths of sunlight, and at the careless, casual groups of people who were standing beside the solid arm-chairsand tables. They looked to her unreal, or as people look who remainunconscious that some great explosion is about to take place besidethem. But there was no explosion, and they went on standing bythe chairs and the tables. Mrs. Thornbury no longer saw them, but, penetrating through them as though they were without substance, she sawthe house, the people in the house, the room, the bed in the room, andthe figure of the dead lying still in the dark beneath the sheets. She could almost see the dead. She could almost hear the voices of themourners. 

"They expected it?" she asked at length. 

Miss Allan could only shake her head. 

"I know nothing, " she replied, "except what Mrs. Flushing's maid toldme. She died early this morning. "

The two women looked at each other with a quiet significant gaze, andthen, feeling oddly dazed, and seeking she did not know exactly what, Mrs. Thornbury went slowly upstairs and walked quietly along thepassages, touching the wall with her fingers as if to guide herself. Housemaids were passing briskly from room to room, but Mrs. Thornburyavoided them; she hardly saw them; they seemed to her to be in anotherworld. She did not even look up directly when Evelyn stopped her. Itwas evident that Evelyn had been lately in tears, and when she lookedat Mrs. Thornbury she began to cry again. Together they drew into thehollow of a window, and stood there in silence. Broken words formedthemselves at last among Evelyn's sobs. "It was wicked, " she sobbed, "itwas cruel--they were so happy. "

Mrs. Thornbury patted her on the shoulder. 

"It seems hard--very hard, " she said. She paused and looked out over theslope of the hill at the Ambroses' villa; the windows were blazing inthe sun, and she thought how the soul of the dead had passed from thosewindows. Something had passed from the world. It seemed to her strangelyempty. 

"And yet the older one grows, " she continued, her eyes regaining morethan their usual brightness, "the more certain one becomes that there isa reason. How could one go on if there were no reason?" she asked. 

She asked the question of some one, but she did not ask it of Evelyn. Evelyn's sobs were becoming quieter. "There must be a reason, " she said. "It can't only be an accident. For it was an accident--it need neverhave happened. "

Mrs. Thornbury sighed deeply. 

"But we must not let ourselves think of that, " she added, "and let ushope that they don't either. Whatever they had done it might have beenthe same. These terrible illnesses--"

"There's no reason--I don't believe there's any reason at all!" Evelynbroke out, pulling the blind down and letting it fly back with a littlesnap. 

"Why should these things happen? Why should people suffer? I honestlybelieve, " she went on, lowering her voice slightly, "that Rachel's inHeaven, but Terence. . . . "

"What's the good of it all?" she demanded. 

Mrs. Thornbury shook her head slightly but made no reply, and pressingEvelyn's hand she went on down the passage. Impelled by a strong desireto hear something, although she did not know exactly what there was tohear, she was making her way to the Flushings' room. As she opened theirdoor she felt that she had interrupted some argument between husbandand wife. Mrs. Flushing was sitting with her back to the light, and Mr. Flushing was standing near her, arguing and trying to persuade her ofsomething. 

"Ah, here is Mrs. Thornbury, " he began with some relief in his voice. "You have heard, of course. My wife feels that she was in some wayresponsible. She urged poor Miss Vinrace to come on the expedition. I'msure you will agree with me that it is most unreasonable to feel that. We don't even know--in fact I think it most unlikely--that she caughther illness there. These diseases--Besides, she was set on going. Shewould have gone whether you asked her or not, Alice. "

"Don't, Wilfrid, " said Mrs. Flushing, neither moving nor taking her eyesoff the spot on the floor upon which they rested. "What's the use oftalking? What's the use--?" She ceased. 

"I was coming to ask you, " said Mrs. Thornbury, addressing Wilfrid, forit was useless to speak to his wife. "Is there anything you think thatone could do? Has the father arrived? Could one go and see?"

The strongest wish in her being at this moment was to be able to dosomething for the unhappy people--to see them--to assure them--to helpthem. It was dreadful to be so far away from them. But Mr. Flushingshook his head; he did not think that now--later perhaps one might beable to help. Here Mrs. Flushing rose stiffly, turned her back to them, and walked to the dressing-room opposite. As she walked, they could seeher breast slowly rise and slowly fall. But her grief was silent. Sheshut the door behind her. 

When she was alone by herself she clenched her fists together, and beganbeating the back of a chair with them. She was like a wounded animal. She hated death; she was furious, outraged, indignant with death, asif it were a living creature. She refused to relinquish her friends todeath. She would not submit to dark and nothingness. She began to paceup and down, clenching her hands, and making no attempt to stop thequick tears which raced down her cheeks. She sat still at last, but shedid not submit. She looked stubborn and strong when she had ceased tocry. 

In the next room, meanwhile, Wilfrid was talking to Mrs. Thornbury withgreater freedom now that his wife was not sitting there. 

"That's the worst of these places, " he said. "People will behave asthough they were in England, and they're not. I've no doubt myself thatMiss Vinrace caught the infection up at the villa itself. She probablyran risks a dozen times a day that might have given her the illness. It's absurd to say she caught it with us. "

If he had not been sincerely sorry for them he would have been annoyed. "Pepper tells me, " he continued, "that he left the house because hethought them so careless. He says they never washed their vegetablesproperly. Poor people! It's a fearful price to pay. But it's only whatI've seen over and over again--people seem to forget that these thingshappen, and then they do happen, and they're surprised. "

Mrs. Thornbury agreed with him that they had been very careless, andthat there was no reason whatever to think that she had caught the feveron the expedition; and after talking about other things for a shorttime, she left him and went sadly along the passage to her own room. There must be some reason why such things happen, she thought toherself, as she shut the door. Only at first it was not easy tounderstand what it was. It seemed so strange--so unbelievable. Why, onlythree weeks ago--only a fortnight ago, she had seen Rachel; when sheshut her eyes she could almost see her now, the quiet, shy girl who wasgoing to be married. She thought of all that she would have missedhad she died at Rachel's age, the children, the married life, theunimaginable depths and miracles that seemed to her, as she looked back, to have lain about her, day after day, and year after year. The stunnedfeeling, which had been making it difficult for her to think, graduallygave way to a feeling of the opposite nature; she thought very quicklyand very clearly, and, looking back over all her experiences, tried tofit them into a kind of order. There was undoubtedly much suffering, much struggling, but, on the whole, surely there was a balance ofhappiness--surely order did prevail. Nor were the deaths of young peoplereally the saddest things in life--they were saved so much; they keptso much. The dead--she called to mind those who had died early, accidentally--were beautiful; she often dreamt of the dead. And intime Terence himself would come to feel--She got up and began to wanderrestlessly about the room. 

For an old woman of her age she was very restless, and for one of herclear, quick mind she was unusually perplexed. She could not settle toanything, so that she was relieved when the door opened. She went upto her husband, took him in her arms, and kissed him with unusualintensity, and then as they sat down together she began to pat him andquestion him as if he were a baby, an old, tired, querulous baby. Shedid not tell him about Miss Vinrace's death, for that would only disturbhim, and he was put out already. She tried to discover why he wasuneasy. Politics again? What were those horrid people doing? She spentthe whole morning in discussing politics with her husband, and bydegrees she became deeply interested in what they were saying. But everynow and then what she was saying seemed to her oddly empty of meaning. 

At luncheon it was remarked by several people that the visitors at thehotel were beginning to leave; there were fewer every day. There wereonly forty people at luncheon, instead of the sixty that there had been. So old Mrs. Paley computed, gazing about her with her faded eyes, asshe took her seat at her own table in the window. Her party generallyconsisted of Mr. Perrott as well as Arthur and Susan, and to-day Evelynwas lunching with them also. 

She was unusually subdued. Having noticed that her eyes were red, andguessing the reason, the others took pains to keep up an elaborateconversation between themselves. She suffered it to go on for afew minutes, leaning both elbows on the table, and leaving her soupuntouched, when she exclaimed suddenly, "I don't know how you feel, butI can simply think of nothing else!"

The gentlemen murmured sympathetically, and looked grave. 

Susan replied, "Yes--isn't it perfectly awful? When you think whata nice girl she was--only just engaged, and this need never havehappened--it seems too tragic. " She looked at Arthur as though he mightbe able to help her with something more suitable. 

"Hard lines, " said Arthur briefly. "But it was a foolish thing to do--togo up that river. " He shook his head. "They should have known better. You can't expect Englishwomen to stand roughing it as the natives dowho've been acclimatised. I'd half a mind to warn them at tea thatday when it was being discussed. But it's no good saying these sort ofthings--it only puts people's backs up--it never makes any difference. "

Old Mrs. Paley, hitherto contented with her soup, here intimated, byraising one hand to her ear, that she wished to know what was beingsaid. 

"You heard, Aunt Emma, that poor Miss Vinrace has died of the fever, "Susan informed her gently. She could not speak of death loudly or evenin her usual voice, so that Mrs. Paley did not catch a word. Arthur cameto the rescue. 

"Miss Vinrace is dead, " he said very distinctly. 

Mrs. Paley merely bent a little towards him and asked, "Eh?"

"Miss Vinrace is dead, " he repeated. It was only by stiffening all themuscles round his mouth that he could prevent himself from burstinginto laughter, and forced himself to repeat for the third time, "MissVinrace. . . . She's dead. "

Let alone the difficulty of hearing the exact words, facts that wereoutside her daily experience took some time to reach Mrs. Paley'sconsciousness. A weight seemed to rest upon her brain, impeding, thoughnot damaging its action. She sat vague-eyed for at least a minute beforeshe realised what Arthur meant. 

"Dead?" she said vaguely. "Miss Vinrace dead? Dear me . . . That's verysad. But I don't at the moment remember which she was. We seem to havemade so many new acquaintances here. " She looked at Susan for help. "Atall dark girl, who just missed being handsome, with a high colour?"

"No, " Susan interposed. "She was--" then she gave it up in despair. There was no use in explaining that Mrs. Paley was thinking of the wrongperson. 

"She ought not to have died, " Mrs. Paley continued. "She looked sostrong. But people will drink the water. I can never make out why. Itseems such a simple thing to tell them to put a bottle of Seltzer waterin your bedroom. That's all the precaution I've ever taken, and I'vebeen in every part of the world, I may say--Italy a dozen times over.. . . But young people always think they know better, and then they paythe penalty. Poor thing--I am very sorry for her. " But the difficultyof peering into a dish of potatoes and helping herself engrossed herattention. 

Arthur and Susan both secretly hoped that the subject was now disposedof, for there seemed to them something unpleasant in this discussion. But Evelyn was not ready to let it drop. Why would people never talkabout the things that mattered?

"I don't believe you care a bit!" she said, turning savagely upon Mr. Perrott, who had sat all this time in silence. 

"I? Oh, yes, I do, " he answered awkwardly, but with obvious sincerity. Evelyn's questions made him too feel uncomfortable. 

"It seems so inexplicable, " Evelyn continued. "Death, I mean. Why shouldshe be dead, and not you or I? It was only a fortnight ago that shewas here with the rest of us. What d'you believe?" she demanded ofmr. Perrott. "D'you believe that things go on, that she's stillsomewhere--or d'you think it's simply a game--we crumble up to nothingwhen we die? I'm positive Rachel's not dead. "

Mr. Perrott would have said almost anything that Evelyn wanted him tosay, but to assert that he believed in the immortality of the soulwas not in his power. He sat silent, more deeply wrinkled than usual, crumbling his bread. 

Lest Evelyn should next ask him what he believed, Arthur, after making apause equivalent to a full stop, started a completely different topic. 

"Supposing, " he said, "a man were to write and tell you that he wantedfive pounds because he had known your grandfather, what would you do? Itwas this way. My grandfather--"

"Invented a stove, " said Evelyn. "I know all about that. We had one inthe conservatory to keep the plants warm. "

"Didn't know I was so famous, " said Arthur. "Well, " he continued, determined at all costs to spin his story out at length, "the old chap, being about the second best inventor of his day, and a capable lawyertoo, died, as they always do, without making a will. Now Fielding, hisclerk, with how much justice I don't know, always claimed that he meantto do something for him. The poor old boy's come down in the worldthrough trying inventions on his own account, lives in Penge over atobacconist's shop. I've been to see him there. The question is--mustI stump up or not? What does the abstract spirit of justice require, Perrott? Remember, I didn't benefit under my grandfather's will, andI've no way of testing the truth of the story. "

"I don't know much about the abstract spirit of justice, " said Susan, smiling complacently at the others, "but I'm certain of one thing--he'llget his five pounds!"

As Mr. Perrott proceeded to deliver an opinion, and Evelyn insisted thathe was much too stingy, like all lawyers, thinking of the letter and notof the spirit, while Mrs. Paley required to be kept informed betweenthe courses as to what they were all saying, the luncheon passed with nointerval of silence, and Arthur congratulated himself upon the tact withwhich the discussion had been smoothed over. 

As they left the room it happened that Mrs. Paley's wheeled chair raninto the Elliots, who were coming through the door, as she was goingout. Brought thus to a standstill for a moment, Arthur and Susancongratulated Hughling Elliot upon his convalescence, --he was down, cadaverous enough, for the first time, --and Mr. Perrott took occasion tosay a few words in private to Evelyn. 

"Would there be any chance of seeing you this afternoon, aboutthree-thirty say? I shall be in the garden, by the fountain. "

The block dissolved before Evelyn answered. But as she left them in thehall, she looked at him brightly and said, "Half-past three, did yousay? That'll suit me. "

She ran upstairs with the feeling of spiritual exaltation and quickenedlife which the prospect of an emotional scene always aroused in her. That Mr. Perrott was again about to propose to her, she had no doubt, and she was aware that on this occasion she ought to be prepared witha definite answer, for she was going away in three days' time. Butshe could not bring her mind to bear upon the question. To come to adecision was very difficult to her, because she had a natural dislike ofanything final and done with; she liked to go on and on--always on andon. She was leaving, and, therefore, she occupied herself in laying herclothes out side by side upon the bed. She observed that some were veryshabby. She took the photograph of her father and mother, and, beforeshe laid it away in her box, she held it for a minute in her hand. Rachel had looked at it. Suddenly the keen feeling of some one'spersonality, which things that they have owned or handled sometimespreserves, overcame her; she felt Rachel in the room with her; it was asif she were on a ship at sea, and the life of the day was as unrealas the land in the distance. But by degrees the feeling of Rachel'spresence passed away, and she could no longer realise her, for she hadscarcely known her. But this momentary sensation left her depressed andfatigued. What had she done with her life? What future was there beforeher? What was make-believe, and what was real? Were these proposals andintimacies and adventures real, or was the contentment which she hadseen on the faces of Susan and Rachel more real than anything she hadever felt?

She made herself ready to go downstairs, absentmindedly, but her fingerswere so well trained that they did the work of preparing her almost oftheir own accord. When she was actually on the way downstairs, the bloodbegan to circle through her body of its own accord too, for her mindfelt very dull. 

Mr. Perrott was waiting for her. Indeed, he had gone straight into thegarden after luncheon, and had been walking up and down the path formore than half an hour, in a state of acute suspense. 

"I'm late as usual!" she exclaimed, as she caught sight of him. "Well, you must forgive me; I had to pack up. . . . My word! It looks stormy!And that's a new steamer in the bay, isn't it?"

She looked at the bay, in which a steamer was just dropping anchor, thesmoke still hanging about it, while a swift black shudder ran throughthe waves. "One's quite forgotten what rain looks like, " she added. 

But Mr. Perrott paid no attention to the steamer or to the weather. 

"Miss Murgatroyd, " he began with his usual formality, "I asked you tocome here from a very selfish motive, I fear. I do not think you need tobe assured once more of my feelings; but, as you are leaving so soon, Ifelt that I could not let you go without asking you to tell me--have Iany reason to hope that you will ever come to care for me?"

He was very pale, and seemed unable to say any more. 

The little gush of vitality which had come into Evelyn as she randownstairs had left her, and she felt herself impotent. There wasnothing for her to say; she felt nothing. Now that he was actuallyasking her, in his elderly gentle words, to marry him, she felt less forhim than she had ever felt before. 

"Let's sit down and talk it over, " she said rather unsteadily. 

Mr. Perrott followed her to a curved green seat under a tree. Theylooked at the fountain in front of them, which had long ceased to play. Evelyn kept looking at the fountain instead of thinking of what she wassaying; the fountain without any water seemed to be the type of her ownbeing. 

"Of course I care for you, " she began, rushing her words out in a hurry;"I should be a brute if I didn't. I think you're quite one of the nicestpeople I've ever known, and one of the finest too. But I wish . . . Iwish you didn't care for me in that way. Are you sure you do?" For themoment she honestly desired that he should say no. 

"Quite sure, " said Mr. Perrott. 

"You see, I'm not as simple as most women, " Evelyn continued. "I think Iwant more. I don't know exactly what I feel. "

He sat by her, watching her and refraining from speech. 

"I sometimes think I haven't got it in me to care very much for oneperson only. Some one else would make you a better wife. I can imagineyou very happy with some one else. "

"If you think that there is any chance that you will come to care forme, I am quite content to wait, " said Mr. Perrott. 

"Well--there's no hurry, is there?" said Evelyn. "Suppose I thought itover and wrote and told you when I get back? I'm going to Moscow; I'llwrite from Moscow. "

But Mr. Perrott persisted. 

"You cannot give me any kind of idea. I do not ask for a date . . . Thatwould be most unreasonable. " He paused, looking down at the gravel path. 

As she did not immediately answer, he went on. 

"I know very well that I am not--that I have not much to offer youeither in myself or in my circumstances. And I forget; it cannot seemthe miracle to you that it does to me. Until I met you I had gone on inmy own quiet way--we are both very quiet people, my sister and I--quitecontent with my lot. My friendship with Arthur was the most importantthing in my life. Now that I know you, all that has changed. You seemto put such a spirit into everything. Life seems to hold so manypossibilities that I had never dreamt of. "

"That's splendid!" Evelyn exclaimed, grasping his hand. "Now you'll goback and start all kinds of things and make a great name in the world;and we'll go on being friends, whatever happens . . . We'll be greatfriends, won't we?"

"Evelyn!" he moaned suddenly, and took her in his arms, and kissed her. She did not resent it, although it made little impression on her. 

As she sat upright again, she said, "I never see why one shouldn't goon being friends--though some people do. And friendships do make adifference, don't they? They are the kind of things that matter in one'slife?"

He looked at her with a bewildered expression as if he did not reallyunderstand what she was saying. With a considerable effort he collectedhimself, stood up, and said, "Now I think I have told you what I feel, and I will only add that I can wait as long as ever you wish. "

Left alone, Evelyn walked up and down the path. What did matter than?What was the meaning of it all?

Chapter XXVII

All that evening the clouds gathered, until they closed entirely overthe blue of the sky. They seemed to narrow the space between earth andheaven, so that there was no room for the air to move in freely; andthe waves, too, lay flat, and yet rigid, as if they were restrained. Theleaves on the bushes and trees in the garden hung closely together, and the feeling of pressure and restraint was increased by the shortchirping sounds which came from birds and insects. 

So strange were the lights and the silence that the busy hum of voiceswhich usually filled the dining-room at meal times had distinct gapsin it, and during these silences the clatter of the knives upon platesbecame audible. The first roll of thunder and the first heavy dropstriking the pane caused a little stir. 

"It's coming!" was said simultaneously in many different languages. 

There was then a profound silence, as if the thunder had withdrawn intoitself. People had just begun to eat again, when a gust of cold aircame through the open windows, lifting tablecloths and skirts, a lightflashed, and was instantly followed by a clap of thunder right over thehotel. The rain swished with it, and immediately there were allthose sounds of windows being shut and doors slamming violently whichaccompany a storm. 

The room grew suddenly several degrees darker, for the wind seemed to bedriving waves of darkness across the earth. No one attempted to eat fora time, but sat looking out at the garden, with their forks in the air. The flashes now came frequently, lighting up faces as if they were goingto be photographed, surprising them in tense and unnatural expressions. The clap followed close and violently upon them. Several women halfrose from their chairs and then sat down again, but dinner was continueduneasily with eyes upon the garden. The bushes outside were ruffled andwhitened, and the wind pressed upon them so that they seemed to stoop tothe ground. The waiters had to press dishes upon the diners' notice;and the diners had to draw the attention of waiters, for they were allabsorbed in looking at the storm. As the thunder showed no signs ofwithdrawing, but seemed massed right overhead, while the lightning aimedstraight at the garden every time, an uneasy gloom replaced the firstexcitement. 

Finishing the meal very quickly, people congregated in the hall, wherethey felt more secure than in any other place because they could retreatfar from the windows, and although they heard the thunder, they couldnot see anything. A little boy was carried away sobbing in the arms ofhis mother. 

While the storm continued, no one seemed inclined to sit down, but theycollected in little groups under the central skylight, where they stoodin a yellow atmosphere, looking upwards. Now and again their facesbecame white, as the lightning flashed, and finally a terrific crashcame, making the panes of the skylight lift at the joints. 

"Ah!" several voices exclaimed at the same moment. 

"Something struck, " said a man's voice. 

The rain rushed down. The rain seemed now to extinguish the lightningand the thunder, and the hall became almost dark. 

After a minute or two, when nothing was heard but the rattle of waterupon the glass, there was a perceptible slackening of the sound, andthen the atmosphere became lighter. 

"It's over, " said another voice. 

At a touch, all the electric lights were turned on, and revealed a crowdof people all standing, all looking with rather strained faces up atthe skylight, but when they saw each other in the artificial lightthey turned at once and began to move away. For some minutes the raincontinued to rattle upon the skylight, and the thunder gave anothershake or two; but it was evident from the clearing of the darkness andthe light drumming of the rain upon the roof, that the great confusedocean of air was travelling away from them, and passing high over headwith its clouds and its rods of fire, out to sea. The building, whichhad seemed so small in the tumult of the storm, now became as square andspacious as usual. 

As the storm drew away, the people in the hall of the hotel sat down;and with a comfortable sense of relief, began to tell each other storiesabout great storms, and produced in many cases their occupations forthe evening. The chess-board was brought out, and Mr. Elliot, who wore astock instead of a collar as a sign of convalescence, but was otherwisemuch as usual, challenged Mr. Pepper to a final contest. Round themgathered a group of ladies with pieces of needlework, or in default ofneedlework, with novels, to superintend the game, much as if they werein charge of two small boys playing marbles. Every now and then theylooked at the board and made some encouraging remark to the gentlemen. 

Mrs. Paley just round the corner had her cards arranged in long laddersbefore her, with Susan sitting near to sympathise but not to correct, and the merchants and the miscellaneous people who had never beendiscovered to possess names were stretched in their arm-chairs withtheir newspapers on their knees. The conversation in these circumstanceswas very gentle, fragmentary, and intermittent, but the room was full ofthe indescribable stir of life. Every now and then the moth, which wasnow grey of wing and shiny of thorax, whizzed over their heads, and hitthe lamps with a thud. 

A young woman put down her needlework and exclaimed, "Poor creature! itwould be kinder to kill it. " But nobody seemed disposed to rouse himselfin order to kill the moth. They watched it dash from lamp to lamp, because they were comfortable, and had nothing to do. 

On the sofa, beside the chess-players, Mrs. Elliot was imparting a newstitch in knitting to Mrs. Thornbury, so that their heads came very neartogether, and were only to be distinguished by the old lace cap whichMrs. Thornbury wore in the evening. Mrs. Elliot was an expert atknitting, and disclaimed a compliment to that effect with evident pride. 

"I suppose we're all proud of something, " she said, "and I'm proud of myknitting. I think things like that run in families. We all knit well. Ihad an uncle who knitted his own socks to the day of his death--andhe did it better than any of his daughters, dear old gentleman. Now Iwonder that you, Miss Allan, who use your eyes so much, don't takeup knitting in the evenings. You'd find it such a relief, I shouldsay--such a rest to the eyes--and the bazaars are so glad of things. "Her voice dropped into the smooth half-conscious tone of the expertknitter; the words came gently one after another. "As much as I do Ican always dispose of, which is a comfort, for then I feel that I am notwasting my time--"

Miss Allan, being thus addressed, shut her novel and observed the othersplacidly for a time. At last she said, "It is surely not natural toleave your wife because she happens to be in love with you. But that--asfar as I can make out--is what the gentleman in my story does. "

"Tut, tut, that doesn't sound good--no, that doesn't sound at allnatural, " murmured the knitters in their absorbed voices. 

"Still, it's the kind of book people call very clever, " Miss Allanadded. 

"_Maternity_--by Michael Jessop--I presume, " Mr. Elliot put in, for hecould never resist the temptation of talking while he played chess. 

"D'you know, " said Mrs. Elliot, after a moment, "I don't think people_do_ write good novels now--not as good as they used to, anyhow. "

No one took the trouble to agree with her or to disagree with her. Arthur Venning who was strolling about, sometimes looking at the game, sometimes reading a page of a magazine, looked at Miss Allan, who washalf asleep, and said humorously, "A penny for your thoughts, MissAllan. "

The others looked up. They were glad that he had not spoken to them. But Miss Allan replied without any hesitation, "I was thinking ofmy imaginary uncle. Hasn't every one got an imaginary uncle?" shecontinued. "I have one--a most delightful old gentleman. He's alwaysgiving me things. Sometimes it's a gold watch; sometimes it's a carriageand pair; sometimes it's a beautiful little cottage in the New Forest;sometimes it's a ticket to the place I most want to see. "

She set them all thinking vaguely of the things they wanted. Mrs. Elliotknew exactly what she wanted; she wanted a child; and the usual littlepucker deepened on her brow. 

"We're such lucky people, " she said, looking at her husband. "We reallyhave no wants. " She was apt to say this, partly in order to convinceherself, and partly in order to convince other people. But she wasprevented from wondering how far she carried conviction by the entranceof Mr. And Mrs. Flushing, who came through the hall and stopped by thechess-board. Mrs. Flushing looked wilder than ever. A great strand ofblack hair looped down across her brow, her cheeks were whipped a darkblood red, and drops of rain made wet marks upon them. 

Mr. Flushing explained that they had been on the roof watching thestorm. 

"It was a wonderful sight, " he said. "The lightning went right out overthe sea, and lit up the waves and the ships far away. You can't thinkhow wonderful the mountains looked too, with the lights on them, and thegreat masses of shadow. It's all over now. "

He slid down into a chair, becoming interested in the final struggle ofthe game. 

"And you go back to-morrow?" said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at Mrs. Flushing. 

"Yes, " she replied. 

"And indeed one is not sorry to go back, " said Mrs. Elliot, assuming anair of mournful anxiety, "after all this illness. "

"Are you afraid of dyin'?" Mrs. Flushing demanded scornfully. 

"I think we are all afraid of that, " said Mrs. Elliot with dignity. 

"I suppose we're all cowards when it comes to the point, " said Mrs. Flushing, rubbing her cheek against the back of the chair. "I'm sure Iam. "

"Not a bit of it!" said Mr. Flushing, turning round, for Mr. Pepper tooka very long time to consider his move. "It's not cowardly to wish tolive, Alice. It's the very reverse of cowardly. Personally, I'd like togo on for a hundred years--granted, of course, that I had the full useof my faculties. Think of all the things that are bound to happen!""That is what I feel, " Mrs. Thornbury rejoined. "The changes, theimprovements, the inventions--and beauty. D'you know I feel sometimesthat I couldn't bear to die and cease to see beautiful things about me?"

"It would certainly be very dull to die before they have discoveredwhether there is life in Mars, " Miss Allan added. 

"Do you really believe there's life in Mars?" asked Mrs. Flushing, turning to her for the first time with keen interest. "Who tells youthat? Some one who knows? D'you know a man called--?"

Here Mrs. Thornbury laid down her knitting, and a look of extremesolicitude came into her eyes. 

"There is Mr. Hirst, " she said quietly. 

St. John had just come through the swing door. He was rather blownabout by the wind, and his cheeks looked terribly pale, unshorn, andcavernous. After taking off his coat he was going to pass straightthrough the hall and up to his room, but he could not ignore thepresence of so many people he knew, especially as Mrs. Thornbury roseand went up to him, holding out her hand. But the shock of the warmlamp-lit room, together with the sight of so many cheerful human beingssitting together at their ease, after the dark walk in the rain, and thelong days of strain and horror, overcame him completely. He looked atMrs. Thornbury and could not speak. 

Every one was silent. Mr. Pepper's hand stayed upon his Knight. Mrs. Thornbury somehow moved him to a chair, sat herself beside him, and withtears in her own eyes said gently, "You have done everything for yourfriend. "

Her action set them all talking again as if they had never stopped, andMr. Pepper finished the move with his Knight. 

"There was nothing to be done, " said St. John. He spoke very slowly. "Itseems impossible--"

He drew his hand across his eyes as if some dream came between him andthe others and prevented him from seeing where he was. 

"And that poor fellow, " said Mrs. Thornbury, the tears falling againdown her cheeks. 

"Impossible, " St. John repeated. 

"Did he have the consolation of knowing--?" Mrs. Thornbury began verytentatively. 

But St. John made no reply. He lay back in his chair, half-seeing theothers, half-hearing what they said. He was terribly tired, and thelight and warmth, the movements of the hands, and the soft communicativevoices soothed him; they gave him a strange sense of quiet and relief. As he sat there, motionless, this feeling of relief became a feelingof profound happiness. Without any sense of disloyalty to Terence andRachel he ceased to think about either of them. The movements and thevoices seemed to draw together from different parts of the room, and tocombine themselves into a pattern before his eyes; he was content to sitsilently watching the pattern build itself up, looking at what he hardlysaw. 

The game was really a good one, and Mr. Pepper and Mr. Elliot werebecoming more and more set upon the struggle. Mrs. Thornbury, seeingthat St. John did not wish to talk, resumed her knitting. 

"Lightning again!" Mrs. Flushing suddenly exclaimed. A yellow lightflashed across the blue window, and for a second they saw the greentrees outside. She strode to the door, pushed it open, and stood halfout in the open air. 

But the light was only the reflection of the storm which was over. Therain had ceased, the heavy clouds were blown away, and the air was thinand clear, although vapourish mists were being driven swiftly across themoon. The sky was once more a deep and solemn blue, and the shape of theearth was visible at the bottom of the air, enormous, dark, and solid, rising into the tapering mass of the mountain, and pricked here andthere on the slopes by the tiny lights of villas. The driving air, thedrone of the trees, and the flashing light which now and again spread abroad illumination over the earth filled Mrs. Flushing with exultation. Her breasts rose and fell. 

"Splendid! Splendid!" she muttered to herself. Then she turned back intothe hall and exclaimed in a peremptory voice, "Come outside and see, Wilfrid; it's wonderful. "

Some half-stirred; some rose; some dropped their balls of wool and beganto stoop to look for them. 

"To bed--to bed, " said Miss Allan. 

"It was the move with your Queen that gave it away, Pepper, " exclaimedMr. Elliot triumphantly, sweeping the pieces together and standing up. He had won the game. 

"What? Pepper beaten at last? I congratulate you!" said Arthur Venning, who was wheeling old Mrs. Paley to bed. 

All these voices sounded gratefully in St. John's ears as he layhalf-asleep, and yet vividly conscious of everything around him. Acrosshis eyes passed a procession of objects, black and indistinct, thefigures of people picking up their books, their cards, their balls ofwool, their work-baskets, and passing him one after another on their wayto bed.