NIGHT AND DAY

By Virginia Woolf

 TO VANESSA BELL BUT, LOOKING FOR A PHRASE, I FOUND NONE TO STAND BESIDE YOUR NAME

NIGHT AND DAY

CHAPTER I

It was a Sunday evening in October, and in common with many other youngladies of her class, Katharine Hilbery was pouring out tea. Perhaps afifth part of her mind was thus occupied, and the remaining parts leaptover the little barrier of day which interposed between Monday morningand this rather subdued moment, and played with the things one doesvoluntarily and normally in the daylight. But although she was silent, she was evidently mistress of a situation which was familiar enough toher, and inclined to let it take its way for the six hundredth time, perhaps, without bringing into play any of her unoccupied faculties. Asingle glance was enough to show that Mrs. Hilbery was so rich in thegifts which make tea-parties of elderly distinguished people successful, that she scarcely needed any help from her daughter, provided that thetiresome business of teacups and bread and butter was discharged forher. 

Considering that the little party had been seated round the tea-tablefor less than twenty minutes, the animation observable on their faces, and the amount of sound they were producing collectively, were verycreditable to the hostess. It suddenly came into Katharine's mind thatif some one opened the door at this moment he would think that they wereenjoying themselves; he would think, "What an extremely nice houseto come into!" and instinctively she laughed, and said something toincrease the noise, for the credit of the house presumably, since sheherself had not been feeling exhilarated. At the very same moment, rather to her amusement, the door was flung open, and a young manentered the room. Katharine, as she shook hands with him, asked him, in her own mind, "Now, do you think we're enjoying ourselvesenormously?"... "Mr. Denham, mother, " she said aloud, for she saw thather mother had forgotten his name. 

That fact was perceptible to Mr. Denham also, and increased theawkwardness which inevitably attends the entrance of a stranger into aroom full of people much at their ease, and all launched upon sentences. At the same time, it seemed to Mr. Denham as if a thousand softly paddeddoors had closed between him and the street outside. A fine mist, theetherealized essence of the fog, hung visibly in the wide and ratherempty space of the drawing-room, all silver where the candles weregrouped on the tea-table, and ruddy again in the firelight. Withthe omnibuses and cabs still running in his head, and his body stilltingling with his quick walk along the streets and in and out of trafficand foot-passengers, this drawing-room seemed very remote and still;and the faces of the elderly people were mellowed, at some distance fromeach other, and had a bloom on them owing to the fact that the air inthe drawing-room was thickened by blue grains of mist. Mr. Denham hadcome in as Mr. Fortescue, the eminent novelist, reached the middle of avery long sentence. He kept this suspended while the newcomer sat down, and Mrs. Hilbery deftly joined the severed parts by leaning towards himand remarking:

"Now, what would you do if you were married to an engineer, and had tolive in Manchester, Mr. Denham?"

"Surely she could learn Persian, " broke in a thin, elderly gentleman. "Is there no retired schoolmaster or man of letters in Manchester withwhom she could read Persian?"

"A cousin of ours has married and gone to live in Manchester, " Katharineexplained. Mr. Denham muttered something, which was indeed all thatwas required of him, and the novelist went on where he had left off. Privately, Mr. Denham cursed himself very sharply for having exchangedthe freedom of the street for this sophisticated drawing-room, where, among other disagreeables, he certainly would not appear at his best. Heglanced round him, and saw that, save for Katharine, they were all overforty, the only consolation being that Mr. Fortescue was a considerablecelebrity, so that to-morrow one might be glad to have met him. 

"Have you ever been to Manchester?" he asked Katharine. 

"Never, " she replied. 

"Why do you object to it, then?"

Katharine stirred her tea, and seemed to speculate, so Denham thought, upon the duty of filling somebody else's cup, but she was reallywondering how she was going to keep this strange young man in harmonywith the rest. She observed that he was compressing his teacup, so thatthere was danger lest the thin china might cave inwards. She could seethat he was nervous; one would expect a bony young man with his faceslightly reddened by the wind, and his hair not altogether smooth, tobe nervous in such a party. Further, he probably disliked this kind ofthing, and had come out of curiosity, or because her father had invitedhim--anyhow, he would not be easily combined with the rest. 

"I should think there would be no one to talk to in Manchester, " shereplied at random. Mr. Fortescue had been observing her for a moment ortwo, as novelists are inclined to observe, and at this remark he smiled, and made it the text for a little further speculation. 

"In spite of a slight tendency to exaggeration, Katharine decidedlyhits the mark, " he said, and lying back in his chair, with his opaquecontemplative eyes fixed on the ceiling, and the tips of his fingerspressed together, he depicted, first the horrors of the streets ofManchester, and then the bare, immense moors on the outskirts of thetown, and then the scrubby little house in which the girl would live, and then the professors and the miserable young students devoted to themore strenuous works of our younger dramatists, who would visit her, and how her appearance would change by degrees, and how she would fly toLondon, and how Katharine would have to lead her about, as one leads aneager dog on a chain, past rows of clamorous butchers' shops, poor dearcreature. 

"Oh, Mr. Fortescue, " exclaimed Mrs. Hilbery, as he finished, "I had justwritten to say how I envied her! I was thinking of the big gardens andthe dear old ladies in mittens, who read nothing but the "Spectator, "and snuff the candles. Have they ALL disappeared? I told her she wouldfind the nice things of London without the horrid streets that depressone so. "

"There is the University, " said the thin gentleman, who had previouslyinsisted upon the existence of people knowing Persian. 

"I know there are moors there, because I read about them in a book theother day, " said Katharine. 

"I am grieved and amazed at the ignorance of my family, " Mr. Hilberyremarked. He was an elderly man, with a pair of oval, hazel eyes whichwere rather bright for his time of life, and relieved the heaviness ofhis face. He played constantly with a little green stone attached to hiswatch-chain, thus displaying long and very sensitive fingers, and hada habit of moving his head hither and thither very quickly withoutaltering the position of his large and rather corpulent body, so that heseemed to be providing himself incessantly with food for amusement andreflection with the least possible expenditure of energy. One mightsuppose that he had passed the time of life when his ambitions werepersonal, or that he had gratified them as far as he was likely todo, and now employed his considerable acuteness rather to observe andreflect than to attain any result. 

Katharine, so Denham decided, while Mr. Fortescue built up anotherrounded structure of words, had a likeness to each of her parents, butthese elements were rather oddly blended. She had the quick, impulsivemovements of her mother, the lips parting often to speak, and closingagain; and the dark oval eyes of her father brimming with light upona basis of sadness, or, since she was too young to have acquired asorrowful point of view, one might say that the basis was not sadness somuch as a spirit given to contemplation and self-control. Judging by herhair, her coloring, and the shape of her features, she was striking, if not actually beautiful. Decision and composure stamped her, acombination of qualities that produced a very marked character, and onethat was not calculated to put a young man, who scarcely knew her, athis ease. For the rest, she was tall; her dress was of some quiet color, with old yellow-tinted lace for ornament, to which the spark of anancient jewel gave its one red gleam. Denham noticed that, althoughsilent, she kept sufficient control of the situation to answerimmediately her mother appealed to her for help, and yet it was obviousto him that she attended only with the surface skin of her mind. Itstruck him that her position at the tea-table, among all these elderlypeople, was not without its difficulties, and he checked his inclinationto find her, or her attitude, generally antipathetic to him. The talkhad passed over Manchester, after dealing with it very generously. 

"Would it be the Battle of Trafalgar or the Spanish Armada, Katharine?"her mother demanded. 

"Trafalgar, mother. "

"Trafalgar, of course! How stupid of me! Another cup of tea, with a thinslice of lemon in it, and then, dear Mr. Fortescue, please explain myabsurd little puzzle. One can't help believing gentlemen with Romannoses, even if one meets them in omnibuses. "

Mr. Hilbery here interposed so far as Denham was concerned, and talkeda great deal of sense about the solicitors' profession, and the changeswhich he had seen in his lifetime. Indeed, Denham properly fell to hislot, owing to the fact that an article by Denham upon some legal matter, published by Mr. Hilbery in his Review, had brought them acquainted. Butwhen a moment later Mrs. Sutton Bailey was announced, he turned to her, and Mr. Denham found himself sitting silent, rejecting possible thingsto say, beside Katharine, who was silent too. Being much about the sameage and both under thirty, they were prohibited from the use of a greatmany convenient phrases which launch conversation into smooth waters. They were further silenced by Katharine's rather malicious determinationnot to help this young man, in whose upright and resolute bearing shedetected something hostile to her surroundings, by any of the usualfeminine amenities. They therefore sat silent, Denham controlling hisdesire to say something abrupt and explosive, which should shock herinto life. But Mrs. Hilbery was immediately sensitive to any silencein the drawing-room, as of a dumb note in a sonorous scale, and leaningacross the table she observed, in the curiously tentative detachedmanner which always gave her phrases the likeness of butterfliesflaunting from one sunny spot to another, "D'you know, Mr. Denham, youremind me so much of dear Mr. Ruskin.... Is it his tie, Katharine, orhis hair, or the way he sits in his chair? Do tell me, Mr. Denham, areyou an admirer of Ruskin? Some one, the other day, said to me, 'Oh, no, we don't read Ruskin, Mrs. Hilbery. ' What DO you read, I wonder?--foryou can't spend all your time going up in aeroplanes and burrowing intothe bowels of the earth. "

She looked benevolently at Denham, who said nothing articulate, andthen at Katharine, who smiled but said nothing either, upon which Mrs. Hilbery seemed possessed by a brilliant idea, and exclaimed:

"I'm sure Mr. Denham would like to see our things, Katharine. I'm surehe's not like that dreadful young man, Mr. Ponting, who told me that heconsidered it our duty to live exclusively in the present. After all, what IS the present? Half of it's the past, and the better half, too, Ishould say, " she added, turning to Mr. Fortescue. 

Denham rose, half meaning to go, and thinking that he had seen all thatthere was to see, but Katharine rose at the same moment, and saying, "Perhaps you would like to see the pictures, " led the way across thedrawing-room to a smaller room opening out of it. 

The smaller room was something like a chapel in a cathedral, or agrotto in a cave, for the booming sound of the traffic in the distancesuggested the soft surge of waters, and the oval mirrors, with theirsilver surface, were like deep pools trembling beneath starlight. Butthe comparison to a religious temple of some kind was the more apt ofthe two, for the little room was crowded with relics. 

As Katharine touched different spots, lights sprang here and there, andrevealed a square mass of red-and-gold books, and then a long skirtin blue-and-white paint lustrous behind glass, and then a mahoganywriting-table, with its orderly equipment, and, finally, a picture abovethe table, to which special illumination was accorded. When Katharinehad touched these last lights, she stood back, as much as to say, "There!" Denham found himself looked down upon by the eyes of the greatpoet, Richard Alardyce, and suffered a little shock which would have ledhim, had he been wearing a hat, to remove it. The eyes looked at him outof the mellow pinks and yellows of the paint with divine friendliness, which embraced him, and passed on to contemplate the entire world. Thepaint had so faded that very little but the beautiful large eyes wereleft, dark in the surrounding dimness. 

Katharine waited as though for him to receive a full impression, andthen she said:

"This is his writing-table. He used this pen, " and she lifted a quillpen and laid it down again. The writing-table was splashed with old ink, and the pen disheveled in service. There lay the gigantic gold-rimmedspectacles, ready to his hand, and beneath the table was a pair oflarge, worn slippers, one of which Katharine picked up, remarking:

"I think my grandfather must have been at least twice as large as anyone is nowadays. This, " she went on, as if she knew what she had to sayby heart, "is the original manuscript of the 'Ode to Winter. ' The earlypoems are far less corrected than the later. Would you like to look atit?"

While Mr. Denham examined the manuscript, she glanced up at hergrandfather, and, for the thousandth time, fell into a pleasant dreamystate in which she seemed to be the companion of those giant men, oftheir own lineage, at any rate, and the insignificant present moment wasput to shame. That magnificent ghostly head on the canvas, surely, neverbeheld all the trivialities of a Sunday afternoon, and it did not seemto matter what she and this young man said to each other, for they wereonly small people. 

"This is a copy of the first edition of the poems, " she continued, without considering the fact that Mr. Denham was still occupied with themanuscript, "which contains several poems that have not been reprinted, as well as corrections. " She paused for a minute, and then went on, asif these spaces had all been calculated. 

"That lady in blue is my great-grandmother, by Millington. Here is myuncle's walking-stick--he was Sir Richard Warburton, you know, and rodewith Havelock to the Relief of Lucknow. And then, let me see--oh, that'sthe original Alardyce, 1697, the founder of the family fortunes, withhis wife. Some one gave us this bowl the other day because it has theircrest and initials. We think it must have been given them to celebratetheir silver wedding-day. "

Here she stopped for a moment, wondering why it was that Mr. Denham saidnothing. Her feeling that he was antagonistic to her, which had lapsedwhile she thought of her family possessions, returned so keenly thatshe stopped in the middle of her catalog and looked at him. Her mother, wishing to connect him reputably with the great dead, had compared himwith Mr. Ruskin; and the comparison was in Katharine's mind, and ledher to be more critical of the young man than was fair, for a young manpaying a call in a tail-coat is in a different element altogether froma head seized at its climax of expressiveness, gazing immutably frombehind a sheet of glass, which was all that remained to her of Mr. Ruskin. He had a singular face--a face built for swiftness and decisionrather than for massive contemplation; the forehead broad, the nose longand formidable, the lips clean-shaven and at once dogged and sensitive, the cheeks lean, with a deeply running tide of red blood in them. Hiseyes, expressive now of the usual masculine impersonality and authority, might reveal more subtle emotions under favorable circumstances, forthey were large, and of a clear, brown color; they seemed unexpectedlyto hesitate and speculate; but Katharine only looked at him to wonderwhether his face would not have come nearer the standard of her deadheroes if it had been adorned with side-whiskers. In his spare buildand thin, though healthy, cheeks, she saw tokens of an angular and acridsoul. His voice, she noticed, had a slight vibrating or creaking soundin it, as he laid down the manuscript and said:

"You must be very proud of your family, Miss Hilbery. "

"Yes, I am, " Katharine answered, and she added, "Do you think there'sanything wrong in that?"

"Wrong? How should it be wrong? It must be a bore, though, showing yourthings to visitors, " he added reflectively. 

"Not if the visitors like them. "

"Isn't it difficult to live up to your ancestors?" he proceeded. 

"I dare say I shouldn't try to write poetry, " Katharine replied. 

"No. And that's what I should hate. I couldn't bear my grandfatherto cut me out. And, after all, " Denham went on, glancing round himsatirically, as Katharine thought, "it's not your grandfather only. You're cut out all the way round. I suppose you come of one of the mostdistinguished families in England. There are the Warburtons and theMannings--and you're related to the Otways, aren't you? I read it all insome magazine, " he added. 

"The Otways are my cousins, " Katharine replied. 

"Well, " said Denham, in a final tone of voice, as if his argument wereproved. 

"Well, " said Katharine, "I don't see that you've proved anything. "

Denham smiled, in a peculiarly provoking way. He was amused andgratified to find that he had the power to annoy his oblivious, supercilious hostess, if he could not impress her; though he would havepreferred to impress her. 

He sat silent, holding the precious little book of poems unopened inhis hands, and Katharine watched him, the melancholy or contemplativeexpression deepening in her eyes as her annoyance faded. She appeared tobe considering many things. She had forgotten her duties. 

"Well, " said Denham again, suddenly opening the little book of poems, as though he had said all that he meant to say or could, with propriety, say. He turned over the pages with great decision, as if he were judgingthe book in its entirety, the printing and paper and binding, as wellas the poetry, and then, having satisfied himself of its good or badquality, he placed it on the writing-table, and examined the malaccacane with the gold knob which had belonged to the soldier. 

"But aren't you proud of your family?" Katharine demanded. 

"No, " said Denham. "We've never done anything to be proud of--unless youcount paying one's bills a matter for pride. "

"That sounds rather dull, " Katharine remarked. 

"You would think us horribly dull, " Denham agreed. 

"Yes, I might find you dull, but I don't think I should find youridiculous, " Katharine added, as if Denham had actually brought thatcharge against her family. 

"No--because we're not in the least ridiculous. We're a respectablemiddle-class family, living at Highgate. "

"We don't live at Highgate, but we're middle class too, I suppose. "

Denham merely smiled, and replacing the malacca cane on the rack, hedrew a sword from its ornamental sheath. 

"That belonged to Clive, so we say, " said Katharine, taking up herduties as hostess again automatically. 

"Is it a lie?" Denham inquired. 

"It's a family tradition. I don't know that we can prove it. "

"You see, we don't have traditions in our family, " said Denham. 

"You sound very dull, " Katharine remarked, for the second time. 

"Merely middle class, " Denham replied. 

"You pay your bills, and you speak the truth. I don't see why you shoulddespise us. "

Mr. Denham carefully sheathed the sword which the Hilberys said belongedto Clive. 

"I shouldn't like to be you; that's all I said, " he replied, as if hewere saying what he thought as accurately as he could. 

"No, but one never would like to be any one else. "

"I should. I should like to be lots of other people. "

"Then why not us?" Katharine asked. 

Denham looked at her as she sat in her grandfather's arm-chair, drawingher great-uncle's malacca cane smoothly through her fingers, while herbackground was made up equally of lustrous blue-and-white paint, andcrimson books with gilt lines on them. The vitality and composure ofher attitude, as of a bright-plumed bird poised easily before furtherflights, roused him to show her the limitations of her lot. So soon, soeasily, would he be forgotten. 

"You'll never know anything at first hand, " he began, almost savagely. "It's all been done for you. You'll never know the pleasure of buyingthings after saving up for them, or reading books for the first time, ormaking discoveries. "

"Go on, " Katharine observed, as he paused, suddenly doubtful, when heheard his voice proclaiming aloud these facts, whether there was anytruth in them. 

"Of course, I don't know how you spend your time, " he continued, alittle stiffly, "but I suppose you have to show people round. Youare writing a life of your grandfather, aren't you? And this kind ofthing"--he nodded towards the other room, where they could hear burstsof cultivated laughter--"must take up a lot of time. "

She looked at him expectantly, as if between them they were decoratinga small figure of herself, and she saw him hesitating in the dispositionof some bow or sash. 

"You've got it very nearly right, " she said, "but I only help my mother. I don't write myself. "

"Do you do anything yourself?" he demanded. 

"What do you mean?" she asked. "I don't leave the house at ten and comeback at six. "

"I don't mean that. "

Mr. Denham had recovered his self-control; he spoke with a quietnesswhich made Katharine rather anxious that he should explain himself, butat the same time she wished to annoy him, to waft him away from her onsome light current of ridicule or satire, as she was wont to do withthese intermittent young men of her father's. 

"Nobody ever does do anything worth doing nowadays, " she remarked. "Yousee"--she tapped the volume of her grandfather's poems--"we don'teven print as well as they did, and as for poets or painters ornovelists--there are none; so, at any rate, I'm not singular. "

"No, we haven't any great men, " Denham replied. "I'm very glad that wehaven't. I hate great men. The worship of greatness in the nineteenthcentury seems to me to explain the worthlessness of that generation. "

Katharine opened her lips and drew in her breath, as if to reply withequal vigor, when the shutting of a door in the next room withdrew herattention, and they both became conscious that the voices, which hadbeen rising and falling round the tea-table, had fallen silent; thelight, even, seemed to have sunk lower. A moment later Mrs. Hilberyappeared in the doorway of the ante-room. She stood looking at them witha smile of expectancy on her face, as if a scene from the drama ofthe younger generation were being played for her benefit. She was aremarkable-looking woman, well advanced in the sixties, but owing to thelightness of her frame and the brightness of her eyes she seemed to havebeen wafted over the surface of the years without taking much harmin the passage. Her face was shrunken and aquiline, but any hint ofsharpness was dispelled by the large blue eyes, at once sagacious andinnocent, which seemed to regard the world with an enormous desire thatit should behave itself nobly, and an entire confidence that it could doso, if it would only take the pains. 

Certain lines on the broad forehead and about the lips might be taken tosuggest that she had known moments of some difficulty and perplexity inthe course of her career, but these had not destroyed her trustfulness, and she was clearly still prepared to give every one any number of freshchances and the whole system the benefit of the doubt. She wore a greatresemblance to her father, and suggested, as he did, the fresh airs andopen spaces of a younger world. 

"Well, " she said, "how do you like our things, Mr. Denham?"

Mr. Denham rose, put his book down, opened his mouth, but said nothing, as Katharine observed, with some amusement. 

Mrs. Hilbery handled the book he had laid down. 

"There are some books that LIVE, " she mused. "They are young with us, and they grow old with us. Are you fond of poetry, Mr. Denham? But whatan absurd question to ask! The truth is, dear Mr. Fortescue has almosttired me out. He is so eloquent and so witty, so searching and soprofound that, after half an hour or so, I feel inclined to turn out allthe lights. But perhaps he'd be more wonderful than ever in the dark. What d'you think, Katharine? Shall we give a little party in completedarkness? There'd have to be bright rooms for the bores.... "

Here Mr. Denham held out his hand. 

"But we've any number of things to show you!" Mrs. Hilbery exclaimed, taking no notice of it. "Books, pictures, china, manuscripts, and thevery chair that Mary Queen of Scots sat in when she heard of Darnley'smurder. I must lie down for a little, and Katharine must change herdress (though she's wearing a very pretty one), but if you don't mindbeing left alone, supper will be at eight. I dare say you'll write apoem of your own while you're waiting. Ah, how I love the firelight!Doesn't our room look charming?"

She stepped back and bade them contemplate the empty drawing-room, withits rich, irregular lights, as the flames leapt and wavered. 

"Dear things!" she exclaimed. "Dear chairs and tables! How like oldfriends they are--faithful, silent friends. Which reminds me, Katharine, little Mr. Anning is coming to-night, and Tite Street, and CadoganSquare.... Do remember to get that drawing of your great-uncle glazed. Aunt Millicent remarked it last time she was here, and I know how itwould hurt me to see MY father in a broken glass. "

It was like tearing through a maze of diamond-glittering spiders' websto say good-bye and escape, for at each movement Mrs. Hilbery rememberedsomething further about the villainies of picture-framers or thedelights of poetry, and at one time it seemed to the young man that hewould be hypnotized into doing what she pretended to want him to do, for he could not suppose that she attached any value whatever to hispresence. Katharine, however, made an opportunity for him to leave, andfor that he was grateful to her, as one young person is grateful for theunderstanding of another. 

CHAPTER II

The young man shut the door with a sharper slam than any visitor hadused that afternoon, and walked up the street at a great pace, cuttingthe air with his walking-stick. He was glad to find himself outside thatdrawing-room, breathing raw fog, and in contact with unpolished peoplewho only wanted their share of the pavement allowed them. He thoughtthat if he had had Mr. Or Mrs. Or Miss Hilbery out here he would havemade them, somehow, feel his superiority, for he was chafed by thememory of halting awkward sentences which had failed to give even theyoung woman with the sad, but inwardly ironical eyes a hint of hisforce. He tried to recall the actual words of his little outburst, and unconsciously supplemented them by so many words of greaterexpressiveness that the irritation of his failure was somewhat assuaged. Sudden stabs of the unmitigated truth assailed him now and then, for hewas not inclined by nature to take a rosy view of his conduct, butwhat with the beat of his foot upon the pavement, and the glimpsewhich half-drawn curtains offered him of kitchens, dining-rooms, anddrawing-rooms, illustrating with mute power different scenes fromdifferent lives, his own experience lost its sharpness. 

His own experience underwent a curious change. His speed slackened, hishead sank a little towards his breast, and the lamplight shone now andagain upon a face grown strangely tranquil. His thought was so absorbingthat when it became necessary to verify the name of a street, he lookedat it for a time before he read it; when he came to a crossing, heseemed to have to reassure himself by two or three taps, such as a blindman gives, upon the curb; and, reaching the Underground station, heblinked in the bright circle of light, glanced at his watch, decidedthat he might still indulge himself in darkness, and walked straight on. 

And yet the thought was the thought with which he had started. He wasstill thinking about the people in the house which he had left; butinstead of remembering, with whatever accuracy he could, their looks andsayings, he had consciously taken leave of the literal truth. A turn ofthe street, a firelit room, something monumental in the processionof the lamp-posts, who shall say what accident of light or shape hadsuddenly changed the prospect within his mind, and led him to murmuraloud:

"She'll do.... Yes, Katharine Hilbery'll do.... I'll take KatharineHilbery. "

As soon as he had said this, his pace slackened, his head fell, his eyesbecame fixed. The desire to justify himself, which had been so urgent, ceased to torment him, and, as if released from constraint, so thatthey worked without friction or bidding, his faculties leapt forward andfixed, as a matter of course, upon the form of Katharine Hilbery. It wasmarvellous how much they found to feed upon, considering the destructivenature of Denham's criticism in her presence. The charm, which he hadtried to disown, when under the effect of it, the beauty, the character, the aloofness, which he had been determined not to feel, now possessedhim wholly; and when, as happened by the nature of things, he hadexhausted his memory, he went on with his imagination. He was consciousof what he was about, for in thus dwelling upon Miss Hilbery'squalities, he showed a kind of method, as if he required this vision ofher for a particular purpose. He increased her height, he darkenedher hair; but physically there was not much to change in her. His mostdaring liberty was taken with her mind, which, for reasons of his own, he desired to be exalted and infallible, and of such independence thatit was only in the case of Ralph Denham that it swerved from its high, swift flight, but where he was concerned, though fastidious at first, she finally swooped from her eminence to crown him with her approval. These delicious details, however, were to be worked out in all theirramifications at his leisure; the main point was that Katharine Hilberywould do; she would do for weeks, perhaps for months. In taking her hehad provided himself with something the lack of which had left abare place in his mind for a considerable time. He gave a sigh ofsatisfaction; his consciousness of his actual position somewhere in theneighborhood of Knightsbridge returned to him, and he was soon speedingin the train towards Highgate. 

Although thus supported by the knowledge of his new possession ofconsiderable value, he was not proof against the familiar thoughts whichthe suburban streets and the damp shrubs growing in front gardensand the absurd names painted in white upon the gates of those gardenssuggested to him. His walk was uphill, and his mind dwelt gloomily uponthe house which he approached, where he would find six or seven brothersand sisters, a widowed mother, and, probably, some aunt or uncle sittingdown to an unpleasant meal under a very bright light. Should he put inforce the threat which, two weeks ago, some such gathering had wrungfrom him--the terrible threat that if visitors came on Sunday he shoulddine alone in his room? A glance in the direction of Miss Hilberydetermined him to make his stand this very night, and accordingly, having let himself in, having verified the presence of Uncle Joseph bymeans of a bowler hat and a very large umbrella, he gave his orders tothe maid, and went upstairs to his room. 

He went up a great many flights of stairs, and he noticed, as he hadvery seldom noticed, how the carpet became steadily shabbier, until itceased altogether, how the walls were discolored, sometimes by cascadesof damp, and sometimes by the outlines of picture-frames since removed, how the paper flapped loose at the corners, and a great flake of plasterhad fallen from the ceiling. The room itself was a cheerless one toreturn to at this inauspicious hour. A flattened sofa would, laterin the evening, become a bed; one of the tables concealed a washingapparatus; his clothes and boots were disagreeably mixed with bookswhich bore the gilt of college arms; and, for decoration, therehung upon the wall photographs of bridges and cathedrals and large, unprepossessing groups of insufficiently clothed young men, sitting inrows one above another upon stone steps. There was a look of meannessand shabbiness in the furniture and curtains, and nowhere any sign ofluxury or even of a cultivated taste, unless the cheap classics in thebook-case were a sign of an effort in that direction. The only objectthat threw any light upon the character of the room's owner was a largeperch, placed in the window to catch the air and sun, upon which a tameand, apparently, decrepit rook hopped dryly from side to side. The bird, encouraged by a scratch behind the ear, settled upon Denham's shoulder. He lit his gas-fire and settled down in gloomy patience to await hisdinner. After sitting thus for some minutes a small girl popped her headin to say, "Mother says, aren't you coming down, Ralph? Uncle Joseph--"

"They're to bring my dinner up here, " said Ralph, peremptorily;whereupon she vanished, leaving the door ajar in her haste to be gone. After Denham had waited some minutes, in the course of which neitherhe nor the rook took their eyes off the fire, he muttered a curse, randownstairs, intercepted the parlor-maid, and cut himself a slice ofbread and cold meat. As he did so, the dining-room door sprang open, avoice exclaimed "Ralph!" but Ralph paid no attention to the voice, andmade off upstairs with his plate. He set it down in a chair oppositehim, and ate with a ferocity that was due partly to anger and partly tohunger. His mother, then, was determined not to respect his wishes; hewas a person of no importance in his own family; he was sent for andtreated as a child. He reflected, with a growing sense of injury, thatalmost every one of his actions since opening the door of his room hadbeen won from the grasp of the family system. By rights, he should havebeen sitting downstairs in the drawing-room describing his afternoon'sadventures, or listening to the afternoon's adventures of other people;the room itself, the gas-fire, the arm-chair--all had been fought for;the wretched bird, with half its feathers out and one leg lamed by acat, had been rescued under protest; but what his family most resented, he reflected, was his wish for privacy. To dine alone, or to sit aloneafter dinner, was flat rebellion, to be fought with every weaponof underhand stealth or of open appeal. Which did he dislikemost--deception or tears? But, at any rate, they could not rob him ofhis thoughts; they could not make him say where he had been or whom hehad seen. That was his own affair; that, indeed, was a step entirely inthe right direction, and, lighting his pipe, and cutting up the remainsof his meal for the benefit of the rook, Ralph calmed his ratherexcessive irritation and settled down to think over his prospects. 

This particular afternoon was a step in the right direction, because itwas part of his plan to get to know people beyond the family circuit, just as it was part of his plan to learn German this autumn, and toreview legal books for Mr. Hilbery's "Critical Review. " He had alwaysmade plans since he was a small boy; for poverty, and the fact thathe was the eldest son of a large family, had given him the habit ofthinking of spring and summer, autumn and winter, as so many stages in aprolonged campaign. Although he was still under thirty, this forecastinghabit had marked two semicircular lines above his eyebrows, whichthreatened, at this moment, to crease into their wonted shapes. Butinstead of settling down to think, he rose, took a small piece ofcardboard marked in large letters with the word OUT, and hung itupon the handle of his door. This done, he sharpened a pencil, lit areading-lamp and opened his book. But still he hesitated to take hisseat. He scratched the rook, he walked to the window; he parted thecurtains, and looked down upon the city which lay, hazily luminous, beneath him. He looked across the vapors in the direction of Chelsea;looked fixedly for a moment, and then returned to his chair. But thewhole thickness of some learned counsel's treatise upon Torts did notscreen him satisfactorily. Through the pages he saw a drawing-room, very empty and spacious; he heard low voices, he saw women's figures, hecould even smell the scent of the cedar log which flamed in the grate. His mind relaxed its tension, and seemed to be giving out now whatit had taken in unconsciously at the time. He could remember Mr. Fortescue's exact words, and the rolling emphasis with which hedelivered them, and he began to repeat what Mr. Fortescue had said, inMr. Fortescue's own manner, about Manchester. His mind then began towander about the house, and he wondered whether there were other roomslike the drawing-room, and he thought, inconsequently, how beautiful thebathroom must be, and how leisurely it was--the life of these well-keptpeople, who were, no doubt, still sitting in the same room, only theyhad changed their clothes, and little Mr. Anning was there, and the auntwho would mind if the glass of her father's picture was broken. MissHilbery had changed her dress ("although she's wearing such a prettyone, " he heard her mother say), and she was talking to Mr. Anning, who was well over forty, and bald into the bargain, about books. Howpeaceful and spacious it was; and the peace possessed him so completelythat his muscles slackened, his book drooped from his hand, and heforgot that the hour of work was wasting minute by minute. 

He was roused by a creak upon the stair. With a guilty start he composedhimself, frowned and looked intently at the fifty-sixth page of hisvolume. A step paused outside his door, and he knew that the person, whoever it might be, was considering the placard, and debating whetherto honor its decree or not. Certainly, policy advised him to sit stillin autocratic silence, for no custom can take root in a family unlessevery breach of it is punished severely for the first six months or so. But Ralph was conscious of a distinct wish to be interrupted, and hisdisappointment was perceptible when he heard the creaking sound ratherfarther down the stairs, as if his visitor had decided to withdraw. Herose, opened the door with unnecessary abruptness, and waited on thelanding. The person stopped simultaneously half a flight downstairs. 

"Ralph?" said a voice, inquiringly. 

"Joan?"

"I was coming up, but I saw your notice. "

"Well, come along in, then. " He concealed his desire beneath a tone asgrudging as he could make it. 

Joan came in, but she was careful to show, by standing upright withone hand upon the mantelpiece, that she was only there for a definitepurpose, which discharged, she would go. 

She was older than Ralph by some three or four years. Her face was roundbut worn, and expressed that tolerant but anxious good humor which isthe special attribute of elder sisters in large families. Her pleasantbrown eyes resembled Ralph's, save in expression, for whereas he seemedto look straightly and keenly at one object, she appeared to be in thehabit of considering everything from many different points of view. Thismade her appear his elder by more years than existed in fact betweenthem. Her gaze rested for a moment or two upon the rook. She then said, without any preface:

"It's about Charles and Uncle John's offer.... Mother's been talking tome. She says she can't afford to pay for him after this term. She saysshe'll have to ask for an overdraft as it is. "

"That's simply not true, " said Ralph. 

"No. I thought not. But she won't believe me when I say it. "

Ralph, as if he could foresee the length of this familiar argument, drewup a chair for his sister and sat down himself. 

"I'm not interrupting?" she inquired. 

Ralph shook his head, and for a time they sat silent. The lines curvedthemselves in semicircles above their eyes. 

"She doesn't understand that one's got to take risks, " he observed, finally. 

"I believe mother would take risks if she knew that Charles was the sortof boy to profit by it. "

"He's got brains, hasn't he?" said Ralph. His tone had taken on thatshade of pugnacity which suggested to his sister that some personalgrievance drove him to take the line he did. She wondered what it mightbe, but at once recalled her mind, and assented. 

"In some ways he's fearfully backward, though, compared with what youwere at his age. And he's difficult at home, too. He makes Molly slavefor him. "

Ralph made a sound which belittled this particular argument. It wasplain to Joan that she had struck one of her brother's perverse moods, and he was going to oppose whatever his mother said. He called her"she, " which was a proof of it. She sighed involuntarily, and the sighannoyed Ralph, and he exclaimed with irritation:

"It's pretty hard lines to stick a boy into an office at seventeen!"

"Nobody WANTS to stick him into an office, " she said. 

She, too, was becoming annoyed. She had spent the whole of the afternoondiscussing wearisome details of education and expense with hermother, and she had come to her brother for help, encouraged, ratherirrationally, to expect help by the fact that he had been out somewhere, she didn't know and didn't mean to ask where, all the afternoon. 

Ralph was fond of his sister, and her irritation made him think howunfair it was that all these burdens should be laid on her shoulders. 

"The truth is, " he observed gloomily, "that I ought to have acceptedUncle John's offer. I should have been making six hundred a year by thistime. "

"I don't think that for a moment, " Joan replied quickly, repenting ofher annoyance. "The question, to my mind, is, whether we couldn't cutdown our expenses in some way. "

"A smaller house?"

"Fewer servants, perhaps. "

Neither brother nor sister spoke with much conviction, and afterreflecting for a moment what these proposed reforms in a strictlyeconomical household meant, Ralph announced very decidedly:

"It's out of the question. "

It was out of the question that she should put any more household workupon herself. No, the hardship must fall on him, for he was determinedthat his family should have as many chances of distinguishing themselvesas other families had--as the Hilberys had, for example. He believedsecretly and rather defiantly, for it was a fact not capable of proof, that there was something very remarkable about his family. 

"If mother won't run risks--"

"You really can't expect her to sell out again. "

"She ought to look upon it as an investment; but if she won't, we mustfind some other way, that's all. "

A threat was contained in this sentence, and Joan knew, without asking, what the threat was. In the course of his professional life, which nowextended over six or seven years, Ralph had saved, perhaps, three orfour hundred pounds. Considering the sacrifices he had made in order toput by this sum it always amazed Joan to find that he used it to gamblewith, buying shares and selling them again, increasing it sometimes, sometimes diminishing it, and always running the risk of losing everypenny of it in a day's disaster. But although she wondered, she couldnot help loving him the better for his odd combination of Spartanself-control and what appeared to her romantic and childish folly. Ralphinterested her more than any one else in the world, and she often brokeoff in the middle of one of these economic discussions, in spite oftheir gravity, to consider some fresh aspect of his character. 

"I think you'd be foolish to risk your money on poor old Charles, "she observed. "Fond as I am of him, he doesn't seem to me exactlybrilliant.... Besides, why should you be sacrificed?"

"My dear Joan, " Ralph exclaimed, stretching himself out with a gestureof impatience, "don't you see that we've all got to be sacrificed?What's the use of denying it? What's the use of struggling against it?So it always has been, so it always will be. We've got no money and wenever shall have any money. We shall just turn round in the mill everyday of our lives until we drop and die, worn out, as most people do, when one comes to think of it. "

Joan looked at him, opened her lips as if to speak, and closed themagain. Then she said, very tentatively:

"Aren't you happy, Ralph?"

"No. Are you? Perhaps I'm as happy as most people, though. God knowswhether I'm happy or not. What is happiness?"

He glanced with half a smile, in spite of his gloomy irritation, at hissister. She looked, as usual, as if she were weighing one thing withanother, and balancing them together before she made up her mind. 

"Happiness, " she remarked at length enigmatically, rather as if she weresampling the word, and then she paused. She paused for a considerablespace, as if she were considering happiness in all its bearings. "Hildawas here to-day, " she suddenly resumed, as if they had never mentionedhappiness. "She brought Bobbie--he's a fine boy now. " Ralph observed, with an amusement that had a tinge of irony in it, that she was nowgoing to sidle away quickly from this dangerous approach to intimacy onto topics of general and family interest. Nevertheless, he reflected, she was the only one of his family with whom he found it possible todiscuss happiness, although he might very well have discussed happinesswith Miss Hilbery at their first meeting. He looked critically at Joan, and wished that she did not look so provincial or suburban in her highgreen dress with the faded trimming, so patient, and almost resigned. Hebegan to wish to tell her about the Hilberys in order to abuse them, for in the miniature battle which so often rages between two quicklyfollowing impressions of life, the life of the Hilberys was getting thebetter of the life of the Denhams in his mind, and he wanted to assurehimself that there was some quality in which Joan infinitely surpassedMiss Hilbery. He should have felt that his own sister was more original, and had greater vitality than Miss Hilbery had; but his main impressionof Katharine now was of a person of great vitality and composure; and atthe moment he could not perceive what poor dear Joan had gained fromthe fact that she was the granddaughter of a man who kept a shop, andherself earned her own living. The infinite dreariness and sordidness oftheir life oppressed him in spite of his fundamental belief that, as afamily, they were somehow remarkable. 

"Shall you talk to mother?" Joan inquired. "Because, you see, thething's got to be settled, one way or another. Charles must write toUncle John if he's going there. "

Ralph sighed impatiently. 

"I suppose it doesn't much matter either way, " he exclaimed. "He'sdoomed to misery in the long run. "

A slight flush came into Joan's cheek. 

"You know you're talking nonsense, " she said. "It doesn't hurt any oneto have to earn their own living. I'm very glad I have to earn mine. "

Ralph was pleased that she should feel this, and wished her to continue, but he went on, perversely enough. 

"Isn't that only because you've forgotten how to enjoy yourself? Younever have time for anything decent--"

"As for instance?"

"Well, going for walks, or music, or books, or seeing interestingpeople. You never do anything that's really worth doing any more than Ido. "

"I always think you could make this room much nicer, if you liked, " sheobserved. 

"What does it matter what sort of room I have when I'm forced to spendall the best years of my life drawing up deeds in an office?"

"You said two days ago that you found the law so interesting. "

"So it is if one could afford to know anything about it. "

("That's Herbert only just going to bed now, " Joan interposed, as adoor on the landing slammed vigorously. "And then he won't get up in themorning. ")

Ralph looked at the ceiling, and shut his lips closely together. Why, he wondered, could Joan never for one moment detach her mind from thedetails of domestic life? It seemed to him that she was getting more andmore enmeshed in them, and capable of shorter and less frequent flightsinto the outer world, and yet she was only thirty-three. 

"D'you ever pay calls now?" he asked abruptly. 

"I don't often have the time. Why do you ask?"

"It might be a good thing, to get to know new people, that's all. "

"Poor Ralph!" said Joan suddenly, with a smile. "You think your sister'sgetting very old and very dull--that's it, isn't it?"

"I don't think anything of the kind, " he said stoutly, but he flushed. "But you lead a dog's life, Joan. When you're not working in an office, you're worrying over the rest of us. And I'm not much good to you, I'mafraid. "

Joan rose, and stood for a moment warming her hands, and, apparently, meditating as to whether she should say anything more or not. A feelingof great intimacy united the brother and sister, and the semicircularlines above their eyebrows disappeared. No, there was nothing more tobe said on either side. Joan brushed her brother's head with her hand asshe passed him, murmured good night, and left the room. For some minutesafter she had gone Ralph lay quiescent, resting his head on his hand, but gradually his eyes filled with thought, and the line reappearedon his brow, as the pleasant impression of companionship and ancientsympathy waned, and he was left to think on alone. 

After a time he opened his book, and read on steadily, glancing once ortwice at his watch, as if he had set himself a task to be accomplishedin a certain measure of time. Now and then he heard voices in the house, and the closing of bedroom doors, which showed that the building, atthe top of which he sat, was inhabited in every one of its cells. Whenmidnight struck, Ralph shut his book, and with a candle in his hand, descended to the ground floor, to ascertain that all lights were extinctand all doors locked. It was a threadbare, well-worn house that he thusexamined, as if the inmates had grazed down all luxuriance and plenty tothe verge of decency; and in the night, bereft of life, bare placesand ancient blemishes were unpleasantly visible. Katharine Hilbery, hethought, would condemn it off-hand. 

CHAPTER III

Denham had accused Katharine Hilbery of belonging to one of the mostdistinguished families in England, and if any one will take the troubleto consult Mr. Galton's "Hereditary Genius, " he will find that thisassertion is not far from the truth. The Alardyces, the Hilberys, theMillingtons, and the Otways seem to prove that intellect is a possessionwhich can be tossed from one member of a certain group to another almostindefinitely, and with apparent certainty that the brilliant gift willbe safely caught and held by nine out of ten of the privileged race. They had been conspicuous judges and admirals, lawyers and servants ofthe State for some years before the richness of the soil culminatedin the rarest flower that any family can boast, a great writer, a poeteminent among the poets of England, a Richard Alardyce; and havingproduced him, they proved once more the amazing virtues of their raceby proceeding unconcernedly again with their usual task of breedingdistinguished men. They had sailed with Sir John Franklin to the NorthPole, and ridden with Havelock to the Relief of Lucknow, and when theywere not lighthouses firmly based on rock for the guidance of theirgeneration, they were steady, serviceable candles, illuminating theordinary chambers of daily life. Whatever profession you lookedat, there was a Warburton or an Alardyce, a Millington or a Hilberysomewhere in authority and prominence. 

It may be said, indeed, that English society being what it is, no verygreat merit is required, once you bear a well-known name, to put youinto a position where it is easier on the whole to be eminent thanobscure. And if this is true of the sons, even the daughters, even in the nineteenth century, are apt to become people ofimportance--philanthropists and educationalists if they are spinsters, and the wives of distinguished men if they marry. It is true that therewere several lamentable exceptions to this rule in the Alardyce group, which seems to indicate that the cadets of such houses go more rapidlyto the bad than the children of ordinary fathers and mothers, as if itwere somehow a relief to them. But, on the whole, in these first yearsof the twentieth century, the Alardyces and their relations were keepingtheir heads well above water. One finds them at the tops of professions, with letters after their names; they sit in luxurious public offices, with private secretaries attached to them; they write solid books indark covers, issued by the presses of the two great universities, andwhen one of them dies the chances are that another of them writes hisbiography. 

Now the source of this nobility was, of course, the poet, and hisimmediate descendants, therefore, were invested with greater luster thanthe collateral branches. Mrs. Hilbery, in virtue of her position asthe only child of the poet, was spiritually the head of the family, andKatharine, her daughter, had some superior rank among all the cousinsand connections, the more so because she was an only child. TheAlardyces had married and intermarried, and their offspring weregenerally profuse, and had a way of meeting regularly in eachother's houses for meals and family celebrations which had acquireda semi-sacred character, and were as regularly observed as days offeasting and fasting in the Church. 

In times gone by, Mrs. Hilbery had known all the poets, all thenovelists, all the beautiful women and distinguished men of her time. These being now either dead or secluded in their infirm glory, shemade her house a meeting-place for her own relations, to whom she wouldlament the passing of the great days of the nineteenth century, whenevery department of letters and art was represented in England by two orthree illustrious names. Where are their successors? she would ask, andthe absence of any poet or painter or novelist of the true caliber atthe present day was a text upon which she liked to ruminate, in a sunsetmood of benignant reminiscence, which it would have been hard to disturbhad there been need. But she was far from visiting their inferiorityupon the younger generation. She welcomed them very heartily to herhouse, told them her stories, gave them sovereigns and ices and goodadvice, and weaved round them romances which had generally no likenessto the truth. 

The quality of her birth oozed into Katharine's consciousness from adozen different sources as soon as she was able to perceive anything. Above her nursery fireplace hung a photograph of her grandfather's tombin Poets' Corner, and she was told in one of those moments of grown-upconfidence which are so tremendously impressive to the child's mind, that he was buried there because he was a "good and great man. " Later, on an anniversary, she was taken by her mother through the fog in ahansom cab, and given a large bunch of bright, sweet-scented flowersto lay upon his tomb. The candles in the church, the singing and thebooming of the organ, were all, she thought, in his honor. Again andagain she was brought down into the drawing-room to receive the blessingof some awful distinguished old man, who sat, even to her childish eye, somewhat apart, all gathered together and clutching a stick, unlike anordinary visitor in her father's own arm-chair, and her father himselfwas there, unlike himself, too, a little excited and very polite. Theseformidable old creatures used to take her in their arms, look verykeenly in her eyes, and then to bless her, and tell her that she mustmind and be a good girl, or detect a look in her face something likeRichard's as a small boy. That drew down upon her her mother's ferventembrace, and she was sent back to the nursery very proud, and with amysterious sense of an important and unexplained state of things, whichtime, by degrees, unveiled to her. 

There were always visitors--uncles and aunts and cousins "from India, "to be reverenced for their relationship alone, and others of thesolitary and formidable class, whom she was enjoined by her parents to"remember all your life. " By these means, and from hearing constanttalk of great men and their works, her earliest conceptions of theworld included an august circle of beings to whom she gave the names ofShakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, Shelley, and so on, who were, for somereason, much more nearly akin to the Hilberys than to other people. Theymade a kind of boundary to her vision of life, and played a considerablepart in determining her scale of good and bad in her own small affairs. Her descent from one of these gods was no surprise to her, but matterfor satisfaction, until, as the years wore on, the privileges of herlot were taken for granted, and certain drawbacks made themselves verymanifest. Perhaps it is a little depressing to inherit not lands but anexample of intellectual and spiritual virtue; perhaps the conclusivenessof a great ancestor is a little discouraging to those who run the riskof comparison with him. It seems as if, having flowered so splendidly, nothing now remained possible but a steady growth of good, green stalkand leaf. For these reasons, and for others, Katharine had her momentsof despondency. The glorious past, in which men and women grew tounexampled size, intruded too much upon the present, and dwarfed it tooconsistently, to be altogether encouraging to one forced to make herexperiment in living when the great age was dead. 

She was drawn to dwell upon these matters more than was natural, in thefirst place owing to her mother's absorption in them, and in the secondbecause a great part of her time was spent in imagination with the dead, since she was helping her mother to produce a life of the great poet. When Katharine was seventeen or eighteen--that is to say, some ten yearsago--her mother had enthusiastically announced that now, with a daughterto help her, the biography would soon be published. Notices to thiseffect found their way into the literary papers, and for some timeKatharine worked with a sense of great pride and achievement. 

Lately, however, it had seemed to her that they were making no way atall, and this was the more tantalizing because no one with the ghost ofa literary temperament could doubt but that they had materials for oneof the greatest biographies that has ever been written. Shelves andboxes bulged with the precious stuff. The most private lives of themost interesting people lay furled in yellow bundles of close-writtenmanuscript. In addition to this Mrs. Hilbery had in her own head asbright a vision of that time as now remained to the living, and couldgive those flashes and thrills to the old words which gave them almostthe substance of flesh. She had no difficulty in writing, and covered apage every morning as instinctively as a thrush sings, but nevertheless, with all this to urge and inspire, and the most devout intentionto accomplish the work, the book still remained unwritten. Papersaccumulated without much furthering their task, and in dull momentsKatharine had her doubts whether they would ever produce anything at allfit to lay before the public. Where did the difficulty lie? Not in theirmaterials, alas! nor in their ambitions, but in something more profound, in her own inaptitude, and above all, in her mother's temperament. Katharine would calculate that she had never known her write for morethan ten minutes at a time. Ideas came to her chiefly when she was inmotion. She liked to perambulate the room with a duster in her hand, with which she stopped to polish the backs of already lustrous books, musing and romancing as she did so. Suddenly the right phrase or thepenetrating point of view would suggest itself, and she would drop herduster and write ecstatically for a few breathless moments; and then themood would pass away, and the duster would be sought for, and the oldbooks polished again. These spells of inspiration never burnt steadily, but flickered over the gigantic mass of the subject as capriciously asa will-o'-the-wisp, lighting now on this point, now on that. It was asmuch as Katharine could do to keep the pages of her mother's manuscriptin order, but to sort them so that the sixteenth year of RichardAlardyce's life succeeded the fifteenth was beyond her skill. Andyet they were so brilliant, these paragraphs, so nobly phrased, solightning-like in their illumination, that the dead seemed to crowd thevery room. Read continuously, they produced a sort of vertigo, and sether asking herself in despair what on earth she was to do with them? Hermother refused, also, to face the radical questions of what to leave inand what to leave out. She could not decide how far the public was tobe told the truth about the poet's separation from his wife. She draftedpassages to suit either case, and then liked each so well that she couldnot decide upon the rejection of either. 

But the book must be written. It was a duty that they owed the world, and to Katharine, at least, it meant more than that, for if they couldnot between them get this one book accomplished they had no right totheir privileged position. Their increment became yearly more andmore unearned. Besides, it must be established indisputably that hergrandfather was a very great man. 

By the time she was twenty-seven, these thoughts had become veryfamiliar to her. They trod their way through her mind as she satopposite her mother of a morning at a table heaped with bundles ofold letters and well supplied with pencils, scissors, bottles of gum, india-rubber bands, large envelopes, and other appliances for themanufacture of books. Shortly before Ralph Denham's visit, Katharine hadresolved to try the effect of strict rules upon her mother's habitsof literary composition. They were to be seated at their tables everymorning at ten o'clock, with a clean-swept morning of empty, secludedhours before them. They were to keep their eyes fast upon the paper, andnothing was to tempt them to speech, save at the stroke of the hour whenten minutes for relaxation were to be allowed them. If these ruleswere observed for a year, she made out on a sheet of paper that thecompletion of the book was certain, and she laid her scheme before hermother with a feeling that much of the task was already accomplished. Mrs. Hilbery examined the sheet of paper very carefully. Then sheclapped her hands and exclaimed enthusiastically:

"Well done, Katharine! What a wonderful head for business you've got!Now I shall keep this before me, and every day I shall make a littlemark in my pocketbook, and on the last day of all--let me think, whatshall we do to celebrate the last day of all? If it weren't the winterwe could take a jaunt to Italy. They say Switzerland's very lovely inthe snow, except for the cold. But, as you say, the great thing is tofinish the book. Now let me see--"

When they inspected her manuscripts, which Katharine had put in order, they found a state of things well calculated to dash their spirits, ifthey had not just resolved on reform. They found, to begin with, a greatvariety of very imposing paragraphs with which the biography wasto open; many of these, it is true, were unfinished, and resembledtriumphal arches standing upon one leg, but, as Mrs. Hilbery observed, they could be patched up in ten minutes, if she gave her mind to it. Next, there was an account of the ancient home of the Alardyces, orrather, of spring in Suffolk, which was very beautifully written, although not essential to the story. However, Katharine had put togethera string of names and dates, so that the poet was capably brought intothe world, and his ninth year was reached without further mishap. Afterthat, Mrs. Hilbery wished, for sentimental reasons, to introduce therecollections of a very fluent old lady, who had been brought up in thesame village, but these Katharine decided must go. It might be advisableto introduce here a sketch of contemporary poetry contributed by Mr. Hilbery, and thus terse and learned and altogether out of keeping withthe rest, but Mrs. Hilbery was of opinion that it was too bare, and madeone feel altogether like a good little girl in a lecture-room, which wasnot at all in keeping with her father. It was put on one side. Now camethe period of his early manhood, when various affairs of the heart musteither be concealed or revealed; here again Mrs. Hilbery was oftwo minds, and a thick packet of manuscript was shelved for furtherconsideration. 

Several years were now altogether omitted, because Mrs. Hilbery hadfound something distasteful to her in that period, and had preferred todwell upon her own recollections as a child. After this, it seemedto Katharine that the book became a wild dance of will-o'-the-wisps, without form or continuity, without coherence even, or any attempt tomake a narrative. Here were twenty pages upon her grandfather's taste inhats, an essay upon contemporary china, a long account of a summer day'sexpedition into the country, when they had missed their train, togetherwith fragmentary visions of all sorts of famous men and women, whichseemed to be partly imaginary and partly authentic. There were, moreover, thousands of letters, and a mass of faithful recollectionscontributed by old friends, which had grown yellow now in theirenvelopes, but must be placed somewhere, or their feelings would behurt. So many volumes had been written about the poet since his deaththat she had also to dispose of a great number of misstatements, whichinvolved minute researches and much correspondence. Sometimes Katharinebrooded, half crushed, among her papers; sometimes she felt that it wasnecessary for her very existence that she should free herself from thepast; at others, that the past had completely displaced the present, which, when one resumed life after a morning among the dead, proved tobe of an utterly thin and inferior composition. 

The worst of it was that she had no aptitude for literature. She didnot like phrases. She had even some natural antipathy to that process ofself-examination, that perpetual effort to understand one's own feeling, and express it beautifully, fitly, or energetically in language, whichconstituted so great a part of her mother's existence. She was, on thecontrary, inclined to be silent; she shrank from expressing herself evenin talk, let alone in writing. As this disposition was highly convenientin a family much given to the manufacture of phrases, and seemed toargue a corresponding capacity for action, she was, from her childhoodeven, put in charge of household affairs. She had the reputation, whichnothing in her manner contradicted, of being the most practical ofpeople. Ordering meals, directing servants, paying bills, and socontriving that every clock ticked more or less accurately in time, anda number of vases were always full of fresh flowers was supposed to be anatural endowment of hers, and, indeed, Mrs. Hilbery often observed thatit was poetry the wrong side out. From a very early age, too, she hadto exert herself in another capacity; she had to counsel and help andgenerally sustain her mother. Mrs. Hilbery would have been perfectlywell able to sustain herself if the world had been what the world isnot. She was beautifully adapted for life in another planet. But thenatural genius she had for conducting affairs there was of no real useto her here. Her watch, for example, was a constant source of surpriseto her, and at the age of sixty-five she was still amazed at theascendancy which rules and reasons exerted over the lives of otherpeople. She had never learnt her lesson, and had constantly to bepunished for her ignorance. But as that ignorance was combined with afine natural insight which saw deep whenever it saw at all, it was notpossible to write Mrs. Hilbery off among the dunces; on the contrary, she had a way of seeming the wisest person in the room. But, on thewhole, she found it very necessary to seek support in her daughter. 

Katharine, thus, was a member of a very great profession which has, asyet, no title and very little recognition, although the labor of milland factory is, perhaps, no more severe and the results of less benefitto the world. She lived at home. She did it very well, too. Any onecoming to the house in Cheyne Walk felt that here was an orderly place, shapely, controlled--a place where life had been trained to show tothe best advantage, and, though composed of different elements, made toappear harmonious and with a character of its own. Perhaps it wasthe chief triumph of Katharine's art that Mrs. Hilbery's characterpredominated. She and Mr. Hilbery appeared to be a rich background forher mother's more striking qualities. 

Silence being, thus, both natural to her and imposed upon her, the onlyother remark that her mother's friends were in the habit of making aboutit was that it was neither a stupid silence nor an indifferent silence. But to what quality it owed its character, since character of some sortit had, no one troubled themselves to inquire. It was understood thatshe was helping her mother to produce a great book. She was known tomanage the household. She was certainly beautiful. That accounted forher satisfactorily. But it would have been a surprise, not only to otherpeople but to Katharine herself, if some magic watch could have takencount of the moments spent in an entirely different occupation from herostensible one. Sitting with faded papers before her, she took part ina series of scenes such as the taming of wild ponies upon the Americanprairies, or the conduct of a vast ship in a hurricane round a blackpromontory of rock, or in others more peaceful, but marked by hercomplete emancipation from her present surroundings and, needless tosay, by her surpassing ability in her new vocation. When she was rid ofthe pretense of paper and pen, phrase-making and biography, she turnedher attention in a more legitimate direction, though, strangely enough, she would rather have confessed her wildest dreams of hurricane andprairie than the fact that, upstairs, alone in her room, she rose earlyin the morning or sat up late at night to... Work at mathematics. Noforce on earth would have made her confess that. Her actions when thusengaged were furtive and secretive, like those of some nocturnal animal. Steps had only to sound on the staircase, and she slipped her paperbetween the leaves of a great Greek dictionary which she had purloinedfrom her father's room for this purpose. It was only at night, indeed, that she felt secure enough from surprise to concentrate her mind to theutmost. 

Perhaps the unwomanly nature of the science made her instinctively wishto conceal her love of it. But the more profound reason was that in hermind mathematics were directly opposed to literature. She would nothave cared to confess how infinitely she preferred the exactitude, thestar-like impersonality, of figures to the confusion, agitation, andvagueness of the finest prose. There was something a little unseemly inthus opposing the tradition of her family; something that made her feelwrong-headed, and thus more than ever disposed to shut her desires awayfrom view and cherish them with extraordinary fondness. Again and againshe was thinking of some problem when she should have been thinkingof her grandfather. Waking from these trances, she would see that hermother, too, had lapsed into some dream almost as visionary as her own, for the people who played their parts in it had long been numberedamong the dead. But, seeing her own state mirrored in her mother's face, Katharine would shake herself awake with a sense of irritation. Hermother was the last person she wished to resemble, much though sheadmired her. Her common sense would assert itself almost brutally, andMrs. Hilbery, looking at her with her odd sidelong glance, that was halfmalicious and half tender, would liken her to "your wicked old UncleJudge Peter, who used to be heard delivering sentence of death in thebathroom. Thank Heaven, Katharine, I've not a drop of HIM in me!"

CHAPTER IV

At about nine o'clock at night, on every alternate Wednesday, Miss MaryDatchet made the same resolve, that she would never again lend herrooms for any purposes whatsoever. Being, as they were, rather large andconveniently situated in a street mostly dedicated to offices off theStrand, people who wished to meet, either for purposes of enjoyment, or to discuss art, or to reform the State, had a way of suggesting thatMary had better be asked to lend them her rooms. She always met therequest with the same frown of well-simulated annoyance, which presentlydissolved in a kind of half-humorous, half-surly shrug, as of a largedog tormented by children who shakes his ears. She would lend her room, but only on condition that all the arrangements were made by her. Thisfortnightly meeting of a society for the free discussion of everythingentailed a great deal of moving, and pulling, and ranging of furnitureagainst the wall, and placing of breakable and precious things in safeplaces. Miss Datchet was quite capable of lifting a kitchen table onher back, if need were, for although well-proportioned anddressed becomingly, she had the appearance of unusual strength anddetermination. 

She was some twenty-five years of age, but looked older because sheearned, or intended to earn, her own living, and had already lost thelook of the irresponsible spectator, and taken on that of the private inthe army of workers. Her gestures seemed to have a certain purpose, themuscles round eyes and lips were set rather firmly, as though the senseshad undergone some discipline, and were held ready for a call on them. She had contracted two faint lines between her eyebrows, not fromanxiety but from thought, and it was quite evident that all the feminineinstincts of pleasing, soothing, and charming were crossed by others inno way peculiar to her sex. For the rest she was brown-eyed, a littleclumsy in movement, and suggested country birth and a descent fromrespectable hard-working ancestors, who had been men of faith andintegrity rather than doubters or fanatics. 

At the end of a fairly hard day's work it was certainly something of aneffort to clear one's room, to pull the mattress off one's bed, and layit on the floor, to fill a pitcher with cold coffee, and to sweep a longtable clear for plates and cups and saucers, with pyramids of littlepink biscuits between them; but when these alterations were effected, Mary felt a lightness of spirit come to her, as if she had put off thestout stuff of her working hours and slipped over her entire being somevesture of thin, bright silk. She knelt before the fire and looked outinto the room. The light fell softly, but with clear radiance, throughshades of yellow and blue paper, and the room, which was set with oneor two sofas resembling grassy mounds in their lack of shape, lookedunusually large and quiet. Mary was led to think of the heights ofa Sussex down, and the swelling green circle of some camp of ancientwarriors. The moonlight would be falling there so peacefully now, andshe could fancy the rough pathway of silver upon the wrinkled skin ofthe sea. 

"And here we are, " she said, half aloud, half satirically, yet withevident pride, "talking about art. "

She pulled a basket containing balls of differently colored wools and apair of stockings which needed darning towards her, and began to set herfingers to work; while her mind, reflecting the lassitude of her body, went on perversely, conjuring up visions of solitude and quiet, and shepictured herself laying aside her knitting and walking out on to thedown, and hearing nothing but the sheep cropping the grass close to theroots, while the shadows of the little trees moved very slightly thisway and that in the moonlight, as the breeze went through them. Butshe was perfectly conscious of her present situation, and derived somepleasure from the reflection that she could rejoice equally in solitude, and in the presence of the many very different people who were nowmaking their way, by divers paths, across London to the spot where shewas sitting. 

As she ran her needle in and out of the wool, she thought of thevarious stages in her own life which made her present position seem theculmination of successive miracles. She thought of her clerical fatherin his country parsonage, and of her mother's death, and of her owndetermination to obtain education, and of her college life, which hadmerged, not so very long ago, in the wonderful maze of London, whichstill seemed to her, in spite of her constitutional level-headedness, like a vast electric light, casting radiance upon the myriads of men andwomen who crowded round it. And here she was at the very center of itall, that center which was constantly in the minds of people in remoteCanadian forests and on the plains of India, when their thoughts turnedto England. The nine mellow strokes, by which she was now apprised ofthe hour, were a message from the great clock at Westminster itself. Asthe last of them died away, there was a firm knocking on her own door, and she rose and opened it. She returned to the room, with a look ofsteady pleasure in her eyes, and she was talking to Ralph Denham, whofollowed her. 

"Alone?" he said, as if he were pleasantly surprised by that fact. 

"I am sometimes alone, " she replied. 

"But you expect a great many people, " he added, looking round him. "It'slike a room on the stage. Who is it to-night?"

"William Rodney, upon the Elizabethan use of metaphor. I expect a goodsolid paper, with plenty of quotations from the classics. "

Ralph warmed his hands at the fire, which was flapping bravely in thegrate, while Mary took up her stocking again. 

"I suppose you are the only woman in London who darns her ownstockings, " he observed. 

"I'm only one of a great many thousands really, " she replied, "though Imust admit that I was thinking myself very remarkable when you came in. And now that you're here I don't think myself remarkable at all. Howhorrid of you! But I'm afraid you're much more remarkable than I am. You've done much more than I've done. "

"If that's your standard, you've nothing to be proud of, " said Ralphgrimly. 

"Well, I must reflect with Emerson that it's being and not doing thatmatters, " she continued. 

"Emerson?" Ralph exclaimed, with derision. "You don't mean to say youread Emerson?"

"Perhaps it wasn't Emerson; but why shouldn't I read Emerson?" sheasked, with a tinge of anxiety. 

"There's no reason that I know of. It's the combination that'sodd--books and stockings. The combination is very odd. " But it seemedto recommend itself to him. Mary gave a little laugh, expressive ofhappiness, and the particular stitches that she was now putting into herwork appeared to her to be done with singular grace and felicity. Sheheld out the stocking and looked at it approvingly. 

"You always say that, " she said. "I assure you it's a common'combination, ' as you call it, in the houses of the clergy. The onlything that's odd about me is that I enjoy them both--Emerson and thestocking. "

A knock was heard, and Ralph exclaimed:

"Damn those people! I wish they weren't coming!"

"It's only Mr. Turner, on the floor below, " said Mary, and she feltgrateful to Mr. Turner for having alarmed Ralph, and for having given afalse alarm. 

"Will there be a crowd?" Ralph asked, after a pause. 

"There'll be the Morrises and the Crashaws, and Dick Osborne, andSeptimus, and all that set. Katharine Hilbery is coming, by the way, soWilliam Rodney told me. "

"Katharine Hilbery!" Ralph exclaimed. 

"You know her?" Mary asked, with some surprise. 

"I went to a tea-party at her house. "

Mary pressed him to tell her all about it, and Ralph was not at allunwilling to exhibit proofs of the extent of his knowledge. He describedthe scene with certain additions and exaggerations which interested Maryvery much. 

"But, in spite of what you say, I do admire her, " she said. "I've onlyseen her once or twice, but she seems to me to be what one calls a'personality. '"

"I didn't mean to abuse her. I only felt that she wasn't verysympathetic to me. "

"They say she's going to marry that queer creature Rodney. "

"Marry Rodney? Then she must be more deluded than I thought her. "

"Now that's my door, all right, " Mary exclaimed, carefully puttingher wools away, as a succession of knocks reverberated unnecessarily, accompanied by a sound of people stamping their feet and laughing. Amoment later the room was full of young men and women, who came in witha peculiar look of expectation, exclaimed "Oh!" when they saw Denham, and then stood still, gaping rather foolishly. 

The room very soon contained between twenty and thirty people, who foundseats for the most part upon the floor, occupying the mattresses, andhunching themselves together into triangular shapes. They were all youngand some of them seemed to make a protest by their hair and dress, andsomething somber and truculent in the expression of their faces, againstthe more normal type, who would have passed unnoticed in an omnibus oran underground railway. It was notable that the talk was confined togroups, and was, at first, entirely spasmodic in character, and mutteredin undertones as if the speakers were suspicious of their fellow-guests. 

Katharine Hilbery came in rather late, and took up a position onthe floor, with her back against the wall. She looked round quickly, recognized about half a dozen people, to whom she nodded, but failed tosee Ralph, or, if so, had already forgotten to attach any name to him. But in a second these heterogeneous elements were all united by thevoice of Mr. Rodney, who suddenly strode up to the table, and began veryrapidly in high-strained tones:

"In undertaking to speak of the Elizabethan use of metaphor in poetry--"

All the different heads swung slightly or steadied themselves into aposition in which they could gaze straight at the speaker's face, andthe same rather solemn expression was visible on all of them. But, at the same time, even the faces that were most exposed to view, andtherefore most tautly under control, disclosed a sudden impulsive tremorwhich, unless directly checked, would have developed into an outburst oflaughter. The first sight of Mr. Rodney was irresistibly ludicrous. He was very red in the face, whether from the cool November night ornervousness, and every movement, from the way he wrung his hands to theway he jerked his head to right and left, as though a vision drew himnow to the door, now to the window, bespoke his horrible discomfortunder the stare of so many eyes. He was scrupulously well dressed, anda pearl in the center of his tie seemed to give him a touch ofaristocratic opulence. But the rather prominent eyes and the impulsivestammering manner, which seemed to indicate a torrent of ideasintermittently pressing for utterance and always checked in their courseby a clutch of nervousness, drew no pity, as in the case of a moreimposing personage, but a desire to laugh, which was, however, entirelylacking in malice. Mr. Rodney was evidently so painfully conscious ofthe oddity of his appearance, and his very redness and the starts towhich his body was liable gave such proof of his own discomfort, that there was something endearing in this ridiculous susceptibility, although most people would probably have echoed Denham's privateexclamation, "Fancy marrying a creature like that!"

His paper was carefully written out, but in spite of this precautionMr. Rodney managed to turn over two sheets instead of one, to choose thewrong sentence where two were written together, and to discover his ownhandwriting suddenly illegible. When he found himself possessed of acoherent passage, he shook it at his audience almost aggressively, andthen fumbled for another. After a distressing search a fresh discoverywould be made, and produced in the same way, until, by means of repeatedattacks, he had stirred his audience to a degree of animation quiteremarkable in these gatherings. Whether they were stirred by hisenthusiasm for poetry or by the contortions which a human being wasgoing through for their benefit, it would be hard to say. At length Mr. Rodney sat down impulsively in the middle of a sentence, and, after apause of bewilderment, the audience expressed its relief at being ableto laugh aloud in a decided outburst of applause. 

Mr. Rodney acknowledged this with a wild glance round him, and, insteadof waiting to answer questions, he jumped up, thrust himself throughthe seated bodies into the corner where Katharine was sitting, andexclaimed, very audibly:

"Well, Katharine, I hope I've made a big enough fool of myself even foryou! It was terrible! terrible! terrible!"

"Hush! You must answer their questions, " Katharine whispered, desiring, at all costs, to keep him quiet. Oddly enough, when the speaker was nolonger in front of them, there seemed to be much that was suggestive inwhat he had said. At any rate, a pale-faced young man with sad eyes wasalready on his feet, delivering an accurately worded speech with perfectcomposure. William Rodney listened with a curious lifting of his upperlip, although his face was still quivering slightly with emotion. 

"Idiot!" he whispered. "He's misunderstood every word I said!"

"Well then, answer him, " Katharine whispered back. 

"No, I shan't! They'd only laugh at me. Why did I let you persuade methat these sort of people care for literature?" he continued. 

There was much to be said both for and against Mr. Rodney's paper. Ithad been crammed with assertions that such-and-such passages, takenliberally from English, French, and Italian, are the supreme pearls ofliterature. Further, he was fond of using metaphors which, compoundedin the study, were apt to sound either cramped or out of place as hedelivered them in fragments. Literature was a fresh garland of springflowers, he said, in which yew-berries and the purple nightshade mingledwith the various tints of the anemone; and somehow or other this garlandencircled marble brows. He had read very badly some very beautifulquotations. But through his manner and his confusion of language therehad emerged some passion of feeling which, as he spoke, formed in themajority of the audience a little picture or an idea which each now waseager to give expression to. Most of the people there proposed to spendtheir lives in the practice either of writing or painting, and merelyby looking at them it could be seen that, as they listened to Mr. Purvisfirst, and then to Mr. Greenhalgh, they were seeing something done bythese gentlemen to a possession which they thought to be their own. Oneperson after another rose, and, as with an ill-balanced axe, attemptedto hew out his conception of art a little more clearly, and sat downwith the feeling that, for some reason which he could not grasp, hisstrokes had gone awry. As they sat down they turned almost invariably tothe person sitting next them, and rectified and continued what theyhad just said in public. Before long, therefore, the groups on themattresses and the groups on the chairs were all in communication witheach other, and Mary Datchet, who had begun to darn stockings again, stooped down and remarked to Ralph:

"That was what I call a first-rate paper. "

Both of them instinctively turned their eyes in the direction of thereader of the paper. He was lying back against the wall, with hiseyes apparently shut, and his chin sunk upon his collar. Katharine wasturning over the pages of his manuscript as if she were looking forsome passage that had particularly struck her, and had a difficulty infinding it. 

"Let's go and tell him how much we liked it, " said Mary, thus suggestingan action which Ralph was anxious to take, though without her he wouldhave been too proud to do it, for he suspected that he had more interestin Katharine than she had in him. 

"That was a very interesting paper, " Mary began, without any shyness, seating herself on the floor opposite to Rodney and Katharine. "Will youlend me the manuscript to read in peace?"

Rodney, who had opened his eyes on their approach, regarded her for amoment in suspicious silence. 

"Do you say that merely to disguise the fact of my ridiculous failure?"he asked. 

Katharine looked up from her reading with a smile. 

"He says he doesn't mind what we think of him, " she remarked. "He sayswe don't care a rap for art of any kind. "

"I asked her to pity me, and she teases me!" Rodney exclaimed. 

"I don't intend to pity you, Mr. Rodney, " Mary remarked, kindly, butfirmly. "When a paper's a failure, nobody says anything, whereas now, just listen to them!"

The sound, which filled the room, with its hurry of short syllables, itssudden pauses, and its sudden attacks, might be compared to some animalhubbub, frantic and inarticulate. 

"D'you think that's all about my paper?" Rodney inquired, after amoment's attention, with a distinct brightening of expression. 

"Of course it is, " said Mary. "It was a very suggestive paper. "

She turned to Denham for confirmation, and he corroborated her. 

"It's the ten minutes after a paper is read that proves whether it'sbeen a success or not, " he said. "If I were you, Rodney, I should bevery pleased with myself. "

This commendation seemed to comfort Mr. Rodney completely, and he beganto bethink him of all the passages in his paper which deserved to becalled "suggestive. "

"Did you agree at all, Denham, with what I said about Shakespeare'slater use of imagery? I'm afraid I didn't altogether make my meaningplain. "

Here he gathered himself together, and by means of a series of frog-likejerks, succeeded in bringing himself close to Denham. 

Denham answered him with the brevity which is the result of havinganother sentence in the mind to be addressed to another person. Hewished to say to Katharine: "Did you remember to get that picture glazedbefore your aunt came to dinner?" but, besides having to answer Rodney, he was not sure that the remark, with its assertion of intimacy, wouldnot strike Katharine as impertinent. She was listening to what some onein another group was saying. Rodney, meanwhile, was talking about theElizabethan dramatists. 

He was a curious-looking man since, upon first sight, especially ifhe chanced to be talking with animation, he appeared, in some way, ridiculous; but, next moment, in repose, his face, with its large nose, thin cheeks and lips expressing the utmost sensibility, somehow recalleda Roman head bound with laurel, cut upon a circle of semi-transparentreddish stone. It had dignity and character. By profession a clerk ina Government office, he was one of those martyred spirits to whomliterature is at once a source of divine joy and of almost intolerableirritation. Not content to rest in their love of it, they must attemptto practise it themselves, and they are generally endowed with verylittle facility in composition. They condemn whatever they produce. Moreover, the violence of their feelings is such that they seldom meetwith adequate sympathy, and being rendered very sensitive by theircultivated perceptions, suffer constant slights both to their ownpersons and to the thing they worship. But Rodney could never resistmaking trial of the sympathies of any one who seemed favorably disposed, and Denham's praise had stimulated his very susceptible vanity. 

"You remember the passage just before the death of the Duchess?" hecontinued, edging still closer to Denham, and adjusting his elbow andknee in an incredibly angular combination. Here, Katharine, who had beencut off by these maneuvers from all communication with the outer world, rose, and seated herself upon the window-sill, where she was joined byMary Datchet. The two young women could thus survey the whole party. Denham looked after them, and made as if he were tearing handfuls ofgrass up by the roots from the carpet. But as it fell in accuratelywith his conception of life that all one's desires were bound to befrustrated, he concentrated his mind upon literature, and determined, philosophically, to get what he could out of that. 

Katharine was pleasantly excited. A variety of courses was open to her. She knew several people slightly, and at any moment one of them mightrise from the floor and come and speak to her; on the other hand, shemight select somebody for herself, or she might strike into Rodney'sdiscourse, to which she was intermittently attentive. She was consciousof Mary's body beside her, but, at the same time, the consciousness ofbeing both of them women made it unnecessary to speak to her. But Mary, feeling, as she had said, that Katharine was a "personality, " wished somuch to speak to her that in a few moments she did. 

"They're exactly like a flock of sheep, aren't they?" she said, referring to the noise that rose from the scattered bodies beneath her. 

Katharine turned and smiled. 

"I wonder what they're making such a noise about?" she said. 

"The Elizabethans, I suppose. "

"No, I don't think it's got anything to do with the Elizabethans. There!Didn't you hear them say, 'Insurance Bill'?"

"I wonder why men always talk about politics?" Mary speculated. "Isuppose, if we had votes, we should, too. "

"I dare say we should. And you spend your life in getting us votes, don't you?"

"I do, " said Mary, stoutly. "From ten to six every day I'm at it. "

Katharine looked at Ralph Denham, who was now pounding his way throughthe metaphysics of metaphor with Rodney, and was reminded of his talkthat Sunday afternoon. She connected him vaguely with Mary. 

"I suppose you're one of the people who think we should all haveprofessions, " she said, rather distantly, as if feeling her way amongthe phantoms of an unknown world. 

"Oh dear no, " said Mary at once. 

"Well, I think I do, " Katharine continued, with half a sigh. "You willalways be able to say that you've done something, whereas, in a crowdlike this, I feel rather melancholy. "

"In a crowd? Why in a crowd?" Mary asked, deepening the two linesbetween her eyes, and hoisting herself nearer to Katharine upon thewindow-sill. 

"Don't you see how many different things these people care about? AndI want to beat them down--I only mean, " she corrected herself, "that Iwant to assert myself, and it's difficult, if one hasn't a profession. "

Mary smiled, thinking that to beat people down was a process that shouldpresent no difficulty to Miss Katharine Hilbery. They knew each otherso slightly that the beginning of intimacy, which Katharine seemed toinitiate by talking about herself, had something solemn in it, and theywere silent, as if to decide whether to proceed or not. They tested theground. 

"Ah, but I want to trample upon their prostrate bodies!" Katharineannounced, a moment later, with a laugh, as if at the train of thoughtwhich had led her to this conclusion. 

"One doesn't necessarily trample upon people's bodies because one runsan office, " Mary remarked. 

"No. Perhaps not, " Katharine replied. The conversation lapsed, and Marysaw Katharine looking out into the room rather moodily with closed lips, the desire to talk about herself or to initiate a friendship having, apparently, left her. Mary was struck by her capacity for being thuseasily silent, and occupied with her own thoughts. It was a habit thatspoke of loneliness and a mind thinking for itself. When Katharineremained silent Mary was slightly embarrassed. 

"Yes, they're very like sheep, " she repeated, foolishly. 

"And yet they are very clever--at least, " Katharine added, "I supposethey have all read Webster. "

"Surely you don't think that a proof of cleverness? I've read Webster, I've read Ben Jonson, but I don't think myself clever--not exactly, atleast. "

"I think you must be very clever, " Katharine observed. 

"Why? Because I run an office?"

"I wasn't thinking of that. I was thinking how you live alone in thisroom, and have parties. "

Mary reflected for a second. 

"It means, chiefly, a power of being disagreeable to one's own family, I think. I have that, perhaps. I didn't want to live at home, and Itold my father. He didn't like it.... But then I have a sister, and youhaven't, have you?"

"No, I haven't any sisters. "

"You are writing a life of your grandfather?" Mary pursued. 

Katharine seemed instantly to be confronted by some familiar thoughtfrom which she wished to escape. She replied, "Yes, I am helping mymother, " in such a way that Mary felt herself baffled, and put backagain into the position in which she had been at the beginning of theirtalk. It seemed to her that Katharine possessed a curious power ofdrawing near and receding, which sent alternate emotions through herfar more quickly than was usual, and kept her in a condition ofcurious alertness. Desiring to classify her, Mary bethought her of theconvenient term "egoist. "

"She's an egoist, " she said to herself, and stored that word up togive to Ralph one day when, as it would certainly fall out, they werediscussing Miss Hilbery. 

"Heavens, what a mess there'll be to-morrow morning!" Katharineexclaimed. "I hope you don't sleep in this room, Miss Datchet?"

Mary laughed. 

"What are you laughing at?" Katharine demanded. 

"I won't tell you. "

"Let me guess. You were laughing because you thought I'd changed theconversation?"

"No. "

"Because you think--" She paused. 

"If you want to know, I was laughing at the way you said Miss Datchet. "

"Mary, then. Mary, Mary, Mary. "

So saying, Katharine drew back the curtain in order, perhaps, to concealthe momentary flush of pleasure which is caused by coming perceptiblynearer to another person. 

"Mary Datchet, " said Mary. "It's not such an imposing name as KatharineHilbery, I'm afraid. "

They both looked out of the window, first up at the hard silver moon, stationary among a hurry of little grey-blue clouds, and then down uponthe roofs of London, with all their upright chimneys, and then belowthem at the empty moonlit pavement of the street, upon which the jointof each paving-stone was clearly marked out. Mary then saw Katharineraise her eyes again to the moon, with a contemplative look in them, asthough she were setting that moon against the moon of other nights, held in memory. Some one in the room behind them made a joke aboutstar-gazing, which destroyed their pleasure in it, and they looked backinto the room again. 

Ralph had been watching for this moment, and he instantly produced hissentence. 

"I wonder, Miss Hilbery, whether you remembered to get that pictureglazed?" His voice showed that the question was one that had beenprepared. 

"Oh, you idiot!" Mary exclaimed, very nearly aloud, with a sense thatRalph had said something very stupid. So, after three lessons in Latingrammar, one might correct a fellow student, whose knowledge did notembrace the ablative of "mensa. "

"Picture--what picture?" Katharine asked. "Oh, at home, you mean--thatSunday afternoon. Was it the day Mr. Fortescue came? Yes, I think Iremembered it. "

The three of them stood for a moment awkwardly silent, and then Maryleft them in order to see that the great pitcher of coffee was properlyhandled, for beneath all her education she preserved the anxieties ofone who owns china. 

Ralph could think of nothing further to say; but could one have strippedoff his mask of flesh, one would have seen that his will-power wasrigidly set upon a single object--that Miss Hilbery should obey him. He wished her to stay there until, by some measures not yet apparentto him, he had conquered her interest. These states of mind transmitthemselves very often without the use of language, and it was evident toKatharine that this young man had fixed his mind upon her. She instantlyrecalled her first impressions of him, and saw herself again profferingfamily relics. She reverted to the state of mind in which he hadleft her that Sunday afternoon. She supposed that he judged her veryseverely. She argued naturally that, if this were the case, the burdenof the conversation should rest with him. But she submitted so far asto stand perfectly still, her eyes upon the opposite wall, and her lipsvery nearly closed, though the desire to laugh stirred them slightly. 

"You know the names of the stars, I suppose?" Denham remarked, and fromthe tone of his voice one might have thought that he grudged Katharinethe knowledge he attributed to her. 

She kept her voice steady with some difficulty. 

"I know how to find the Pole star if I'm lost. "

"I don't suppose that often happens to you. "

"No. Nothing interesting ever happens to me, " she said. 

"I think you make a system of saying disagreeable things, Miss Hilbery, "he broke out, again going further than he meant to. "I suppose it's oneof the characteristics of your class. They never talk seriously to theirinferiors. "

Whether it was that they were meeting on neutral ground to-night, orwhether the carelessness of an old grey coat that Denham wore gave anease to his bearing that he lacked in conventional dress, Katharinecertainly felt no impulse to consider him outside the particular set inwhich she lived. 

"In what sense are you my inferior?" she asked, looking at him gravely, as though honestly searching for his meaning. The look gave him greatpleasure. For the first time he felt himself on perfectly equal termswith a woman whom he wished to think well of him, although he couldnot have explained why her opinion of him mattered one way or another. Perhaps, after all, he only wanted to have something of her to take hometo think about. But he was not destined to profit by his advantage. 

"I don't think I understand what you mean, " Katharine repeated, and thenshe was obliged to stop and answer some one who wished to know whethershe would buy a ticket for an opera from them, at a reduction. Indeed, the temper of the meeting was now unfavorable to separate conversation;it had become rather debauched and hilarious, and people who scarcelyknew each other were making use of Christian names with apparentcordiality, and had reached that kind of gay tolerance and generalfriendliness which human beings in England only attain after sittingtogether for three hours or so, and the first cold blast in the airof the street freezes them into isolation once more. Cloaks were beingflung round the shoulders, hats swiftly pinned to the head; and Denhamhad the mortification of seeing Katharine helped to prepare herself bythe ridiculous Rodney. It was not the convention of the meeting to saygood-bye, or necessarily even to nod to the person with whom one wastalking; but, nevertheless, Denham was disappointed by the completenesswith which Katharine parted from him, without any attempt to finish hersentence. She left with Rodney. 

CHAPTER V

Denham had no conscious intention of following Katharine, but, seeingher depart, he took his hat and ran rather more quickly down the stairsthan he would have done if Katharine had not been in front of him. Heovertook a friend of his, by name Harry Sandys, who was going the sameway, and they walked together a few paces behind Katharine and Rodney. 

The night was very still, and on such nights, when the traffic thinsaway, the walker becomes conscious of the moon in the street, as if thecurtains of the sky had been drawn apart, and the heaven lay bare, asit does in the country. The air was softly cool, so that people whohad been sitting talking in a crowd found it pleasant to walk a littlebefore deciding to stop an omnibus or encounter light again in anunderground railway. Sandys, who was a barrister with a philosophictendency, took out his pipe, lit it, murmured "hum" and "ha, " and wassilent. The couple in front of them kept their distance accurately, andappeared, so far as Denham could judge by the way they turned towardseach other, to be talking very constantly. He observed that when apedestrian going the opposite way forced them to part they came togetheragain directly afterwards. Without intending to watch them he neverquite lost sight of the yellow scarf twisted round Katharine's head, orthe light overcoat which made Rodney look fashionable among the crowd. At the Strand he supposed that they would separate, but instead theycrossed the road, and took their way down one of the narrow passageswhich lead through ancient courts to the river. Among the crowd ofpeople in the big thoroughfares Rodney seemed merely to be lendingKatharine his escort, but now, when passengers were rare and thefootsteps of the couple were distinctly heard in the silence, Denhamcould not help picturing to himself some change in their conversation. The effect of the light and shadow, which seemed to increase theirheight, was to make them mysterious and significant, so that Denhamhad no feeling of irritation with Katharine, but rather a half-dreamyacquiescence in the course of the world. Yes, she did very well to dreamabout--but Sandys had suddenly begun to talk. He was a solitary man whohad made his friends at college and always addressed them as if theywere still undergraduates arguing in his room, though many months oreven years had passed in some cases between the last sentence and thepresent one. The method was a little singular, but very restful, forit seemed to ignore completely all accidents of human life, and to spanvery deep abysses with a few simple words. 

On this occasion he began, while they waited for a minute on the edge ofthe Strand:

"I hear that Bennett has given up his theory of truth. "

Denham returned a suitable answer, and he proceeded to explain howthis decision had been arrived at, and what changes it involved in thephilosophy which they both accepted. Meanwhile Katharine and Rodney drewfurther ahead, and Denham kept, if that is the right expression for aninvoluntary action, one filament of his mind upon them, while with therest of his intelligence he sought to understand what Sandys was saying. 

As they passed through the courts thus talking, Sandys laid the tip ofhis stick upon one of the stones forming a time-worn arch, and struckit meditatively two or three times in order to illustrate something veryobscure about the complex nature of one's apprehension of facts. Duringthe pause which this necessitated, Katharine and Rodney turned thecorner and disappeared. For a moment Denham stopped involuntarily in hissentence, and continued it with a sense of having lost something. 

Unconscious that they were observed, Katharine and Rodney had come outon the Embankment. When they had crossed the road, Rodney slapped hishand upon the stone parapet above the river and exclaimed:

"I promise I won't say another word about it, Katharine! But do stop aminute and look at the moon upon the water. "

Katharine paused, looked up and down the river, and snuffed the air. 

"I'm sure one can smell the sea, with the wind blowing this way, " shesaid. 

They stood silent for a few moments while the river shifted in its bed, and the silver and red lights which were laid upon it were torn by thecurrent and joined together again. Very far off up the river a steamerhooted with its hollow voice of unspeakable melancholy, as if from theheart of lonely mist-shrouded voyagings. 

"Ah!" Rodney cried, striking his hand once more upon the balustrade, "why can't one say how beautiful it all is? Why am I condemned forever, Katharine, to feel what I can't express? And the things I can givethere's no use in my giving. Trust me, Katharine, " he added hastily, "I won't speak of it again. But in the presence of beauty--look atthe iridescence round the moon!--one feels--one feels--Perhaps if youmarried me--I'm half a poet, you see, and I can't pretend not to feelwhat I do feel. If I could write--ah, that would be another matter. Ishouldn't bother you to marry me then, Katharine. "

He spoke these disconnected sentences rather abruptly, with his eyesalternately upon the moon and upon the stream. 

"But for me I suppose you would recommend marriage?" said Katharine, with her eyes fixed on the moon. 

"Certainly I should. Not for you only, but for all women. Why, you'renothing at all without it; you're only half alive; using only halfyour faculties; you must feel that for yourself. That is why--" Here hestopped himself, and they began to walk slowly along the Embankment, themoon fronting them. 

 "With how sad steps she climbs the sky, How silently and with how wan a face, "

Rodney quoted. 

"I've been told a great many unpleasant things about myself to-night, "Katharine stated, without attending to him. "Mr. Denham seems to thinkit his mission to lecture me, though I hardly know him. By the way, William, you know him; tell me, what is he like?"

William drew a deep sigh. 

"We may lecture you till we're blue in the face--"

"Yes--but what's he like?"

"And we write sonnets to your eyebrows, you cruel practical creature. Denham?" he added, as Katharine remained silent. "A good fellow, Ishould think. He cares, naturally, for the right sort of things, Iexpect. But you mustn't marry him, though. He scolded you, did he--whatdid he say?"

"What happens with Mr. Denham is this: He comes to tea. I do all I canto put him at his ease. He merely sits and scowls at me. Then I show himour manuscripts. At this he becomes really angry, and tells me I've nobusiness to call myself a middle-class woman. So we part in a huff; andnext time we meet, which was to-night, he walks straight up to me, andsays, 'Go to the Devil!' That's the sort of behavior my mother complainsof. I want to know, what does it mean?"

She paused and, slackening her steps, looked at the lighted traindrawing itself smoothly over Hungerford Bridge. 

"It means, I should say, that he finds you chilly and unsympathetic. "

Katharine laughed with round, separate notes of genuine amusement. 

"It's time I jumped into a cab and hid myself in my own house, " sheexclaimed. 

"Would your mother object to my being seen with you? No one couldpossibly recognize us, could they?" Rodney inquired, with somesolicitude. 

Katharine looked at him, and perceiving that his solicitude was genuine, she laughed again, but with an ironical note in her laughter. 

"You may laugh, Katharine, but I can tell you that if any of yourfriends saw us together at this time of night they would talk about it, and I should find that very disagreeable. But why do you laugh?"

"I don't know. Because you're such a queer mixture, I think. You're halfpoet and half old maid. "

"I know I always seem to you highly ridiculous. But I can't help havinginherited certain traditions and trying to put them into practice. "

"Nonsense, William. You may come of the oldest family in Devonshire, but that's no reason why you should mind being seen alone with me on theEmbankment. "

"I'm ten years older than you are, Katharine, and I know more of theworld than you do. "

"Very well. Leave me and go home. "

Rodney looked back over his shoulder and perceived that they were beingfollowed at a short distance by a taxicab, which evidently awaited hissummons. Katharine saw it, too, and exclaimed:

"Don't call that cab for me, William. I shall walk. "

"Nonsense, Katharine; you'll do nothing of the kind. It's nearly twelveo'clock, and we've walked too far as it is. "

Katharine laughed and walked on so quickly that both Rodney and thetaxicab had to increase their pace to keep up with her. 

"Now, William, " she said, "if people see me racing along the Embankmentlike this they WILL talk. You had far better say good-night, if youdon't want people to talk. "

At this William beckoned, with a despotic gesture, to the cab with onehand, and with the other he brought Katharine to a standstill. 

"Don't let the man see us struggling, for God's sake!" he murmured. Katharine stood for a moment quite still. 

"There's more of the old maid in you than the poet, " she observedbriefly. 

William shut the door sharply, gave the address to the driver, andturned away, lifting his hat punctiliously high in farewell to theinvisible lady. 

He looked back after the cab twice, suspiciously, half expecting thatshe would stop it and dismount; but it bore her swiftly on, and wassoon out of sight. William felt in the mood for a short soliloquy ofindignation, for Katharine had contrived to exasperate him in more waysthan one. 

"Of all the unreasonable, inconsiderate creatures I've ever known, she'sthe worst!" he exclaimed to himself, striding back along the Embankment. "Heaven forbid that I should ever make a fool of myself with heragain. Why, I'd sooner marry the daughter of my landlady than KatharineHilbery! She'd leave me not a moment's peace--and she'd never understandme--never, never, never!"

Uttered aloud and with vehemence so that the stars of Heaven mighthear, for there was no human being at hand, these sentiments soundedsatisfactorily irrefutable. Rodney quieted down, and walked on insilence, until he perceived some one approaching him, who had something, either in his walk or his dress, which proclaimed that he was one ofWilliam's acquaintances before it was possible to tell which of them hewas. It was Denham who, having parted from Sandys at the bottom of hisstaircase, was now walking to the Tube at Charing Cross, deep in thethoughts which his talk with Sandys had suggested. He had forgotten themeeting at Mary Datchet's rooms, he had forgotten Rodney, and metaphorsand Elizabethan drama, and could have sworn that he had forgottenKatharine Hilbery, too, although that was more disputable. His mindwas scaling the highest pinnacles of its alps, where there was onlystarlight and the untrodden snow. He cast strange eyes upon Rodney, asthey encountered each other beneath a lamp-post. 

"Ha!" Rodney exclaimed. 

If he had been in full possession of his mind, Denham would probablyhave passed on with a salutation. But the shock of the interruption madehim stand still, and before he knew what he was doing, he had turned andwas walking with Rodney in obedience to Rodney's invitation to come tohis rooms and have something to drink. Denham had no wish to drink withRodney, but he followed him passively enough. Rodney was gratified bythis obedience. He felt inclined to be communicative with this silentman, who possessed so obviously all the good masculine qualities inwhich Katharine now seemed lamentably deficient. 

"You do well, Denham, " he began impulsively, "to have nothing to dowith young women. I offer you my experience--if one trusts them oneinvariably has cause to repent. Not that I have any reason at thismoment, " he added hastily, "to complain of them. It's a subject thatcrops up now and again for no particular reason. Miss Datchet, I daresay, is one of the exceptions. Do you like Miss Datchet?"

These remarks indicated clearly enough that Rodney's nerves were in astate of irritation, and Denham speedily woke to the situation of theworld as it had been one hour ago. He had last seen Rodney walking withKatharine. He could not help regretting the eagerness with which hismind returned to these interests, and fretted him with the old trivialanxieties. He sank in his own esteem. Reason bade him break from Rodney, who clearly tended to become confidential, before he had utterly losttouch with the problems of high philosophy. He looked along the road, and marked a lamp-post at a distance of some hundred yards, and decidedthat he would part from Rodney when they reached this point. 

"Yes, I like Mary; I don't see how one could help liking her, " heremarked cautiously, with his eye on the lamp-post. 

"Ah, Denham, you're so different from me. You never give yourself away. I watched you this evening with Katharine Hilbery. My instinct is totrust the person I'm talking to. That's why I'm always being taken in, Isuppose. "

Denham seemed to be pondering this statement of Rodney's, but, as amatter of fact, he was hardly conscious of Rodney and his revelations, and was only concerned to make him mention Katharine again before theyreached the lamp-post. 

"Who's taken you in now?" he asked. "Katharine Hilbery?"

Rodney stopped and once more began beating a kind of rhythm, as if hewere marking a phrase in a symphony, upon the smooth stone balustrade ofthe Embankment. 

"Katharine Hilbery, " he repeated, with a curious little chuckle. "No, Denham, I have no illusions about that young woman. I think I made thatplain to her to-night. But don't run away with a false impression, "he continued eagerly, turning and linking his arm through Denham's, asthough to prevent him from escaping; and, thus compelled, Denham passedthe monitory lamp-post, to which, in passing, he breathed an excuse, forhow could he break away when Rodney's arm was actually linked in his?"You must not think that I have any bitterness against her--far from it. It's not altogether her fault, poor girl. She lives, you know, one ofthose odious, self-centered lives--at least, I think them odious for awoman--feeding her wits upon everything, having control of everything, getting far too much her own way at home--spoilt, in a sense, feelingthat every one is at her feet, and so not realizing how she hurts--thatis, how rudely she behaves to people who haven't all her advantages. Still, to do her justice, she's no fool, " he added, as if to warnDenham not to take any liberties. "She has taste. She has sense. She canunderstand you when you talk to her. But she's a woman, and there's anend of it, " he added, with another little chuckle, and dropped Denham'sarm. 

"And did you tell her all this to-night?" Denham asked. 

"Oh dear me, no. I should never think of telling Katharine the truthabout herself. That wouldn't do at all. One has to be in an attitude ofadoration in order to get on with Katharine. 

"Now I've learnt that she's refused to marry him why don't I go home?"Denham thought to himself. But he went on walking beside Rodney, and fora time they did not speak, though Rodney hummed snatches of a tune outof an opera by Mozart. A feeling of contempt and liking combinevery naturally in the mind of one to whom another has just spokenunpremeditatedly, revealing rather more of his private feelings than heintended to reveal. Denham began to wonder what sort of person Rodneywas, and at the same time Rodney began to think about Denham. 

"You're a slave like me, I suppose?" he asked. 

"A solicitor, yes. "

"I sometimes wonder why we don't chuck it. Why don't you emigrate, Denham? I should have thought that would suit you. "

"I've a family. "

"I'm often on the point of going myself. And then I know I couldn't livewithout this"--and he waved his hand towards the City of London, whichwore, at this moment, the appearance of a town cut out of gray-bluecardboard, and pasted flat against the sky, which was of a deeper blue. 

"There are one or two people I'm fond of, and there's a little goodmusic, and a few pictures, now and then--just enough to keep onedangling about here. Ah, but I couldn't live with savages! Are you fondof books? Music? Pictures? D'you care at all for first editions? I'vegot a few nice things up here, things I pick up cheap, for I can'tafford to give what they ask. "

They had reached a small court of high eighteenth-century houses, inone of which Rodney had his rooms. They climbed a very steep staircase, through whose uncurtained windows the moonlight fell, illuminating thebanisters with their twisted pillars, and the piles of plates set on thewindow-sills, and jars half-full of milk. Rodney's rooms were small, butthe sitting-room window looked out into a courtyard, with its flaggedpavement, and its single tree, and across to the flat red-brick frontsof the opposite houses, which would not have surprised Dr. Johnson, ifhe had come out of his grave for a turn in the moonlight. Rodney lithis lamp, pulled his curtains, offered Denham a chair, and, flingingthe manuscript of his paper on the Elizabethan use of Metaphor on to thetable, exclaimed:

"Oh dear me, what a waste of time! But it's over now, and so we maythink no more about it. "

He then busied himself very dexterously in lighting a fire, producingglasses, whisky, a cake, and cups and saucers. He put on a faded crimsondressing-gown, and a pair of red slippers, and advanced to Denham with atumbler in one hand and a well-burnished book in the other. 

"The Baskerville Congreve, " said Rodney, offering it to his guest. "Icouldn't read him in a cheap edition. "

When he was seen thus among his books and his valuables, amiably anxiousto make his visitor comfortable, and moving about with something ofthe dexterity and grace of a Persian cat, Denham relaxed his criticalattitude, and felt more at home with Rodney than he would have done withmany men better known to him. Rodney's room was the room of a personwho cherishes a great many personal tastes, guarding them from the roughblasts of the public with scrupulous attention. His papers and his booksrose in jagged mounds on table and floor, round which he skirted withnervous care lest his dressing-gown might disarrange them ever soslightly. On a chair stood a stack of photographs of statues andpictures, which it was his habit to exhibit, one by one, for the spaceof a day or two. The books on his shelves were as orderly asregiments of soldiers, and the backs of them shone like so many bronzebeetle-wings; though, if you took one from its place you saw a shabbiervolume behind it, since space was limited. An oval Venetian mirror stoodabove the fireplace, and reflected duskily in its spotted depths thefaint yellow and crimson of a jarful of tulips which stood among theletters and pipes and cigarettes upon the mantelpiece. A small pianooccupied a corner of the room, with the score of "Don Giovanni" openupon the bracket. 

"Well, Rodney, " said Denham, as he filled his pipe and looked about him, "this is all very nice and comfortable. "

Rodney turned his head half round and smiled, with the pride of aproprietor, and then prevented himself from smiling. 

"Tolerable, " he muttered. 

"But I dare say it's just as well that you have to earn your ownliving. "

"If you mean that I shouldn't do anything good with leisure if I hadit, I dare say you're right. But I should be ten times as happy with mywhole day to spend as I liked. "

"I doubt that, " Denham replied. 

They sat silent, and the smoke from their pipes joined amicably in ablue vapor above their heads. 

"I could spend three hours every day reading Shakespeare, " Rodneyremarked. "And there's music and pictures, let alone the society of thepeople one likes. "

"You'd be bored to death in a year's time. "

"Oh, I grant you I should be bored if I did nothing. But I should writeplays. "

"H'm!"

"I should write plays, " he repeated. "I've written three-quarters of onealready, and I'm only waiting for a holiday to finish it. And it's notbad--no, some of it's really rather nice. "

The question arose in Denham's mind whether he should ask to see thisplay, as, no doubt, he was expected to do. He looked rather stealthilyat Rodney, who was tapping the coal nervously with a poker, andquivering almost physically, so Denham thought, with desire to talkabout this play of his, and vanity unrequited and urgent. He seemed verymuch at Denham's mercy, and Denham could not help liking him, partly onthat account. 

"Well, ... Will you let me see the play?" Denham asked, and Rodney lookedimmediately appeased, but, nevertheless, he sat silent for a moment, holding the poker perfectly upright in the air, regarding it with hisrather prominent eyes, and opening his lips and shutting them again. 

"Do you really care for this kind of thing?" he asked at length, in adifferent tone of voice from that in which he had been speaking. And, without waiting for an answer, he went on, rather querulously: "Very fewpeople care for poetry. I dare say it bores you. "

"Perhaps, " Denham remarked. 

"Well, I'll lend it you, " Rodney announced, putting down the poker. 

As he moved to fetch the play, Denham stretched a hand to the bookcasebeside him, and took down the first volume which his fingers touched. It happened to be a small and very lovely edition of Sir Thomas Browne, containing the "Urn Burial, " the "Hydriotaphia, " and the "Garden ofCyrus, " and, opening it at a passage which he knew very nearly by heart, Denham began to read and, for some time, continued to read. 

Rodney resumed his seat, with his manuscript on his knee, and fromtime to time he glanced at Denham, and then joined his finger-tips andcrossed his thin legs over the fender, as if he experienced a good dealof pleasure. At length Denham shut the book, and stood, with his back tothe fireplace, occasionally making an inarticulate humming sound whichseemed to refer to Sir Thomas Browne. He put his hat on his head, andstood over Rodney, who still lay stretched back in his chair, with histoes within the fender. 

"I shall look in again some time, " Denham remarked, upon which Rodneyheld up his hand, containing his manuscript, without saying anythingexcept--"If you like. "

Denham took the manuscript and went. Two days later he was muchsurprised to find a thin parcel on his breakfast-plate, which, on beingopened, revealed the very copy of Sir Thomas Browne which he had studiedso intently in Rodney's rooms. From sheer laziness he returned nothanks, but he thought of Rodney from time to time with interest, disconnecting him from Katharine, and meant to go round one evening andsmoke a pipe with him. It pleased Rodney thus to give away whatever hisfriends genuinely admired. His library was constantly being diminished. 

CHAPTER VI

Of all the hours of an ordinary working week-day, which are thepleasantest to look forward to and to look back upon? If a singleinstance is of use in framing a theory, it may be said that the minutesbetween nine-twenty-five and nine-thirty in the morning had a singularcharm for Mary Datchet. She spent them in a very enviable frame of mind;her contentment was almost unalloyed. High in the air as her flat was, some beams from the morning sun reached her even in November, strikingstraight at curtain, chair, and carpet, and painting there three bright, true spaces of green, blue, and purple, upon which the eye rested with apleasure which gave physical warmth to the body. 

There were few mornings when Mary did not look up, as she bent tolace her boots, and as she followed the yellow rod from curtain tobreakfast-table she usually breathed some sigh of thankfulness that herlife provided her with such moments of pure enjoyment. She was robbingno one of anything, and yet, to get so much pleasure from simple things, such as eating one's breakfast alone in a room which had nice colors init, clean from the skirting of the boards to the corners of the ceiling, seemed to suit her so thoroughly that she used at first to hunt aboutfor some one to apologize to, or for some flaw in the situation. She hadnow been six months in London, and she could find no flaw, but that, asshe invariably concluded by the time her boots were laced, was solelyand entirely due to the fact that she had her work. Every day, as shestood with her dispatch-box in her hand at the door of her flat, andgave one look back into the room to see that everything was straightbefore she left, she said to herself that she was very glad that shewas going to leave it all, that to have sat there all day long, in theenjoyment of leisure, would have been intolerable. 

Out in the street she liked to think herself one of the workers who, at this hour, take their way in rapid single file along all the broadpavements of the city, with their heads slightly lowered, as if alltheir effort were to follow each other as closely as might be; so thatMary used to figure to herself a straight rabbit-run worn by theirunswerving feet upon the pavement. But she liked to pretend that she wasindistinguishable from the rest, and that when a wet day drove her tothe Underground or omnibus, she gave and took her share of crowd andwet with clerks and typists and commercial men, and shared with themthe serious business of winding-up the world to tick for anotherfour-and-twenty hours. 

Thus thinking, on the particular morning in question, she made her awayacross Lincoln's Inn Fields and up Kingsway, and so through SouthamptonRow until she reached her office in Russell Square. Now and then shewould pause and look into the window of some bookseller or flower shop, where, at this early hour, the goods were being arranged, and empty gapsbehind the plate glass revealed a state of undress. Mary felt kindlydisposed towards the shopkeepers, and hoped that they would trick themidday public into purchasing, for at this hour of the morning sheranged herself entirely on the side of the shopkeepers and bank clerks, and regarded all who slept late and had money to spend as her enemyand natural prey. And directly she had crossed the road at Holborn, herthoughts all came naturally and regularly to roost upon her work, andshe forgot that she was, properly speaking, an amateur worker, whoseservices were unpaid, and could hardly be said to wind the world up forits daily task, since the world, so far, had shown very little desire totake the boons which Mary's society for woman's suffrage had offered it. 

She was thinking all the way up Southampton Row of notepaper andfoolscap, and how an economy in the use of paper might be effected(without, of course, hurting Mrs. Seal's feelings), for she was certainthat the great organizers always pounce, to begin with, upon trifleslike these, and build up their triumphant reforms upon a basis ofabsolute solidity; and, without acknowledging it for a moment, MaryDatchet was determined to be a great organizer, and had already doomedher society to reconstruction of the most radical kind. Once or twicelately, it is true, she had started, broad awake, before turning intoRussell Square, and denounced herself rather sharply for being alreadyin a groove, capable, that is, of thinking the same thoughts everymorning at the same hour, so that the chestnut-colored brick of theRussell Square houses had some curious connection with her thoughtsabout office economy, and served also as a sign that she should getinto trim for meeting Mr. Clacton, or Mrs. Seal, or whoever might bebeforehand with her at the office. Having no religious belief, she wasthe more conscientious about her life, examining her position from timeto time very seriously, and nothing annoyed her more than to find one ofthese bad habits nibbling away unheeded at the precious substance. Whatwas the good, after all, of being a woman if one didn't keep fresh, andcram one's life with all sorts of views and experiments? Thus she alwaysgave herself a little shake, as she turned the corner, and, as often asnot, reached her own door whistling a snatch of a Somersetshire ballad. 

The suffrage office was at the top of one of the large Russell Squarehouses, which had once been lived in by a great city merchant and hisfamily, and was now let out in slices to a number of societies whichdisplayed assorted initials upon doors of ground glass, and kept, eachof them, a typewriter which clicked busily all day long. The oldhouse, with its great stone staircase, echoed hollowly to the sound oftypewriters and of errand-boys from ten to six. The noise of differenttypewriters already at work, disseminating their views upon theprotection of native races, or the value of cereals as foodstuffs, quickened Mary's steps, and she always ran up the last flight of stepswhich led to her own landing, at whatever hour she came, so as to gether typewriter to take its place in competition with the rest. 

She sat herself down to her letters, and very soon all thesespeculations were forgotten, and the two lines drew themselves betweenher eyebrows, as the contents of the letters, the office furniture, andthe sounds of activity in the next room gradually asserted their swayupon her. By eleven o'clock the atmosphere of concentration was runningso strongly in one direction that any thought of a different order couldhardly have survived its birth more than a moment or so. The task whichlay before her was to organize a series of entertainments, the profitsof which were to benefit the society, which drooped for want of funds. It was her first attempt at organization on a large scale, and she meantto achieve something remarkable. She meant to use the cumbrous machineto pick out this, that, and the other interesting person from the muddleof the world, and to set them for a week in a pattern which mustcatch the eyes of Cabinet Ministers, and the eyes once caught, the oldarguments were to be delivered with unexampled originality. Such wasthe scheme as a whole; and in contemplation of it she would become quiteflushed and excited, and have to remind herself of all the details thatintervened between her and success. 

The door would open, and Mr. Clacton would come in to search for acertain leaflet buried beneath a pyramid of leaflets. He was a thin, sandy-haired man of about thirty-five, spoke with a Cockney accent, andhad about him a frugal look, as if nature had not dealt generously withhim in any way, which, naturally, prevented him from dealing generouslywith other people. When he had found his leaflet, and offered a fewjocular hints upon keeping papers in order, the typewriting would stopabruptly, and Mrs. Seal would burst into the room with a letter whichneeded explanation in her hand. This was a more serious interruptionthan the other, because she never knew exactly what she wanted, andhalf a dozen requests would bolt from her, no one of which was clearlystated. Dressed in plum-colored velveteen, with short, gray hair, and aface that seemed permanently flushed with philanthropic enthusiasm, she was always in a hurry, and always in some disorder. She wore twocrucifixes, which got themselves entangled in a heavy gold chain uponher breast, and seemed to Mary expressive of her mental ambiguity. Onlyher vast enthusiasm and her worship of Miss Markham, one of the pioneersof the society, kept her in her place, for which she had no soundqualification. 

So the morning wore on, and the pile of letters grew, and Mary felt, atlast, that she was the center ganglion of a very fine network of nerveswhich fell over England, and one of these days, when she touched theheart of the system, would begin feeling and rushing together andemitting their splendid blaze of revolutionary fireworks--for some suchmetaphor represents what she felt about her work, when her brain hadbeen heated by three hours of application. 

Shortly before one o'clock Mr. Clacton and Mrs. Seal desisted from theirlabors, and the old joke about luncheon, which came out regularlyat this hour, was repeated with scarcely any variation of words. Mr. Clacton patronized a vegetarian restaurant; Mrs. Seal broughtsandwiches, which she ate beneath the plane-trees in Russell Square;while Mary generally went to a gaudy establishment, upholstered in redplush, near by, where, much to the vegetarian's disapproval, you couldbuy steak, two inches thick, or a roast section of fowl, swimming in apewter dish. 

"The bare branches against the sky do one so much GOOD, " Mrs. Sealasserted, looking out into the Square. 

"But one can't lunch off trees, Sally, " said Mary. 

"I confess I don't know how you manage it, Miss Datchet, " Mr. Clactonremarked. "I should sleep all the afternoon, I know, if I took a heavymeal in the middle of the day. "

"What's the very latest thing in literature?" Mary asked, good-humoredlypointing to the yellow-covered volume beneath Mr. Clacton's arm, for heinvariably read some new French author at lunch-time, or squeezed ina visit to a picture gallery, balancing his social work with an ardentculture of which he was secretly proud, as Mary had very soon divined. 

So they parted and Mary walked away, wondering if they guessed that shereally wanted to get away from them, and supposing that they had notquite reached that degree of subtlety. She bought herself an eveningpaper, which she read as she ate, looking over the top of it againand again at the queer people who were buying cakes or imparting theirsecrets, until some young woman whom she knew came in, and she calledout, "Eleanor, come and sit by me, " and they finished their lunchtogether, parting on the strip of pavement among the different lines oftraffic with a pleasant feeling that they were stepping once more intotheir separate places in the great and eternally moving pattern of humanlife. 

But, instead of going straight back to the office to-day, Mary turnedinto the British Museum, and strolled down the gallery with the shapesof stone until she found an empty seat directly beneath the gaze of theElgin marbles. She looked at them, and seemed, as usual, borne up onsome wave of exaltation and emotion, by which her life at once becamesolemn and beautiful--an impression which was due as much, perhaps, to the solitude and chill and silence of the gallery as to the actualbeauty of the statues. One must suppose, at least, that her emotionswere not purely esthetic, because, after she had gazed at the Ulyssesfor a minute or two, she began to think about Ralph Denham. So securedid she feel with these silent shapes that she almost yielded to animpulse to say "I am in love with you" aloud. The presence of thisimmense and enduring beauty made her almost alarmingly conscious of herdesire, and at the same time proud of a feeling which did not displayanything like the same proportions when she was going about her dailywork. 

She repressed her impulse to speak aloud, and rose and wandered aboutrather aimlessly among the statues until she found herself in anothergallery devoted to engraved obelisks and winged Assyrian bulls, and heremotion took another turn. She began to picture herself traveling withRalph in a land where these monsters were couchant in the sand. "For, "she thought to herself, as she gazed fixedly at some information printedbehind a piece of glass, "the wonderful thing about you is that you'reready for anything; you're not in the least conventional, like mostclever men. "

And she conjured up a scene of herself on a camel's back, in the desert, while Ralph commanded a whole tribe of natives. 

"That is what you can do, " she went on, moving on to the next statue. "You always make people do what you want. "

A glow spread over her spirit, and filled her eyes with brightness. Nevertheless, before she left the Museum she was very far from saying, even in the privacy of her own mind, "I am in love with you, " and thatsentence might very well never have framed itself. She was, indeed, rather annoyed with herself for having allowed such an ill-consideredbreach of her reserve, weakening her powers of resistance, she felt, should this impulse return again. For, as she walked along the street toher office, the force of all her customary objections to being in lovewith any one overcame her. She did not want to marry at all. It seemedto her that there was something amateurish in bringing love into touchwith a perfectly straightforward friendship, such as hers was withRalph, which, for two years now, had based itself upon common interestsin impersonal topics, such as the housing of the poor, or the taxationof land values. 

But the afternoon spirit differed intrinsically from the morning spirit. Mary found herself watching the flight of a bird, or making drawings ofthe branches of the plane-trees upon her blotting-paper. People came into see Mr. Clacton on business, and a seductive smell of cigarette smokeissued from his room. Mrs. Seal wandered about with newspaper cuttings, which seemed to her either "quite splendid" or "really too bad forwords. " She used to paste these into books, or send them to her friends, having first drawn a broad bar in blue pencil down the margin, aproceeding which signified equally and indistinguishably the depths ofher reprobation or the heights of her approval. 

About four o'clock on that same afternoon Katharine Hilbery was walkingup Kingsway. The question of tea presented itself. The street lamps werebeing lit already, and as she stood still for a moment beneath one ofthem, she tried to think of some neighboring drawing-room where therewould be firelight and talk congenial to her mood. That mood, owing tothe spinning traffic and the evening veil of unreality, was ill-adaptedto her home surroundings. Perhaps, on the whole, a shop was the bestplace in which to preserve this queer sense of heightened existence. At the same time she wished to talk. Remembering Mary Datchet and herrepeated invitations, she crossed the road, turned into Russell Square, and peered about, seeking for numbers with a sense of adventure that wasout of all proportion to the deed itself. She found herself in a dimlylighted hall, unguarded by a porter, and pushed open the first swingdoor. But the office-boy had never heard of Miss Datchet. Did she belongto the S. R. F. R. ? Katharine shook her head with a smile of dismay. Avoice from within shouted, "No. The S. G. S. --top floor. "

Katharine mounted past innumerable glass doors, with initials on them, and became steadily more and more doubtful of the wisdom of her venture. At the top she paused for a moment to breathe and collect herself. She heard the typewriter and formal professional voices inside, notbelonging, she thought, to any one she had ever spoken to. She touchedthe bell, and the door was opened almost immediately by Mary herself. Her face had to change its expression entirely when she saw Katharine. 

"You!" she exclaimed. "We thought you were the printer. " Still holdingthe door open, she called back, "No, Mr. Clacton, it's not Penningtons. I should ring them up again--double three double eight, Central. Well, this is a surprise. Come in, " she added. "You're just in time for tea. "

The light of relief shone in Mary's eyes. The boredom of the afternoonwas dissipated at once, and she was glad that Katharine had found themin a momentary press of activity, owing to the failure of the printer tosend back certain proofs. 

The unshaded electric light shining upon the table covered with papersdazed Katharine for a moment. After the confusion of her twilight walk, and her random thoughts, life in this small room appeared extremelyconcentrated and bright. She turned instinctively to look out of thewindow, which was uncurtained, but Mary immediately recalled her. 

"It was very clever of you to find your way, " she said, and Katharinewondered, as she stood there, feeling, for the moment, entirely detachedand unabsorbed, why she had come. She looked, indeed, to Mary's eyesstrangely out of place in the office. Her figure in the long cloak, which took deep folds, and her face, which was composed into a mask ofsensitive apprehension, disturbed Mary for a moment with a sense ofthe presence of some one who was of another world, and, therefore, subversive of her world. She became immediately anxious that Katharineshould be impressed by the importance of her world, and hoped thatneither Mrs. Seal nor Mr. Clacton would appear until the impression ofimportance had been received. But in this she was disappointed. Mrs. Seal burst into the room holding a kettle in her hand, which she setupon the stove, and then, with inefficient haste, she set light to thegas, which flared up, exploded, and went out. 

"Always the way, always the way, " she muttered. "Kit Markham is the onlyperson who knows how to deal with the thing. "

Mary had to go to her help, and together they spread the table, andapologized for the disparity between the cups and the plainness of thefood. 

"If we had known Miss Hilbery was coming, we should have bought a cake, "said Mary, upon which Mrs. Seal looked at Katharine for the first time, suspiciously, because she was a person who needed cake. 

Here Mr. Clacton opened the door, and came in, holding a typewrittenletter in his hand, which he was reading aloud. 

"Salford's affiliated, " he said. 

"Well done, Salford!" Mrs. Seal exclaimed enthusiastically, thumping theteapot which she held upon the table, in token of applause. 

"Yes, these provincial centers seem to be coming into line at last, "said Mr. Clacton, and then Mary introduced him to Miss Hilbery, andhe asked her, in a very formal manner, if she were interested "in ourwork. "

"And the proofs still not come?" said Mrs. Seal, putting both her elbowson the table, and propping her chin on her hands, as Mary began to pourout tea. "It's too bad--too bad. At this rate we shall miss thecountry post. Which reminds me, Mr. Clacton, don't you think we shouldcircularize the provinces with Partridge's last speech? What? You've notread it? Oh, it's the best thing they've had in the House this Session. Even the Prime Minister--"

But Mary cut her short. 

"We don't allow shop at tea, Sally, " she said firmly. "We fine her apenny each time she forgets, and the fines go to buying a plum cake, "she explained, seeking to draw Katharine into the community. She hadgiven up all hope of impressing her. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, " Mrs. Seal apologized. "It's my misfortune to bean enthusiast, " she said, turning to Katharine. "My father's daughtercould hardly be anything else. I think I've been on as many committeesas most people. Waifs and Strays, Rescue Work, Church Work, C. O. S. --local branch--besides the usual civic duties which fall to one as ahouseholder. But I've given them all up for our work here, and I don'tregret it for a second, " she added. "This is the root question, I feel;until women have votes--"

"It'll be sixpence, at least, Sally, " said Mary, bringing her fist downon the table. "And we're all sick to death of women and their votes. "

Mrs. Seal looked for a moment as though she could hardly believe herears, and made a deprecating "tut-tut-tut" in her throat, lookingalternately at Katharine and Mary, and shaking her head as she did so. Then she remarked, rather confidentially to Katharine, with a little nodin Mary's direction:

"She's doing more for the cause than any of us. She's giving heryouth--for, alas! when I was young there were domestic circumstances--"she sighed, and stopped short. 

Mr. Clacton hastily reverted to the joke about luncheon, and explainedhow Mrs. Seal fed on a bag of biscuits under the trees, whatever theweather might be, rather, Katharine thought, as though Mrs. Seal were apet dog who had convenient tricks. 

"Yes, I took my little bag into the square, " said Mrs. Seal, with theself-conscious guilt of a child owning some fault to its elders. "It wasreally very sustaining, and the bare boughs against the sky do oneso much GOOD. But I shall have to give up going into the square, " sheproceeded, wrinkling her forehead. "The injustice of it! Why should Ihave a beautiful square all to myself, when poor women who need resthave nowhere at all to sit?" She looked fiercely at Katharine, givingher short locks a little shake. "It's dreadful what a tyrant one stillis, in spite of all one's efforts. One tries to lead a decent life, but one can't. Of course, directly one thinks of it, one sees that ALLsquares should be open to EVERY ONE. Is there any society with thatobject, Mr. Clacton? If not, there should be, surely. "

"A most excellent object, " said Mr. Clacton in his professional manner. "At the same time, one must deplore the ramification of organizations, Mrs. Seal. So much excellent effort thrown away, not to speak of pounds, shillings, and pence. Now how many organizations of a philanthropicnature do you suppose there are in the City of London itself, MissHilbery?" he added, screwing his mouth into a queer little smile, as ifto show that the question had its frivolous side. 

Katharine smiled, too. Her unlikeness to the rest of them had, by thistime, penetrated to Mr. Clacton, who was not naturally observant, andhe was wondering who she was; this same unlikeness had subtly stimulatedMrs. Seal to try and make a convert of her. Mary, too, looked at heralmost as if she begged her to make things easy. For Katharine had shownno disposition to make things easy. She had scarcely spoken, and hersilence, though grave and even thoughtful, seemed to Mary the silence ofone who criticizes. 

"Well, there are more in this house than I'd any notion of, " she said. "On the ground floor you protect natives, on the next you emigrate womenand tell people to eat nuts--"

"Why do you say that 'we' do these things?" Mary interposed, rathersharply. "We're not responsible for all the cranks who choose to lodgein the same house with us. "

Mr. Clacton cleared his throat and looked at each of the young ladiesin turn. He was a good deal struck by the appearance and manner of MissHilbery, which seemed to him to place her among those cultivated andluxurious people of whom he used to dream. Mary, on the other hand, wasmore of his own sort, and a little too much inclined to order him about. He picked up crumbs of dry biscuit and put them into his mouth withincredible rapidity. 

"You don't belong to our society, then?" said Mrs. Seal. 

"No, I'm afraid I don't, " said Katharine, with such ready candor thatMrs. Seal was nonplussed, and stared at her with a puzzled expression, as if she could not classify her among the varieties of human beingsknown to her. 

"But surely, " she began. 

"Mrs. Seal is an enthusiast in these matters, " said Mr. Clacton, almostapologetically. "We have to remind her sometimes that others have aright to their views even if they differ from our own.... "Punch" hasa very funny picture this week, about a Suffragist and an agriculturallaborer. Have you seen this week's "Punch, " Miss Datchet?"

Mary laughed, and said "No. "

Mr. Clacton then told them the substance of the joke, which, however, depended a good deal for its success upon the expression which theartist had put into the people's faces. Mrs. Seal sat all the timeperfectly grave. Directly he had done speaking she burst out:

"But surely, if you care about the welfare of your sex at all, you mustwish them to have the vote?"

"I never said I didn't wish them to have the vote, " Katharine protested. 

"Then why aren't you a member of our society?" Mrs. Seal demanded. 

Katharine stirred her spoon round and round, stared into the swirl ofthe tea, and remained silent. Mr. Clacton, meanwhile, framed a questionwhich, after a moment's hesitation, he put to Katharine. 

"Are you in any way related, I wonder, to the poet Alardyce? Hisdaughter, I believe, married a Mr. Hilbery. "

"Yes; I'm the poet's granddaughter, " said Katharine, with a little sigh, after a pause; and for a moment they were all silent. 

"The poet's granddaughter!" Mrs. Seal repeated, half to herself, with ashake of her head, as if that explained what was otherwise inexplicable. 

The light kindled in Mr. Clacton's eye. 

"Ah, indeed. That interests me very much, " he said. "I owe a great debtto your grandfather, Miss Hilbery. At one time I could have repeatedthe greater part of him by heart. But one gets out of the way of readingpoetry, unfortunately. You don't remember him, I suppose?"

A sharp rap at the door made Katharine's answer inaudible. Mrs. Seallooked up with renewed hope in her eyes, and exclaiming:

"The proofs at last!" ran to open the door. "Oh, it's only Mr. Denham!"she cried, without any attempt to conceal her disappointment. Ralph, Katharine supposed, was a frequent visitor, for the only person hethought it necessary to greet was herself, and Mary at once explainedthe strange fact of her being there by saying:

"Katharine has come to see how one runs an office. "

Ralph felt himself stiffen uncomfortably, as he said:

"I hope Mary hasn't persuaded you that she knows how to run an office?"

"What, doesn't she?" said Katharine, looking from one to the other. 

At these remarks Mrs. Seal began to exhibit signs of discomposure, whichdisplayed themselves by a tossing movement of her head, and, as Ralphtook a letter from his pocket, and placed his finger upon a certainsentence, she forestalled him by exclaiming in confusion:

"Now, I know what you're going to say, Mr. Denham! But it was theday Kit Markham was here, and she upsets one so--with her wonderfulvitality, always thinking of something new that we ought to be doing andaren't--and I was conscious at the time that my dates were mixed. It hadnothing to do with Mary at all, I assure you. "

"My dear Sally, don't apologize, " said Mary, laughing. "Men are suchpedants--they don't know what things matter, and what things don't. "

"Now, Denham, speak up for our sex, " said Mr. Clacton in a jocularmanner, indeed, but like most insignificant men he was very quick toresent being found fault with by a woman, in argument with whom he wasfond of calling himself "a mere man. " He wished, however, to enter intoa literary conservation with Miss Hilbery, and thus let the matter drop. 

"Doesn't it seem strange to you, Miss Hilbery, " he said, "that theFrench, with all their wealth of illustrious names, have no poet who cancompare with your grandfather? Let me see. There's Chenier and Hugoand Alfred de Musset--wonderful men, but, at the same time, there's arichness, a freshness about Alardyce--"

Here the telephone bell rang, and he had to absent himself with a smileand a bow which signified that, although literature is delightful, itis not work. Mrs. Seal rose at the same time, but remained hovering overthe table, delivering herself of a tirade against party government. "Forif I were to tell you what I know of back-stairs intrigue, and what canbe done by the power of the purse, you wouldn't credit me, Mr. Denham, you wouldn't, indeed. Which is why I feel that the only work for myfather's daughter--for he was one of the pioneers, Mr. Denham, and onhis tombstone I had that verse from the Psalms put, about the sowersand the seed.... And what wouldn't I give that he should be alive now, seeing what we're going to see--" but reflecting that the glories of thefuture depended in part upon the activity of her typewriter, she bobbedher head, and hurried back to the seclusion of her little room, fromwhich immediately issued sounds of enthusiastic, but obviously erratic, composition. 

Mary made it clear at once, by starting a fresh topic of generalinterest, that though she saw the humor of her colleague, she did notintend to have her laughed at. 

"The standard of morality seems to me frightfully low, " she observedreflectively, pouring out a second cup of tea, "especially among womenwho aren't well educated. They don't see that small things matter, and that's where the leakage begins, and then we find ourselves indifficulties--I very nearly lost my temper yesterday, " she went on, looking at Ralph with a little smile, as though he knew what happenedwhen she lost her temper. "It makes me very angry when people tell melies--doesn't it make you angry?" she asked Katharine. 

"But considering that every one tells lies, " Katharine remarked, lookingabout the room to see where she had put down her umbrella and herparcel, for there was an intimacy in the way in which Mary and Ralphaddressed each other which made her wish to leave them. Mary, on theother hand, was anxious, superficially at least, that Katharine shouldstay and so fortify her in her determination not to be in love withRalph. 

Ralph, while lifting his cup from his lips to the table, had made up hismind that if Miss Hilbery left, he would go with her. 

"I don't think that I tell lies, and I don't think that Ralph tellslies, do you, Ralph?" Mary continued. 

Katharine laughed, with more gayety, as it seemed to Mary, thanshe could properly account for. What was she laughing at? At them, presumably. Katharine had risen, and was glancing hither and thither, atthe presses and the cupboards, and all the machinery of the office, asif she included them all in her rather malicious amusement, which causedMary to keep her eyes on her straightly and rather fiercely, as if shewere a gay-plumed, mischievous bird, who might light on the topmostbough and pick off the ruddiest cherry, without any warning. Two womenless like each other could scarcely be imagined, Ralph thought, lookingfrom one to the other. Next moment, he too, rose, and nodding to Mary, as Katharine said good-bye, opened the door for her, and followed herout. 

Mary sat still and made no attempt to prevent them from going. For asecond or two after the door had shut on them her eyes rested on thedoor with a straightforward fierceness in which, for a moment, a certaindegree of bewilderment seemed to enter; but, after a brief hesitation, she put down her cup and proceeded to clear away the tea-things. 

The impulse which had driven Ralph to take this action was the result ofa very swift little piece of reasoning, and thus, perhaps, was not quiteso much of an impulse as it seemed. It passed through his mind that ifhe missed this chance of talking to Katharine, he would have to facean enraged ghost, when he was alone in his room again, demanding anexplanation of his cowardly indecision. It was better, on the whole, torisk present discomfiture than to waste an evening bandying excusesand constructing impossible scenes with this uncompromising section ofhimself. For ever since he had visited the Hilberys he had been much atthe mercy of a phantom Katharine, who came to him when he sat alone, andanswered him as he would have her answer, and was always beside him tocrown those varying triumphs which were transacted almost every night, in imaginary scenes, as he walked through the lamplit streets home fromthe office. To walk with Katharine in the flesh would either feed thatphantom with fresh food, which, as all who nourish dreams are aware, isa process that becomes necessary from time to time, or refine it to sucha degree of thinness that it was scarcely serviceable any longer; andthat, too, is sometimes a welcome change to a dreamer. And all the timeRalph was well aware that the bulk of Katharine was not represented inhis dreams at all, so that when he met her he was bewildered by the factthat she had nothing to do with his dream of her. 

When, on reaching the street, Katharine found that Mr. Denham proceededto keep pace by her side, she was surprised and, perhaps, a littleannoyed. She, too, had her margin of imagination, and to-night heractivity in this obscure region of the mind required solitude. If shehad had her way, she would have walked very fast down the TottenhamCourt Road, and then sprung into a cab and raced swiftly home. The viewshe had had of the inside of an office was of the nature of a dream toher. Shut off up there, she compared Mrs. Seal, and Mary Datchet, andMr. Clacton to enchanted people in a bewitched tower, with the spiders'webs looping across the corners of the room, and all the tools of thenecromancer's craft at hand; for so aloof and unreal and apart fromthe normal world did they seem to her, in the house of innumerabletypewriters, murmuring their incantations and concocting their drugs, and flinging their frail spiders' webs over the torrent of life whichrushed down the streets outside. 

She may have been conscious that there was some exaggeration in thisfancy of hers, for she certainly did not wish to share it with Ralph. To him, she supposed, Mary Datchet, composing leaflets for CabinetMinisters among her typewriters, represented all that was interestingand genuine; and, accordingly, she shut them both out from all sharein the crowded street, with its pendant necklace of lamps, its lightedwindows, and its throng of men and women, which exhilarated her to suchan extent that she very nearly forgot her companion. She walked veryfast, and the effect of people passing in the opposite direction wasto produce a queer dizziness both in her head and in Ralph's, which settheir bodies far apart. But she did her duty by her companion almostunconsciously. 

"Mary Datchet does that sort of work very well.... She's responsible forit, I suppose?"

"Yes. The others don't help at all.... Has she made a convert of you?"

"Oh no. That is, I'm a convert already. "

"But she hasn't persuaded you to work for them?"

"Oh dear no--that wouldn't do at all. "

So they walked on down the Tottenham Court Road, parting and comingtogether again, and Ralph felt much as though he were addressing thesummit of a poplar in a high gale of wind. 

"Suppose we get on to that omnibus?" he suggested. 

Katharine acquiesced, and they climbed up, and found themselves alone ontop of it. 

"But which way are you going?" Katharine asked, waking a little from thetrance into which movement among moving things had thrown her. 

"I'm going to the Temple, " Ralph replied, inventing a destination on thespur of the moment. He felt the change come over her as they sat downand the omnibus began to move forward. He imagined her contemplating theavenue in front of them with those honest sad eyes which seemed to sethim at such a distance from them. But the breeze was blowing in theirfaces; it lifted her hat for a second, and she drew out a pin and stuckit in again, --a little action which seemed, for some reason, to make herrather more fallible. Ah, if only her hat would blow off, and leave heraltogether disheveled, accepting it from his hands!

"This is like Venice, " she observed, raising her hand. "The motor-cars, I mean, shooting about so quickly, with their lights. "

"I've never seen Venice, " he replied. "I keep that and some other thingsfor my old age. "

"What are the other things?" she asked. 

"There's Venice and India and, I think, Dante, too. "

She laughed. 

"Think of providing for one's old age! And would you refuse to seeVenice if you had the chance?"

Instead of answering her, he wondered whether he should tell hersomething that was quite true about himself; and as he wondered, he toldher. 

"I've planned out my life in sections ever since I was a child, to makeit last longer. You see, I'm always afraid that I'm missing something--"

"And so am I!" Katharine exclaimed. "But, after all, " she added, "whyshould you miss anything?"

"Why? Because I'm poor, for one thing, " Ralph rejoined. "You, I suppose, can have Venice and India and Dante every day of your life. "

She said nothing for a moment, but rested one hand, which was bareof glove, upon the rail in front of her, meditating upon a variety ofthings, of which one was that this strange young man pronounced Danteas she was used to hearing it pronounced, and another, that he had, mostunexpectedly, a feeling about life that was familiar to her. Perhaps, then, he was the sort of person she might take an interest in, if shecame to know him better, and as she had placed him among those whom shewould never want to know better, this was enough to make her silent. She hastily recalled her first view of him, in the little room wherethe relics were kept, and ran a bar through half her impressions, as onecancels a badly written sentence, having found the right one. 

"But to know that one might have things doesn't alter the fact that onehasn't got them, " she said, in some confusion. "How could I go to India, for example? Besides, " she began impulsively, and stopped herself. Herethe conductor came round, and interrupted them. Ralph waited for her toresume her sentence, but she said no more. 

"I have a message to give your father, " he remarked. "Perhaps you wouldgive it him, or I could come--"

"Yes, do come, " Katharine replied. 

"Still, I don't see why you shouldn't go to India, " Ralph began, inorder to keep her from rising, as she threatened to do. 

But she got up in spite of him, and said good-bye with her usual air ofdecision, and left him with a quickness which Ralph connected now withall her movements. He looked down and saw her standing on the pavementedge, an alert, commanding figure, which waited its season to cross, and then walked boldly and swiftly to the other side. That gesture andaction would be added to the picture he had of her, but at present thereal woman completely routed the phantom one. 

CHAPTER VII

"And little Augustus Pelham said to me, 'It's the younger generationknocking at the door, ' and I said to him, 'Oh, but the youngergeneration comes in without knocking, Mr. Pelham. ' Such a feeble littlejoke, wasn't it, but down it went into his notebook all the same. "

"Let us congratulate ourselves that we shall be in the grave before thatwork is published, " said Mr. Hilbery. 

The elderly couple were waiting for the dinner-bell to ring and fortheir daughter to come into the room. Their arm-chairs were drawn upon either side of the fire, and each sat in the same slightly crouchedposition, looking into the coals, with the expressions of people whohave had their share of experiences and wait, rather passively, forsomething to happen. Mr. Hilbery now gave all his attention to a pieceof coal which had fallen out of the grate, and to selecting a favorableposition for it among the lumps that were burning already. Mrs. Hilberywatched him in silence, and the smile changed on her lips as if her mindstill played with the events of the afternoon. 

When Mr. Hilbery had accomplished his task, he resumed his crouchingposition again, and began to toy with the little green stone attached tohis watch-chain. His deep, oval-shaped eyes were fixed upon the flames, but behind the superficial glaze seemed to brood an observant andwhimsical spirit, which kept the brown of the eye still unusually vivid. But a look of indolence, the result of skepticism or of a taste toofastidious to be satisfied by the prizes and conclusions so easilywithin his grasp, lent him an expression almost of melancholy. Aftersitting thus for a time, he seemed to reach some point in his thinkingwhich demonstrated its futility, upon which he sighed and stretched hishand for a book lying on the table by his side. 

Directly the door opened he closed the book, and the eyes of fatherand mother both rested on Katharine as she came towards them. The sightseemed at once to give them a motive which they had not had before. To them she appeared, as she walked towards them in her light eveningdress, extremely young, and the sight of her refreshed them, were itonly because her youth and ignorance made their knowledge of the worldof some value. 

"The only excuse for you, Katharine, is that dinner is still later thanyou are, " said Mr. Hilbery, putting down his spectacles. 

"I don't mind her being late when the result is so charming, " said Mrs. Hilbery, looking with pride at her daughter. "Still, I don't know that ILIKE your being out so late, Katharine, " she continued. "You took a cab, I hope?"

Here dinner was announced, and Mr. Hilbery formally led his wifedownstairs on his arm. They were all dressed for dinner, and, indeed, the prettiness of the dinner-table merited that compliment. There wasno cloth upon the table, and the china made regular circles of deep blueupon the shining brown wood. In the middle there was a bowl of tawnyred and yellow chrysanthemums, and one of pure white, so fresh that thenarrow petals were curved backwards into a firm white ball. From thesurrounding walls the heads of three famous Victorian writers surveyedthis entertainment, and slips of paper pasted beneath them testifiedin the great man's own handwriting that he was yours sincerely oraffectionately or for ever. The father and daughter would have beenquite content, apparently, to eat their dinner in silence, or with a fewcryptic remarks expressed in a shorthand which could not be understoodby the servants. But silence depressed Mrs. Hilbery, and far fromminding the presence of maids, she would often address herself to them, and was never altogether unconscious of their approval or disapproval ofher remarks. In the first place she called them to witness that the roomwas darker than usual, and had all the lights turned on. 

"That's more cheerful, " she exclaimed. "D'you know, Katharine, thatridiculous goose came to tea with me? Oh, how I wanted you! He tried tomake epigrams all the time, and I got so nervous, expecting them, youknow, that I spilt the tea--and he made an epigram about that!"

"Which ridiculous goose?" Katharine asked her father. 

"Only one of my geese, happily, makes epigrams--Augustus Pelham, ofcourse, " said Mrs. Hilbery. 

"I'm not sorry that I was out, " said Katharine. 

"Poor Augustus!" Mrs. Hilbery exclaimed. "But we're all too hard on him. Remember how devoted he is to his tiresome old mother. "

"That's only because she is his mother. Any one connected withhimself--"

"No, no, Katharine--that's too bad. That's--what's the word I mean, Trevor, something long and Latin--the sort of word you and Katharineknow--"

Mr. Hilbery suggested "cynical. "

"Well, that'll do. I don't believe in sending girls to college, but Ishould teach them that sort of thing. It makes one feel so dignified, bringing out these little allusions, and passing on gracefully to thenext topic. But I don't know what's come over me--I actually had to askAugustus the name of the lady Hamlet was in love with, as you were out, Katharine, and Heaven knows what he mayn't put down about me in hisdiary. "

"I wish, " Katharine started, with great impetuosity, and checkedherself. Her mother always stirred her to feel and think quickly, andthen she remembered that her father was there, listening with attention. 

"What is it you wish?" he asked, as she paused. 

He often surprised her, thus, into telling him what she had not meant totell him; and then they argued, while Mrs. Hilbery went on with her ownthoughts. 

"I wish mother wasn't famous. I was out at tea, and they would talk tome about poetry. "

"Thinking you must be poetical, I see--and aren't you?"

"Who's been talking to you about poetry, Katharine?" Mrs. Hilberydemanded, and Katharine was committed to giving her parents an accountof her visit to the Suffrage office. 

"They have an office at the top of one of the old houses in RussellSquare. I never saw such queer-looking people. And the man discoveredI was related to the poet, and talked to me about poetry. Even MaryDatchet seems different in that atmosphere. "

"Yes, the office atmosphere is very bad for the soul, " said Mr. Hilbery. 

"I don't remember any offices in Russell Square in the old days, whenMamma lived there, " Mrs. Hilbery mused, "and I can't fancy turning oneof those noble great rooms into a stuffy little Suffrage office. Still, if the clerks read poetry there must be something nice about them. "

"No, because they don't read it as we read it, " Katharine insisted. 

"But it's nice to think of them reading your grandfather, and notfilling up those dreadful little forms all day long, " Mrs. Hilberypersisted, her notion of office life being derived from some chance viewof a scene behind the counter at her bank, as she slipped the sovereignsinto her purse. 

"At any rate, they haven't made a convert of Katharine, which was what Iwas afraid of, " Mr. Hilbery remarked. 

"Oh no, " said Katharine very decidedly, "I wouldn't work with them foranything. "

"It's curious, " Mr. Hilbery continued, agreeing with his daughter, "howthe sight of one's fellow-enthusiasts always chokes one off. Theyshow up the faults of one's cause so much more plainly than one'santagonists. One can be enthusiastic in one's study, but directly onecomes into touch with the people who agree with one, all the glamorgoes. So I've always found, " and he proceeded to tell them, as he peeledhis apple, how he committed himself once, in his youthful days, to makea speech at a political meeting, and went there ablaze with enthusiasmfor the ideals of his own side; but while his leaders spoke, he becamegradually converted to the other way of thinking, if thinking it couldbe called, and had to feign illness in order to avoid making a fool ofhimself--an experience which had sickened him of public meetings. 

Katharine listened and felt as she generally did when her father, andto some extent her mother, described their feelings, that she quiteunderstood and agreed with them, but, at the same time, saw somethingwhich they did not see, and always felt some disappointment when theyfell short of her vision, as they always did. The plates succeeded eachother swiftly and noiselessly in front of her, and the table was deckedfor dessert, and as the talk murmured on in familiar grooves, she satthere, rather like a judge, listening to her parents, who did, indeed, feel it very pleasant when they made her laugh. 

Daily life in a house where there are young and old is full of curiouslittle ceremonies and pieties, which are discharged quite punctually, though the meaning of them is obscure, and a mystery has come to broodover them which lends even a superstitious charm to their performance. Such was the nightly ceremony of the cigar and the glass of port, whichwere placed on the right hand and on the left hand of Mr. Hilbery, andsimultaneously Mrs. Hilbery and Katharine left the room. All the yearsthey had lived together they had never seen Mr. Hilbery smoke his cigaror drink his port, and they would have felt it unseemly if, by chance, they had surprised him as he sat there. These short, but clearly marked, periods of separation between the sexes were always used for an intimatepostscript to what had been said at dinner, the sense of being womentogether coming out most strongly when the male sex was, as if by somereligious rite, secluded from the female. Katharine knew by heartthe sort of mood that possessed her as she walked upstairs to thedrawing-room, her mother's arm in hers; and she could anticipate thepleasure with which, when she had turned on the lights, they bothregarded the drawing-room, fresh swept and set in order for thelast section of the day, with the red parrots swinging on the chintzcurtains, and the arm-chairs warming in the blaze. Mrs. Hilbery stoodover the fire, with one foot on the fender, and her skirts slightlyraised. 

"Oh, Katharine, " she exclaimed, "how you've made me think of Mamma andthe old days in Russell Square! I can see the chandeliers, and thegreen silk of the piano, and Mamma sitting in her cashmere shawl bythe window, singing till the little ragamuffin boys outside stopped tolisten. Papa sent me in with a bunch of violets while he waited roundthe corner. It must have been a summer evening. That was before thingswere hopeless.... "

As she spoke an expression of regret, which must have come frequently tocause the lines which now grew deep round the lips and eyes, settled onher face. The poet's marriage had not been a happy one. He had left hiswife, and after some years of a rather reckless existence, she haddied, before her time. This disaster had led to great irregularitiesof education, and, indeed, Mrs. Hilbery might be said to have escapededucation altogether. But she had been her father's companion at theseason when he wrote the finest of his poems. She had sat on his knee intaverns and other haunts of drunken poets, and it was for her sake, sopeople said, that he had cured himself of his dissipation, and becomethe irreproachable literary character that the world knows, whoseinspiration had deserted him. As Mrs. Hilbery grew old she thought moreand more of the past, and this ancient disaster seemed at times almostto prey upon her mind, as if she could not pass out of life herselfwithout laying the ghost of her parent's sorrow to rest. 

Katharine wished to comfort her mother, but it was difficult to do thissatisfactorily when the facts themselves were so much of a legend. Thehouse in Russell Square, for example, with its noble rooms, and themagnolia-tree in the garden, and the sweet-voiced piano, and the soundof feet coming down the corridors, and other properties of size andromance--had they any existence? Yet why should Mrs. Alardyce live allalone in this gigantic mansion, and, if she did not live alone, withwhom did she live? For its own sake, Katharine rather liked this tragicstory, and would have been glad to hear the details of it, and to havebeen able to discuss them frankly. But this it became less and lesspossible to do, for though Mrs. Hilbery was constantly reverting to thestory, it was always in this tentative and restless fashion, as thoughby a touch here and there she could set things straight which had beencrooked these sixty years. Perhaps, indeed, she no longer knew what thetruth was. 

"If they'd lived now, " she concluded, "I feel it wouldn't have happened. People aren't so set upon tragedy as they were then. If my father hadbeen able to go round the world, or if she'd had a rest cure, everythingwould have come right. But what could I do? And then they had badfriends, both of them, who made mischief. Ah, Katharine, when you marry, be quite, quite sure that you love your husband!"

The tears stood in Mrs. Hilbery's eyes. 

While comforting her, Katharine thought to herself, "Now this is whatMary Datchet and Mr. Denham don't understand. This is the sort ofposition I'm always getting into. How simple it must be to live as theydo!" for all the evening she had been comparing her home and her fatherand mother with the Suffrage office and the people there. 

"But, Katharine, " Mrs. Hilbery continued, with one of her sudden changesof mood, "though, Heaven knows, I don't want to see you married, surely if ever a man loved a woman, William loves you. And it's a nice, rich-sounding name too--Katharine Rodney, which, unfortunately, doesn'tmean that he's got any money, because he hasn't. "

The alteration of her name annoyed Katharine, and she observed, rathersharply, that she didn't want to marry any one. 

"It's very dull that you can only marry one husband, certainly, " Mrs. Hilbery reflected. "I always wish that you could marry everybody whowants to marry you. Perhaps they'll come to that in time, but meanwhileI confess that dear William--" But here Mr. Hilbery came in, and themore solid part of the evening began. This consisted in the readingaloud by Katharine from some prose work or other, while her motherknitted scarves intermittently on a little circular frame, and herfather read the newspaper, not so attentively but that he could commenthumorously now and again upon the fortunes of the hero and the heroine. The Hilberys subscribed to a library, which delivered books on Tuesdaysand Fridays, and Katharine did her best to interest her parents in theworks of living and highly respectable authors; but Mrs. Hilbery wasperturbed by the very look of the light, gold-wreathed volumes, andwould make little faces as if she tasted something bitter as the readingwent on; while Mr. Hilbery would treat the moderns with a curiouselaborate banter such as one might apply to the antics of a promisingchild. So this evening, after five pages or so of one of these masters, Mrs. Hilbery protested that it was all too clever and cheap and nastyfor words. 

"Please, Katharine, read us something REAL. "

Katharine had to go to the bookcase and choose a portly volume in sleek, yellow calf, which had directly a sedative effect upon both her parents. But the delivery of the evening post broke in upon the periods of HenryFielding, and Katharine found that her letters needed all her attention. 

CHAPTER VIII

She took her letters up to her room with her, having persuaded hermother to go to bed directly Mr. Hilbery left them, for so long as shesat in the same room as her mother, Mrs. Hilbery might, at any moment, ask for a sight of the post. A very hasty glance through many sheetshad shown Katharine that, by some coincidence, her attention had to bedirected to many different anxieties simultaneously. In the first place, Rodney had written a very full account of his state of mind, which wasillustrated by a sonnet, and he demanded a reconsideration of theirposition, which agitated Katharine more than she liked. Then there weretwo letters which had to be laid side by side and compared before shecould make out the truth of their story, and even when she knew thefacts she could not decide what to make of them; and finally she hadto reflect upon a great many pages from a cousin who found himself infinancial difficulties, which forced him to the uncongenial occupationof teaching the young ladies of Bungay to play upon the violin. 

But the two letters which each told the same story differently were thechief source of her perplexity. She was really rather shocked to find itdefinitely established that her own second cousin, Cyril Alardyce, hadlived for the last four years with a woman who was not his wife, whohad borne him two children, and was now about to bear him another. Thisstate of things had been discovered by Mrs. Milvain, her aunt Celia, a zealous inquirer into such matters, whose letter was also underconsideration. Cyril, she said, must be made to marry the woman at once;and Cyril, rightly or wrongly, was indignant with such interference withhis affairs, and would not own that he had any cause to be ashamed ofhimself. Had he any cause to be ashamed of himself, Katharine wondered;and she turned to her aunt again. 

"Remember, " she wrote, in her profuse, emphatic statement, "that hebears your grandfather's name, and so will the child that is to beborn. The poor boy is not so much to blame as the woman who deluded him, thinking him a gentleman, which he IS, and having money, which he hasNOT. "

"What would Ralph Denham say to this?" thought Katharine, beginning topace up and down her bedroom. She twitched aside the curtains, so that, on turning, she was faced by darkness, and looking out, could justdistinguish the branches of a plane-tree and the yellow lights of someone else's windows. 

"What would Mary Datchet and Ralph Denham say?" she reflected, pausingby the window, which, as the night was warm, she raised, in order tofeel the air upon her face, and to lose herself in the nothingness ofnight. But with the air the distant humming sound of far-off crowdedthoroughfares was admitted to the room. The incessant and tumultuoushum of the distant traffic seemed, as she stood there, to representthe thick texture of her life, for her life was so hemmed in with theprogress of other lives that the sound of its own advance was inaudible. People like Ralph and Mary, she thought, had it all their own way, andan empty space before them, and, as she envied them, she cast her mindout to imagine an empty land where all this petty intercourse of men andwomen, this life made up of the dense crossings and entanglements of menand women, had no existence whatever. Even now, alone, at night, lookingout into the shapeless mass of London, she was forced to remember thatthere was one point and here another with which she had some connection. William Rodney, at this very moment, was seated in a minute speck oflight somewhere to the east of her, and his mind was occupied, not withhis book, but with her. She wished that no one in the whole worldwould think of her. However, there was no way of escaping from one'sfellow-beings, she concluded, and shut the window with a sigh, andreturned once more to her letters. 

She could not doubt but that William's letter was the most genuine shehad yet received from him. He had come to the conclusion that he couldnot live without her, he wrote. He believed that he knew her, andcould give her happiness, and that their marriage would be unlike othermarriages. Nor was the sonnet, in spite of its accomplishment, lackingin passion, and Katharine, as she read the pages through again, couldsee in what direction her feelings ought to flow, supposing theyrevealed themselves. She would come to feel a humorous sort oftenderness for him, a zealous care for his susceptibilities, and, afterall, she considered, thinking of her father and mother, what is love?

Naturally, with her face, position, and background, she had experienceof young men who wished to marry her, and made protestations of love, but, perhaps because she did not return the feeling, it remainedsomething of a pageant to her. Not having experience of it herself, hermind had unconsciously occupied itself for some years in dressing up animage of love, and the marriage that was the outcome of love, and theman who inspired love, which naturally dwarfed any examples that cameher way. Easily, and without correction by reason, her imagination madepictures, superb backgrounds casting a rich though phantom light uponthe facts in the foreground. Splendid as the waters that drop withresounding thunder from high ledges of rock, and plunge downwards intothe blue depths of night, was the presence of love she dreamt, drawinginto it every drop of the force of life, and dashing them all asunder inthe superb catastrophe in which everything was surrendered, and nothingmight be reclaimed. The man, too, was some magnanimous hero, riding agreat horse by the shore of the sea. They rode through forests together, they galloped by the rim of the sea. But waking, she was able tocontemplate a perfectly loveless marriage, as the thing one did actuallyin real life, for possibly the people who dream thus are those who dothe most prosaic things. 

At this moment she was much inclined to sit on into the night, spinningher light fabric of thoughts until she tired of their futility, and wentto her mathematics; but, as she knew very well, it was necessary thatshe should see her father before he went to bed. The case of CyrilAlardyce must be discussed, her mother's illusions and the rights of thefamily attended to. Being vague herself as to what all this amountedto, she had to take counsel with her father. She took her letters in herhand and went downstairs. It was past eleven, and the clocks hadcome into their reign, the grandfather's clock in the hall ticking incompetition with the small clock on the landing. Mr. Hilbery's study ranout behind the rest of the house, on the ground floor, and was a verysilent, subterranean place, the sun in daytime casting a mere abstractof light through a skylight upon his books and the large table, with itsspread of white papers, now illumined by a green reading-lamp. Here Mr. Hilbery sat editing his review, or placing together documents by meansof which it could be proved that Shelley had written "of" instead of"and, " or that the inn in which Byron had slept was called the "Nag'sHead" and not the "Turkish Knight, " or that the Christian name ofKeats's uncle had been John rather than Richard, for he knew more minutedetails about these poets than any man in England, probably, and waspreparing an edition of Shelley which scrupulously observed the poet'ssystem of punctuation. He saw the humor of these researches, but thatdid not prevent him from carrying them out with the utmost scrupulosity. 

He was lying back comfortably in a deep arm-chair smoking a cigar, andruminating the fruitful question as to whether Coleridge had wished tomarry Dorothy Wordsworth, and what, if he had done so, would have beenthe consequences to him in particular, and to literature in general. When Katharine came in he reflected that he knew what she had come for, and he made a pencil note before he spoke to her. Having done this, hesaw that she was reading, and he watched her for a moment without sayinganything. She was reading "Isabella and the Pot of Basil, " and her mindwas full of the Italian hills and the blue daylight, and the hedges setwith little rosettes of red and white roses. Feeling that her fatherwaited for her, she sighed and said, shutting her book:

"I've had a letter from Aunt Celia about Cyril, father.... It seems tobe true--about his marriage. What are we to do?"

"Cyril seems to have been behaving in a very foolish manner, " said Mr. Hilbery, in his pleasant and deliberate tones. 

Katharine found some difficulty in carrying on the conversation, whileher father balanced his finger-tips so judiciously, and seemed toreserve so many of his thoughts for himself. 

"He's about done for himself, I should say, " he continued. Withoutsaying anything, he took Katharine's letters out of her hand, adjustedhis eyeglasses, and read them through. 

At length he said "Humph!" and gave the letters back to her. 

"Mother knows nothing about it, " Katharine remarked. "Will you tellher?"

"I shall tell your mother. But I shall tell her that there is nothingwhatever for us to do. "

"But the marriage?" Katharine asked, with some diffidence. 

Mr. Hilbery said nothing, and stared into the fire. 

"What in the name of conscience did he do it for?" he speculated atlast, rather to himself than to her. 

Katharine had begun to read her aunt's letter over again, and she nowquoted a sentence. "Ibsen and Butler.... He has sent me a letter full ofquotations--nonsense, though clever nonsense. "

"Well, if the younger generation want to carry on its life on thoselines, it's none of our affair, " he remarked. 

"But isn't it our affair, perhaps, to make them get married?" Katharineasked rather wearily. 

"Why the dickens should they apply to me?" her father demanded withsudden irritation. 

"Only as the head of the family--"

"But I'm not the head of the family. Alfred's the head of the family. Let them apply to Alfred, " said Mr. Hilbery, relapsing again into hisarm-chair. Katharine was aware that she had touched a sensitive spot, however, in mentioning the family. 

"I think, perhaps, the best thing would be for me to go and see them, "she observed. 

"I won't have you going anywhere near them, " Mr. Hilbery replied withunwonted decision and authority. "Indeed, I don't understand why they'vedragged you into the business at all--I don't see that it's got anythingto do with you. "

"I've always been friends with Cyril, " Katharine observed. 

"But did he ever tell you anything about this?" Mr. Hilbery asked rathersharply. 

Katharine shook her head. She was, indeed, a good deal hurt that Cyrilhad not confided in her--did he think, as Ralph Denham or Mary Datchetmight think, that she was, for some reason, unsympathetic--hostile even?

"As to your mother, " said Mr. Hilbery, after a pause, in which he seemedto be considering the color of the flames, "you had better tell her thefacts. She'd better know the facts before every one begins to talk aboutit, though why Aunt Celia thinks it necessary to come, I'm sure I don'tknow. And the less talk there is the better. "

Granting the assumption that gentlemen of sixty who are highlycultivated, and have had much experience of life, probably think of manythings which they do not say, Katharine could not help feeling ratherpuzzled by her father's attitude, as she went back to her room. What adistance he was from it all! How superficially he smoothed these eventsinto a semblance of decency which harmonized with his own view of life!He never wondered what Cyril had felt, nor did the hidden aspects of thecase tempt him to examine into them. He merely seemed to realize, ratherlanguidly, that Cyril had behaved in a way which was foolish, becauseother people did not behave in that way. He seemed to be looking througha telescope at little figures hundreds of miles in the distance. 

Her selfish anxiety not to have to tell Mrs. Hilbery what had happenedmade her follow her father into the hall after breakfast the nextmorning in order to question him. 

"Have you told mother?" she asked. Her manner to her father was almoststern, and she seemed to hold endless depths of reflection in the darkof her eyes. 

Mr. Hilbery sighed. 

"My dear child, it went out of my head. " He smoothed his silk hatenergetically, and at once affected an air of hurry. "I'll send a noteround from the office.... I'm late this morning, and I've any amount ofproofs to get through. "

"That wouldn't do at all, " Katharine said decidedly. "She must betold--you or I must tell her. We ought to have told her at first. "

Mr. Hilbery had now placed his hat on his head, and his hand was on thedoor-knob. An expression which Katharine knew well from her childhood, when he asked her to shield him in some neglect of duty, came into hiseyes; malice, humor, and irresponsibility were blended in it. He noddedhis head to and fro significantly, opened the door with an adroitmovement, and stepped out with a lightness unexpected at his age. Hewaved his hand once to his daughter, and was gone. Left alone, Katharinecould not help laughing to find herself cheated as usual in domesticbargainings with her father, and left to do the disagreeable work whichbelonged, by rights, to him. 

CHAPTER IX

Katharine disliked telling her mother about Cyril's misbehavior quite asmuch as her father did, and for much the same reasons. They both shrank, nervously, as people fear the report of a gun on the stage, from allthat would have to be said on this occasion. Katharine, moreover, wasunable to decide what she thought of Cyril's misbehavior. As usual, shesaw something which her father and mother did not see, and the effect ofthat something was to suspend Cyril's behavior in her mind without anyqualification at all. They would think whether it was good or bad; toher it was merely a thing that had happened. 

When Katharine reached the study, Mrs. Hilbery had already dipped herpen in the ink. 

"Katharine, " she said, lifting it in the air, "I've just made out sucha queer, strange thing about your grandfather. I'm three years and sixmonths older than he was when he died. I couldn't very well have beenhis mother, but I might have been his elder sister, and that seems to mesuch a pleasant fancy. I'm going to start quite fresh this morning, andget a lot done. "

She began her sentence, at any rate, and Katharine sat down at her owntable, untied the bundle of old letters upon which she was working, smoothed them out absent-mindedly, and began to decipher the fadedscript. In a minute she looked across at her mother, to judge her mood. Peace and happiness had relaxed every muscle in her face; her lipswere parted very slightly, and her breath came in smooth, controlledinspirations like those of a child who is surrounding itself with abuilding of bricks, and increasing in ecstasy as each brick is placed inposition. So Mrs. Hilbery was raising round her the skies and trees ofthe past with every stroke of her pen, and recalling the voices ofthe dead. Quiet as the room was, and undisturbed by the sounds of thepresent moment, Katharine could fancy that here was a deep pool of pasttime, and that she and her mother were bathed in the light of sixtyyears ago. What could the present give, she wondered, to compare withthe rich crowd of gifts bestowed by the past? Here was a Thursdaymorning in process of manufacture; each second was minted fresh by theclock upon the mantelpiece. She strained her ears and could just hear, far off, the hoot of a motor-car and the rush of wheels coming nearerand dying away again, and the voices of men crying old iron andvegetables in one of the poorer streets at the back of the house. Rooms, of course, accumulate their suggestions, and any room in which one hasbeen used to carry on any particular occupation gives off memoriesof moods, of ideas, of postures that have been seen in it; so that toattempt any different kind of work there is almost impossible. 

Katharine was unconsciously affected, each time she entered her mother'sroom, by all these influences, which had had their birth years ago, when she was a child, and had something sweet and solemn about them, and connected themselves with early memories of the cavernous glooms andsonorous echoes of the Abbey where her grandfather lay buried. All thebooks and pictures, even the chairs and tables, had belonged to him, or had reference to him; even the china dogs on the mantelpiece and thelittle shepherdesses with their sheep had been bought by him for a pennya piece from a man who used to stand with a tray of toys in KensingtonHigh Street, as Katharine had often heard her mother tell. Often shehad sat in this room, with her mind fixed so firmly on those vanishedfigures that she could almost see the muscles round their eyes and lips, and had given to each his own voice, with its tricks of accent, and hiscoat and his cravat. Often she had seemed to herself to be moving amongthem, an invisible ghost among the living, better acquainted with themthan with her own friends, because she knew their secrets and possesseda divine foreknowledge of their destiny. They had been so unhappy, suchmuddlers, so wrong-headed, it seemed to her. She could have told themwhat to do, and what not to do. It was a melancholy fact that theywould pay no heed to her, and were bound to come to grief in their ownantiquated way. Their behavior was often grotesquely irrational; theirconventions monstrously absurd; and yet, as she brooded upon them, shefelt so closely attached to them that it was useless to try to passjudgment upon them. She very nearly lost consciousness that she wasa separate being, with a future of her own. On a morning of slightdepression, such as this, she would try to find some sort of clue to themuddle which their old letters presented; some reason which seemedto make it worth while to them; some aim which they kept steadily inview--but she was interrupted. 

Mrs. Hilbery had risen from her table, and was standing looking out ofthe window at a string of barges swimming up the river. 

Katharine watched her. Suddenly Mrs. Hilbery turned abruptly, andexclaimed:

"I really believe I'm bewitched! I only want three sentences, you see, something quite straightforward and commonplace, and I can't find 'em. "

She began to pace up and down the room, snatching up her duster; but shewas too much annoyed to find any relief, as yet, in polishing the backsof books. 

"Besides, " she said, giving the sheet she had written to Katharine, "Idon't believe this'll do. Did your grandfather ever visit the Hebrides, Katharine?" She looked in a strangely beseeching way at her daughter. "My mind got running on the Hebrides, and I couldn't help writing alittle description of them. Perhaps it would do at the beginning of achapter. Chapters often begin quite differently from the way they go on, you know. " Katharine read what her mother had written. She might havebeen a schoolmaster criticizing a child's essay. Her face gave Mrs. Hilbery, who watched it anxiously, no ground for hope. 

"It's very beautiful, " she stated, "but, you see, mother, we ought to gofrom point to point--"

"Oh, I know, " Mrs. Hilbery exclaimed. "And that's just what I can't do. Things keep coming into my head. It isn't that I don't know everythingand feel everything (who did know him, if I didn't?), but I can't putit down, you see. There's a kind of blind spot, " she said, touching herforehead, "there. And when I can't sleep o' nights, I fancy I shall diewithout having done it. "

From exultation she had passed to the depths of depression which theimagination of her death aroused. The depression communicated itselfto Katharine. How impotent they were, fiddling about all day long withpapers! And the clock was striking eleven and nothing done! She watchedher mother, now rummaging in a great brass-bound box which stood by hertable, but she did not go to her help. Of course, Katharine reflected, her mother had now lost some paper, and they would waste the rest of themorning looking for it. She cast her eyes down in irritation, and readagain her mother's musical sentences about the silver gulls, and theroots of little pink flowers washed by pellucid streams, and the bluemists of hyacinths, until she was struck by her mother's silence. Sheraised her eyes. Mrs. Hilbery had emptied a portfolio containing oldphotographs over her table, and was looking from one to another. 

"Surely, Katharine, " she said, "the men were far handsomer in those daysthan they are now, in spite of their odious whiskers? Look at old JohnGraham, in his white waistcoat--look at Uncle Harley. That's Peter themanservant, I suppose. Uncle John brought him back from India. "

Katharine looked at her mother, but did not stir or answer. She hadsuddenly become very angry, with a rage which their relationship madesilent, and therefore doubly powerful and critical. She felt all theunfairness of the claim which her mother tacitly made to her time andsympathy, and what Mrs. Hilbery took, Katharine thought bitterly, shewasted. Then, in a flash, she remembered that she had still to tell herabout Cyril's misbehavior. Her anger immediately dissipated itself; itbroke like some wave that has gathered itself high above the rest; thewaters were resumed into the sea again, and Katharine felt once morefull of peace and solicitude, and anxious only that her mother should beprotected from pain. She crossed the room instinctively, and sat onthe arm of her mother's chair. Mrs. Hilbery leant her head against herdaughter's body. 

"What is nobler, " she mused, turning over the photographs, "than to bea woman to whom every one turns, in sorrow or difficulty? How have theyoung women of your generation improved upon that, Katharine? I can seethem now, sweeping over the lawns at Melbury House, in their flouncesand furbelows, so calm and stately and imperial (and the monkey andthe little black dwarf following behind), as if nothing mattered inthe world but to be beautiful and kind. But they did more than we do, Isometimes think. They WERE, and that's better than doing. They seem tome like ships, like majestic ships, holding on their way, not shoving orpushing, not fretted by little things, as we are, but taking their way, like ships with white sails. "

Katharine tried to interrupt this discourse, but the opportunity did notcome, and she could not forbear to turn over the pages of the album inwhich the old photographs were stored. The faces of these men and womenshone forth wonderfully after the hubbub of living faces, and seemed, as her mother had said, to wear a marvelous dignity and calm, as if theyhad ruled their kingdoms justly and deserved great love. Some were ofalmost incredible beauty, others were ugly enough in a forcible way, butnone were dull or bored or insignificant. The superb stiff folds of thecrinolines suited the women; the cloaks and hats of the gentlemen seemedfull of character. Once more Katharine felt the serene air all roundher, and seemed far off to hear the solemn beating of the sea upon theshore. But she knew that she must join the present on to this past. 

Mrs. Hilbery was rambling on, from story to story. 

"That's Janie Mannering, " she said, pointing to a superb, white-haireddame, whose satin robes seemed strung with pearls. "I must have told youhow she found her cook drunk under the kitchen table when the Empresswas coming to dinner, and tucked up her velvet sleeves (she alwaysdressed like an Empress herself), cooked the whole meal, and appeared inthe drawing-room as if she'd been sleeping on a bank of roses all day. She could do anything with her hands--they all could--make a cottage orembroider a petticoat. 

"And that's Queenie Colquhoun, " she went on, turning the pages, "whotook her coffin out with her to Jamaica, packed with lovely shawls andbonnets, because you couldn't get coffins in Jamaica, and she had ahorror of dying there (as she did), and being devoured by the whiteants. And there's Sabine, the loveliest of them all; ah! it was likea star rising when she came into the room. And that's Miriam, in hercoachman's cloak, with all the little capes on, and she wore greattop-boots underneath. You young people may say you're unconventional, but you're nothing compared with her. "

Turning the page, she came upon the picture of a very masculine, handsome lady, whose head the photographer had adorned with an imperialcrown. 

"Ah, you wretch!" Mrs. Hilbery exclaimed, "what a wicked old despot youwere, in your day! How we all bowed down before you! 'Maggie, ' she usedto say, 'if it hadn't been for me, where would you be now?' And it wastrue; she brought them together, you know. She said to my father, 'Marryher, ' and he did; and she said to poor little Clara, 'Fall down andworship him, ' and she did; but she got up again, of course. What elsecould one expect? She was a mere child--eighteen--and half dead withfright, too. But that old tyrant never repented. She used to say thatshe had given them three perfect months, and no one had a right to more;and I sometimes think, Katharine, that's true, you know. It's more thanmost of us have, only we have to pretend, which was a thing neither ofthem could ever do. I fancy, " Mrs. Hilbery mused, "that there was a kindof sincerity in those days between men and women which, with all youroutspokenness, you haven't got. "

Katharine again tried to interrupt. But Mrs. Hilbery had been gatheringimpetus from her recollections, and was now in high spirits. 

"They must have been good friends at heart, " she resumed, "because sheused to sing his songs. Ah, how did it go?" and Mrs. Hilbery, who had avery sweet voice, trolled out a famous lyric of her father's which hadbeen set to an absurdly and charmingly sentimental air by some earlyVictorian composer. 

"It's the vitality of them!" she concluded, striking her fist againstthe table. "That's what we haven't got! We're virtuous, we're earnest, we go to meetings, we pay the poor their wages, but we don't live asthey lived. As often as not, my father wasn't in bed three nights outof the seven, but always fresh as paint in the morning. I hear him now, come singing up the stairs to the nursery, and tossing the loaffor breakfast on his sword-stick, and then off we went for a day'spleasuring--Richmond, Hampton Court, the Surrey Hills. Why shouldn't wego, Katharine? It's going to be a fine day. "

At this moment, just as Mrs. Hilbery was examining the weather from thewindow, there was a knock at the door. A slight, elderly lady came in, and was saluted by Katharine, with very evident dismay, as "Aunt Celia!"She was dismayed because she guessed why Aunt Celia had come. It wascertainly in order to discuss the case of Cyril and the woman who wasnot his wife, and owing to her procrastination Mrs. Hilbery was quiteunprepared. Who could be more unprepared? Here she was, suggesting thatall three of them should go on a jaunt to Blackfriars to inspect thesite of Shakespeare's theater, for the weather was hardly settled enoughfor the country. 

To this proposal Mrs. Milvain listened with a patient smile, whichindicated that for many years she had accepted such eccentricities inher sister-in-law with bland philosophy. Katharine took up her positionat some distance, standing with her foot on the fender, as though by sodoing she could get a better view of the matter. But, in spite of heraunt's presence, how unreal the whole question of Cyril and his moralityappeared! The difficulty, it now seemed, was not to break the newsgently to Mrs. Hilbery, but to make her understand it. How was oneto lasso her mind, and tether it to this minute, unimportant spot? Amatter-of-fact statement seemed best. 

"I think Aunt Celia has come to talk about Cyril, mother, " she saidrather brutally. "Aunt Celia has discovered that Cyril is married. Hehas a wife and children. "

"No, he is NOT married, " Mrs. Milvain interposed, in low tones, addressing herself to Mrs. Hilbery. "He has two children, and another onthe way. "

Mrs. Hilbery looked from one to the other in bewilderment. 

"We thought it better to wait until it was proved before we told you, "Katharine added. 

"But I met Cyril only a fortnight ago at the National Gallery!" Mrs. Hilbery exclaimed. "I don't believe a word of it, " and she tossed herhead with a smile on her lips at Mrs. Milvain, as though she could quiteunderstand her mistake, which was a very natural mistake, in the case ofa childless woman, whose husband was something very dull in the Board ofTrade. 

"I didn't WISH to believe it, Maggie, " said Mrs. Milvain. "For a longtime I COULDN'T believe it. But now I've seen, and I HAVE to believeit. "

"Katharine, " Mrs. Hilbery demanded, "does your father know of this?"

Katharine nodded. 

"Cyril married!" Mrs. Hilbery repeated. "And never telling us a word, though we've had him in our house since he was a child--noble William'sson! I can't believe my ears!"

Feeling that the burden of proof was laid upon her, Mrs. Milvainnow proceeded with her story. She was elderly and fragile, but herchildlessness seemed always to impose these painful duties on her, andto revere the family, and to keep it in repair, had now become the chiefobject of her life. She told her story in a low, spasmodic, and somewhatbroken voice. 

"I have suspected for some time that he was not happy. There were newlines on his face. So I went to his rooms, when I knew he was engagedat the poor men's college. He lectures there--Roman law, you know, or itmay be Greek. The landlady said Mr. Alardyce only slept there about oncea fortnight now. He looked so ill, she said. She had seen him with ayoung person. I suspected something directly. I went to his room, andthere was an envelope on the mantelpiece, and a letter with an addressin Seton Street, off the Kennington Road. "

Mrs. Hilbery fidgeted rather restlessly, and hummed fragments of hertune, as if to interrupt. 

"I went to Seton Street, " Aunt Celia continued firmly. "A very lowplace--lodging-houses, you know, with canaries in the window. Numberseven just like all the others. I rang, I knocked; no one came. I wentdown the area. I am certain I saw some one inside--children--a cradle. But no reply--no reply. " She sighed, and looked straight in front of herwith a glazed expression in her half-veiled blue eyes. 

"I stood in the street, " she resumed, "in case I could catch a sight ofone of them. It seemed a very long time. There were rough men singingin the public-house round the corner. At last the door opened, and someone--it must have been the woman herself--came right past me. There wasonly the pillar-box between us. "

"And what did she look like?" Mrs. Hilbery demanded. 

"One could see how the poor boy had been deluded, " was all that Mrs. Milvain vouchsafed by way of description. 

"Poor thing!" Mrs. Hilbery exclaimed. 

"Poor Cyril!" Mrs. Milvain said, laying a slight emphasis upon Cyril. 

"But they've got nothing to live upon, " Mrs. Hilbery continued. "If he'dcome to us like a man, " she went on, "and said, 'I've been a fool, ' onewould have pitied him; one would have tried to help him. There's nothingso disgraceful after all--But he's been going about all these years, pretending, letting one take it for granted, that he was single. And thepoor deserted little wife--"

"She is NOT his wife, " Aunt Celia interrupted. 

"I've never heard anything so detestable!" Mrs. Hilbery wound up, striking her fist on the arm of her chair. As she realized the facts shebecame thoroughly disgusted, although, perhaps, she was more hurt bythe concealment of the sin than by the sin itself. She looked splendidlyroused and indignant; and Katharine felt an immense relief and pride inher mother. It was plain that her indignation was very genuine, andthat her mind was as perfectly focused upon the facts as any one couldwish--more so, by a long way, than Aunt Celia's mind, which seemed tobe timidly circling, with a morbid pleasure, in these unpleasant shades. She and her mother together would take the situation in hand, visitCyril, and see the whole thing through. 

"We must realize Cyril's point of view first, " she said, speakingdirectly to her mother, as if to a contemporary, but before the wordswere out of her mouth, there was more confusion outside, and CousinCaroline, Mrs. Hilbery's maiden cousin, entered the room. Although shewas by birth an Alardyce, and Aunt Celia a Hilbery, the complexities ofthe family relationship were such that each was at once first and secondcousin to the other, and thus aunt and cousin to the culprit Cyril, sothat his misbehavior was almost as much Cousin Caroline's affair asAunt Celia's. Cousin Caroline was a lady of very imposing height andcircumference, but in spite of her size and her handsome trappings, there was something exposed and unsheltered in her expression, as iffor many summers her thin red skin and hooked nose and reduplication ofchins, so much resembling the profile of a cockatoo, had been bared tothe weather; she was, indeed, a single lady; but she had, it was thehabit to say, "made a life for herself, " and was thus entitled to beheard with respect. 

"This unhappy business, " she began, out of breath as she was. "If thetrain had not gone out of the station just as I arrived, I should havebeen with you before. Celia has doubtless told you. You will agree withme, Maggie. He must be made to marry her at once for the sake of thechildren--"

"But does he refuse to marry her?" Mrs. Hilbery inquired, with a returnof her bewilderment. 

"He has written an absurd perverted letter, all quotations, " CousinCaroline puffed. "He thinks he's doing a very fine thing, where we onlysee the folly of it.... The girl's every bit as infatuated as he is--forwhich I blame him. "

"She entangled him, " Aunt Celia intervened, with a very curioussmoothness of intonation, which seemed to convey a vision of threadsweaving and interweaving a close, white mesh round their victim. 

"It's no use going into the rights and wrongs of the affair now, Celia, "said Cousin Caroline with some acerbity, for she believed herself theonly practical one of the family, and regretted that, owing to theslowness of the kitchen clock, Mrs. Milvain had already confusedpoor dear Maggie with her own incomplete version of the facts. "Themischief's done, and very ugly mischief too. Are we to allow the thirdchild to be born out of wedlock? (I am sorry to have to say these thingsbefore you, Katharine. ) He will bear your name, Maggie--your father'sname, remember. "

"But let us hope it will be a girl, " said Mrs. Hilbery. 

Katharine, who had been looking at her mother constantly, while thechatter of tongues held sway, perceived that the look of straightforwardindignation had already vanished; her mother was evidently castingabout in her mind for some method of escape, or bright spot, or suddenillumination which should show to the satisfaction of everybody that allhad happened, miraculously but incontestably, for the best. 

"It's detestable--quite detestable!" she repeated, but in tones of nogreat assurance; and then her face lit up with a smile which, tentativeat first, soon became almost assured. "Nowadays, people don't thinkso badly of these things as they used to do, " she began. "It will behorribly uncomfortable for them sometimes, but if they are brave, cleverchildren, as they will be, I dare say it'll make remarkable people ofthem in the end. Robert Browning used to say that every great man hasJewish blood in him, and we must try to look at it in that light. And, after all, Cyril has acted on principle. One may disagree withhis principle, but, at least, one can respect it--like the FrenchRevolution, or Cromwell cutting the King's head off. Some of the mostterrible things in history have been done on principle, " she concluded. 

"I'm afraid I take a very different view of principle, " Cousin Carolineremarked tartly. 

"Principle!" Aunt Celia repeated, with an air of deprecating such a wordin such a connection. "I will go to-morrow and see him, " she added. 

"But why should you take these disagreeable things upon yourself, Celia?" Mrs. Hilbery interposed, and Cousin Caroline thereupon protestedwith some further plan involving sacrifice of herself. 

Growing weary of it all, Katharine turned to the window, and stood amongthe folds of the curtain, pressing close to the window-pane, and gazingdisconsolately at the river much in the attitude of a child depressedby the meaningless talk of its elders. She was much disappointed in hermother--and in herself too. The little tug which she gave to the blind, letting it fly up to the top with a snap, signified her annoyance. Shewas very angry, and yet impotent to give expression to her anger, orknow with whom she was angry. How they talked and moralized and made upstories to suit their own version of the becoming, and secretly praisedtheir own devotion and tact! No; they had their dwelling in a mist, shedecided; hundreds of miles away--away from what? "Perhaps it would bebetter if I married William, " she thought suddenly, and the thoughtappeared to loom through the mist like solid ground. She stood there, thinking of her own destiny, and the elder ladies talked on, untilthey had talked themselves into a decision to ask the young woman toluncheon, and tell her, very friendlily, how such behavior appeared towomen like themselves, who knew the world. And then Mrs. Hilbery wasstruck by a better idea. 

CHAPTER X

Messrs. Grateley and Hooper, the solicitors in whose firm Ralph Denhamwas clerk, had their office in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and there RalphDenham appeared every morning very punctually at ten o'clock. Hispunctuality, together with other qualities, marked him out among theclerks for success, and indeed it would have been safe to wager that inten years' time or so one would find him at the head of his profession, had it not been for a peculiarity which sometimes seemed to makeeverything about him uncertain and perilous. His sister Joan had alreadybeen disturbed by his love of gambling with his savings. Scrutinizinghim constantly with the eye of affection, she had become aware of acurious perversity in his temperament which caused her much anxiety, andwould have caused her still more if she had not recognized the germsof it in her own nature. She could fancy Ralph suddenly sacrificing hisentire career for some fantastic imagination; some cause or idea or even(so her fancy ran) for some woman seen from a railway train, hanging upclothes in a back yard. When he had found this beauty or this cause, no force, she knew, would avail to restrain him from pursuit of it. Shesuspected the East also, and always fidgeted herself when she saw himwith a book of Indian travels in his hand, as though he were suckingcontagion from the page. On the other hand, no common love affair, hadthere been such a thing, would have caused her a moment's uneasinesswhere Ralph was concerned. He was destined in her fancy for somethingsplendid in the way of success or failure, she knew not which. 

And yet nobody could have worked harder or done better in all therecognized stages of a young man's life than Ralph had done, and Joanhad to gather materials for her fears from trifles in her brother'sbehavior which would have escaped any other eye. It was natural thatshe should be anxious. Life had been so arduous for all of them fromthe start that she could not help dreading any sudden relaxation of hisgrasp upon what he held, though, as she knew from inspection of her ownlife, such sudden impulse to let go and make away from the disciplineand the drudgery was sometimes almost irresistible. But with Ralph, if he broke away, she knew that it would be only to put himself underharsher constraint; she figured him toiling through sandy deserts undera tropical sun to find the source of some river or the haunt of somefly; she figured him living by the labor of his hands in some city slum, the victim of one of those terrible theories of right and wrong whichwere current at the time; she figured him prisoner for life in the houseof a woman who had seduced him by her misfortunes. Half proudly, andwholly anxiously, she framed such thoughts, as they sat, late at night, talking together over the gas-stove in Ralph's bedroom. 

It is likely that Ralph would not have recognized his own dream of afuture in the forecasts which disturbed his sister's peace of mind. Certainly, if any one of them had been put before him he would haverejected it with a laugh, as the sort of life that held no attractionsfor him. He could not have said how it was that he had put these absurdnotions into his sister's head. Indeed, he prided himself upon beingwell broken into a life of hard work, about which he had no sort ofillusions. His vision of his own future, unlike many such forecasts, could have been made public at any moment without a blush; he attributedto himself a strong brain, and conferred on himself a seat in the Houseof Commons at the age of fifty, a moderate fortune, and, with luck, an unimportant office in a Liberal Government. There was nothingextravagant in a forecast of that kind, and certainly nothingdishonorable. Nevertheless, as his sister guessed, it needed all Ralph'sstrength of will, together with the pressure of circumstances, tokeep his feet moving in the path which led that way. It needed, inparticular, a constant repetition of a phrase to the effect that heshared the common fate, found it best of all, and wished for no other;and by repeating such phrases he acquired punctuality and habits ofwork, and could very plausibly demonstrate that to be a clerk in asolicitor's office was the best of all possible lives, and that otherambitions were vain. 

But, like all beliefs not genuinely held, this one depended very muchupon the amount of acceptance it received from other people, and inprivate, when the pressure of public opinion was removed, Ralph lethimself swing very rapidly away from his actual circumstances uponstrange voyages which, indeed, he would have been ashamed to describe. In these dreams, of course, he figured in noble and romantic parts, butself-glorification was not the only motive of them. They gave outletto some spirit which found no work to do in real life, for, with thepessimism which his lot forced upon him, Ralph had made up his mind thatthere was no use for what, contemptuously enough, he called dreams, inthe world which we inhabit. It sometimes seemed to him that this spiritwas the most valuable possession he had; he thought that by means ofit he could set flowering waste tracts of the earth, cure many ills, orraise up beauty where none now existed; it was, too, a fierce and potentspirit which would devour the dusty books and parchments on the officewall with one lick of its tongue, and leave him in a minute standing innakedness, if he gave way to it. His endeavor, for many years, had beento control the spirit, and at the age of twenty-nine he thought he couldpride himself upon a life rigidly divided into the hours of work andthose of dreams; the two lived side by side without harming each other. As a matter of fact, this effort at discipline had been helped by theinterests of a difficult profession, but the old conclusion to whichRalph had come when he left college still held sway in his mind, andtinged his views with the melancholy belief that life for most peoplecompels the exercise of the lower gifts and wastes the precious ones, until it forces us to agree that there is little virtue, as wellas little profit, in what once seemed to us the noblest part of ourinheritance. 

Denham was not altogether popular either in his office or among hisfamily. He was too positive, at this stage of his career, as to what wasright and what wrong, too proud of his self-control, and, as is naturalin the case of persons not altogether happy or well suited in theirconditions, too apt to prove the folly of contentment, if he foundany one who confessed to that weakness. In the office his ratherostentatious efficiency annoyed those who took their own work morelightly, and, if they foretold his advancement, it was not altogethersympathetically. Indeed, he appeared to be rather a hard andself-sufficient young man, with a queer temper, and manners that wereuncompromisingly abrupt, who was consumed with a desire to get on in theworld, which was natural, these critics thought, in a man of no means, but not engaging. 

The young men in the office had a perfect right to these opinions, because Denham showed no particular desire for their friendship. Heliked them well enough, but shut them up in that compartment of lifewhich was devoted to work. Hitherto, indeed, he had found littledifficulty in arranging his life as methodically as he arranged hisexpenditure, but about this time he began to encounter experiences whichwere not so easy to classify. Mary Datchet had begun this confusion twoyears ago by bursting into laughter at some remark of his, almost thefirst time they met. She could not explain why it was. She thought himquite astonishingly odd. When he knew her well enough to tell her how hespent Monday and Wednesday and Saturday, she was still more amused; shelaughed till he laughed, too, without knowing why. It seemed to her veryodd that he should know as much about breeding bulldogs as any man inEngland; that he had a collection of wild flowers found near London;and his weekly visit to old Miss Trotter at Ealing, who was an authorityupon the science of Heraldry, never failed to excite her laughter. Shewanted to know everything, even the kind of cake which the old ladysupplied on these occasions; and their summer excursions to churchesin the neighborhood of London for the purpose of taking rubbings of thebrasses became most important festivals, from the interest she took inthem. In six months she knew more about his odd friends and hobbies thanhis own brothers and sisters knew, after living with him all his life;and Ralph found this very pleasant, though disordering, for his own viewof himself had always been profoundly serious. 

Certainly it was very pleasant to be with Mary Datchet and to become, directly the door was shut, quite a different sort of person, eccentricand lovable, with scarcely any likeness to the self most people knew. Hebecame less serious, and rather less dictatorial at home, for he was aptto hear Mary laughing at him, and telling him, as she was fond of doing, that he knew nothing at all about anything. She made him, also, take aninterest in public questions, for which she had a natural liking; andwas in process of turning him from Tory to Radical, after a courseof public meetings, which began by boring him acutely, and ended byexciting him even more than they excited her. 

But he was reserved; when ideas started up in his mind, he divided themautomatically into those he could discuss with Mary, and those he mustkeep for himself. She knew this and it interested her, for she wasaccustomed to find young men very ready to talk about themselves, andhad come to listen to them as one listens to children, without anythought of herself. But with Ralph, she had very little of thismaternal feeling, and, in consequence, a much keener sense of her ownindividuality. 

Late one afternoon Ralph stepped along the Strand to an interview witha lawyer upon business. The afternoon light was almost over, and alreadystreams of greenish and yellowish artificial light were being pouredinto an atmosphere which, in country lanes, would now have been softwith the smoke of wood fires; and on both sides of the road the shopwindows were full of sparkling chains and highly polished leathercases, which stood upon shelves made of thick plate-glass. None of thesedifferent objects was seen separately by Denham, but from all of them hedrew an impression of stir and cheerfulness. Thus it came about that hesaw Katharine Hilbery coming towards him, and looked straight at her, asif she were only an illustration of the argument that was going forwardin his mind. In this spirit he noticed the rather set expression inher eyes, and the slight, half-conscious movement of her lips, which, together with her height and the distinction of her dress, made her lookas if the scurrying crowd impeded her, and her direction were differentfrom theirs. He noticed this calmly; but suddenly, as he passed her, hishands and knees began to tremble, and his heart beat painfully. She didnot see him, and went on repeating to herself some lines which had stuckto her memory: "It's life that matters, nothing but life--the processof discovering--the everlasting and perpetual process, not the discoveryitself at all. " Thus occupied, she did not see Denham, and he had notthe courage to stop her. But immediately the whole scene in the Strandwore that curious look of order and purpose which is imparted to themost heterogeneous things when music sounds; and so pleasant was thisimpression that he was very glad that he had not stopped her, afterall. It grew slowly fainter, but lasted until he stood outside thebarrister's chambers. 

When his interview with the barrister was over, it was too late to goback to the office. His sight of Katharine had put him queerly out oftune for a domestic evening. Where should he go? To walk through thestreets of London until he came to Katharine's house, to look up at thewindows and fancy her within, seemed to him possible for a moment;and then he rejected the plan almost with a blush as, with a curiousdivision of consciousness, one plucks a flower sentimentally and throwsit away, with a blush, when it is actually picked. No, he would go andsee Mary Datchet. By this time she would be back from her work. 

To see Ralph appear unexpectedly in her room threw Mary for a second offher balance. She had been cleaning knives in her little scullery, and when she had let him in she went back again, and turned on thecold-water tap to its fullest volume, and then turned it off again. "Now, " she thought to herself, as she screwed it tight, "I'm not goingto let these silly ideas come into my head.... Don't you think Mr. Asquith deserves to be hanged?" she called back into the sitting-room, and when she joined him, drying her hands, she began to tell him aboutthe latest evasion on the part of the Government with respect to theWomen's Suffrage Bill. Ralph did not want to talk about politics, buthe could not help respecting Mary for taking such an interest in publicquestions. He looked at her as she leant forward, poking the fire, andexpressing herself very clearly in phrases which bore distantly thetaint of the platform, and he thought, "How absurd Mary would think meif she knew that I almost made up my mind to walk all the way to Chelseain order to look at Katharine's windows. She wouldn't understand it, butI like her very much as she is. "

For some time they discussed what the women had better do; and as Ralphbecame genuinely interested in the question, Mary unconsciously lether attention wander, and a great desire came over her to talk to Ralphabout her own feelings; or, at any rate, about something personal, sothat she might see what he felt for her; but she resisted this wish. Butshe could not prevent him from feeling her lack of interest in what hewas saying, and gradually they both became silent. One thought afteranother came up in Ralph's mind, but they were all, in some way, connected with Katharine, or with vague feelings of romance andadventure such as she inspired. But he could not talk to Mary about suchthoughts; and he pitied her for knowing nothing of what he was feeling. "Here, " he thought, "is where we differ from women; they have no senseof romance. "

"Well, Mary, " he said at length, "why don't you say something amusing?"

His tone was certainly provoking, but, as a general rule, Mary was noteasily provoked. This evening, however, she replied rather sharply:

"Because I've got nothing amusing to say, I suppose. "

Ralph thought for a moment, and then remarked:

"You work too hard. I don't mean your health, " he added, as she laughedscornfully, "I mean that you seem to me to be getting wrapped up in yourwork. "

"And is that a bad thing?" she asked, shading her eyes with her hand. 

"I think it is, " he returned abruptly. 

"But only a week ago you were saying the opposite. " Her tone wasdefiant, but she became curiously depressed. Ralph did not perceive it, and took this opportunity of lecturing her, and expressing his latestviews upon the proper conduct of life. She listened, but her mainimpression was that he had been meeting some one who had influenced him. He was telling her that she ought to read more, and to see thatthere were other points of view as deserving of attention as her own. Naturally, having last seen him as he left the office in companywith Katharine, she attributed the change to her; it was likely thatKatharine, on leaving the scene which she had so clearly despised, hadpronounced some such criticism, or suggested it by her own attitude. But she knew that Ralph would never admit that he had been influenced byanybody. 

"You don't read enough, Mary, " he was saying. "You ought to read morepoetry. "

It was true that Mary's reading had been rather limited to such worksas she needed to know for the sake of examinations; and her time forreading in London was very little. For some reason, no one likes to betold that they do not read enough poetry, but her resentment was onlyvisible in the way she changed the position of her hands, and in thefixed look in her eyes. And then she thought to herself, "I'm behavingexactly as I said I wouldn't behave, " whereupon she relaxed all hermuscles and said, in her reasonable way:

"Tell me what I ought to read, then. "

Ralph had unconsciously been irritated by Mary, and he now deliveredhimself of a few names of great poets which were the text for adiscourse upon the imperfection of Mary's character and way of life. 

"You live with your inferiors, " he said, warming unreasonably, as heknew, to his text. "And you get into a groove because, on the whole, it's rather a pleasant groove. And you tend to forget what you're therefor. You've the feminine habit of making much of details. You don't seewhen things matter and when they don't. And that's what's the ruin ofall these organizations. That's why the Suffragists have never doneanything all these years. What's the point of drawing-room meetings andbazaars? You want to have ideas, Mary; get hold of something big; nevermind making mistakes, but don't niggle. Why don't you throw it all upfor a year, and travel?--see something of the world. Don't be contentto live with half a dozen people in a backwater all your life. But youwon't, " he concluded. 

"I've rather come to that way of thinking myself--about myself, I mean, "said Mary, surprising him by her acquiescence. "I should like to gosomewhere far away. "

For a moment they were both silent. Ralph then said:

"But look here, Mary, you haven't been taking this seriously, have you?"His irritation was spent, and the depression, which she could not keepout of her voice, made him feel suddenly with remorse that he had beenhurting her. 

"You won't go away, will you?" he asked. And as she said nothing, headded, "Oh no, don't go away. "

"I don't know exactly what I mean to do, " she replied. She hoveredon the verge of some discussion of her plans, but she received noencouragement. He fell into one of his queer silences, which seemed toMary, in spite of all her precautions, to have reference to what shealso could not prevent herself from thinking about--their feelingfor each other and their relationship. She felt that the two lines ofthought bored their way in long, parallel tunnels which came very closeindeed, but never ran into each other. 

When he had gone, and he left her without breaking his silence more thanwas needed to wish her good night, she sat on for a time, reviewing whathe had said. If love is a devastating fire which melts the whole beinginto one mountain torrent, Mary was no more in love with Denham thanshe was in love with her poker or her tongs. But probably these extremepassions are very rare, and the state of mind thus depicted belongs tothe very last stages of love, when the power to resist has been eatenaway, week by week or day by day. Like most intelligent people, Marywas something of an egoist, to the extent, that is, of attaching greatimportance to what she felt, and she was by nature enough of a moralistto like to make certain, from time to time, that her feelings werecreditable to her. When Ralph left her she thought over her state ofmind, and came to the conclusion that it would be a good thing to learna language--say Italian or German. She then went to a drawer, which shehad to unlock, and took from it certain deeply scored manuscript pages. She read them through, looking up from her reading every now and thenand thinking very intently for a few seconds about Ralph. She did herbest to verify all the qualities in him which gave rise to emotions inher; and persuaded herself that she accounted reasonably for them all. Then she looked back again at her manuscript, and decided that to writegrammatical English prose is the hardest thing in the world. Butshe thought about herself a great deal more than she thought aboutgrammatical English prose or about Ralph Denham, and it may thereforebe disputed whether she was in love, or, if so, to which branch of thefamily her passion belonged. 

CHAPTER XI

"It's life that matters, nothing but life--the process of discovering, the everlasting and perpetual process, " said Katharine, as she passedunder the archway, and so into the wide space of King's Bench Walk, "notthe discovery itself at all. " She spoke the last words looking up atRodney's windows, which were a semilucent red color, in her honor, asshe knew. He had asked her to tea with him. But she was in a mood whenit is almost physically disagreeable to interrupt the stride of one'sthought, and she walked up and down two or three times under the treesbefore approaching his staircase. She liked getting hold of some bookwhich neither her father or mother had read, and keeping it to herself, and gnawing its contents in privacy, and pondering the meaning withoutsharing her thoughts with any one, or having to decide whether the bookwas a good one or a bad one. This evening she had twisted the words ofDostoevsky to suit her mood--a fatalistic mood--to proclaim that theprocess of discovery was life, and that, presumably, the nature of one'sgoal mattered not at all. She sat down for a moment upon one of theseats; felt herself carried along in the swirl of many things;decided, in her sudden way, that it was time to heave all this thinkingoverboard, and rose, leaving a fishmonger's basket on the seat behindher. Two minutes later her rap sounded with authority upon Rodney'sdoor. 

"Well, William, " she said, "I'm afraid I'm late. "

It was true, but he was so glad to see her that he forgot his annoyance. He had been occupied for over an hour in making things ready for her, and he now had his reward in seeing her look right and left, as sheslipped her cloak from her shoulders, with evident satisfaction, although she said nothing. He had seen that the fire burnt well;jam-pots were on the table, tin covers shone in the fender, and theshabby comfort of the room was extreme. He was dressed in his oldcrimson dressing-gown, which was faded irregularly, and had bright newpatches on it, like the paler grass which one finds on lifting a stone. He made the tea, and Katharine drew off her gloves, and crossed her legswith a gesture that was rather masculine in its ease. Nor did they talkmuch until they were smoking cigarettes over the fire, having placedtheir teacups upon the floor between them. 

They had not met since they had exchanged letters about theirrelationship. Katharine's answer to his protestation had been short andsensible. Half a sheet of notepaper contained the whole of it, for shemerely had to say that she was not in love with him, and so could notmarry him, but their friendship would continue, she hoped, unchanged. She had added a postscript in which she stated, "I like your sonnet verymuch. "

So far as William was concerned, this appearance of ease was assumed. Three times that afternoon he had dressed himself in a tail-coat, andthree times he had discarded it for an old dressing-gown; three times hehad placed his pearl tie-pin in position, and three times he had removedit again, the little looking-glass in his room being the witness ofthese changes of mind. The question was, which would Katharine prefer onthis particular afternoon in December? He read her note once more, and the postscript about the sonnet settled the matter. Evidently sheadmired most the poet in him; and as this, on the whole, agreed with hisown opinion, he decided to err, if anything, on the side of shabbiness. His demeanor was also regulated with premeditation; he spoke little, andonly on impersonal matters; he wished her to realize that in visitinghim for the first time alone she was doing nothing remarkable, although, in fact, that was a point about which he was not at all sure. 

Certainly Katharine seemed quite unmoved by any disturbing thoughts;and if he had been completely master of himself, he might, indeed, have complained that she was a trifle absent-minded. The ease, thefamiliarity of the situation alone with Rodney, among teacups andcandles, had more effect upon her than was apparent. She asked to lookat his books, and then at his pictures. It was while she held photographfrom the Greek in her hands that she exclaimed, impulsively, ifincongruously:

"My oysters! I had a basket, " she explained, "and I've left itsomewhere. Uncle Dudley dines with us to-night. What in the world have Idone with them?"

She rose and began to wander about the room. William rose also, andstood in front of the fire, muttering, "Oysters, oysters--your basket ofoysters!" but though he looked vaguely here and there, as if the oystersmight be on the top of the bookshelf, his eyes returned always toKatharine. She drew the curtain and looked out among the scanty leavesof the plane-trees. 

"I had them, " she calculated, "in the Strand; I sat on a seat. Well, never mind, " she concluded, turning back into the room abruptly, "I daresay some old creature is enjoying them by this time. "

"I should have thought that you never forgot anything, " Williamremarked, as they settled down again. 

"That's part of the myth about me, I know, " Katharine replied. 

"And I wonder, " William proceeded, with some caution, "what the truthabout you is? But I know this sort of thing doesn't interest you, " headded hastily, with a touch of peevishness. 

"No; it doesn't interest me very much, " she replied candidly. 

"What shall we talk about then?" he asked. 

She looked rather whimsically round the walls of the room. 

"However we start, we end by talking about the same thing--about poetry, I mean. I wonder if you realize, William, that I've never read evenShakespeare? It's rather wonderful how I've kept it up all these years. "

"You've kept it up for ten years very beautifully, as far as I'mconcerned, " he said. 

"Ten years? So long as that?"

"And I don't think it's always bored you, " he added. 

She looked into the fire silently. She could not deny that the surfaceof her feeling was absolutely unruffled by anything in William'scharacter; on the contrary, she felt certain that she could deal withwhatever turned up. He gave her peace, in which she could think ofthings that were far removed from what they talked about. Even now, when he sat within a yard of her, how easily her mind ranged hither andthither! Suddenly a picture presented itself before her, without anyeffort on her part as pictures will, of herself in these very rooms; shehad come in from a lecture, and she held a pile of books in her hand, scientific books, and books about mathematics and astronomy whichshe had mastered. She put them down on the table over there. It was apicture plucked from her life two or three years hence, when she wasmarried to William; but here she checked herself abruptly. 

She could not entirely forget William's presence, because, in spite ofhis efforts to control himself, his nervousness was apparent. On suchoccasions his eyes protruded more than ever, and his face had more thanever the appearance of being covered with a thin crackling skin, throughwhich every flush of his volatile blood showed itself instantly. By thistime he had shaped so many sentences and rejected them, felt so manyimpulses and subdued them, that he was a uniform scarlet. 

"You may say you don't read books, " he remarked, "but, all the same, youknow about them. Besides, who wants you to be learned? Leave that to thepoor devils who've got nothing better to do. You--you--ahem!--"

"Well, then, why don't you read me something before I go?" saidKatharine, looking at her watch. 

"Katharine, you've only just come! Let me see now, what have I got toshow you?" He rose, and stirred about the papers on his table, as if indoubt; he then picked up a manuscript, and after spreading it smoothlyupon his knee, he looked up at Katharine suspiciously. He caught hersmiling. 

"I believe you only ask me to read out of kindness, " he burst out. "Let's find something else to talk about. Who have you been seeing?"

"I don't generally ask things out of kindness, " Katharine observed;"however, if you don't want to read, you needn't. "

William gave a queer snort of exasperation, and opened his manuscriptonce more, though he kept his eyes upon her face as he did so. No facecould have been graver or more judicial. 

"One can trust you, certainly, to say unpleasant things, " he said, smoothing out the page, clearing his throat, and reading half a stanzato himself. "Ahem! The Princess is lost in the wood, and she hears thesound of a horn. (This would all be very pretty on the stage, but Ican't get the effect here. ) Anyhow, Sylvano enters, accompanied bythe rest of the gentlemen of Gratian's court. I begin where hesoliloquizes. " He jerked his head and began to read. 

Although Katharine had just disclaimed any knowledge of literature, shelistened attentively. At least, she listened to the first twenty-fivelines attentively, and then she frowned. Her attention was only arousedagain when Rodney raised his finger--a sign, she knew, that the meterwas about to change. 

His theory was that every mood has its meter. His mastery of meters wasvery great; and, if the beauty of a drama depended upon the varietyof measures in which the personages speak, Rodney's plays musthave challenged the works of Shakespeare. Katharine's ignorance ofShakespeare did not prevent her from feeling fairly certain that playsshould not produce a sense of chill stupor in the audience, such asovercame her as the lines flowed on, sometimes long and sometimes short, but always delivered with the same lilt of voice, which seemed to naileach line firmly on to the same spot in the hearer's brain. Still, shereflected, these sorts of skill are almost exclusively masculine; womenneither practice them nor know how to value them; and one's husband'sproficiency in this direction might legitimately increase one's respectfor him, since mystification is no bad basis for respect. No one coulddoubt that William was a scholar. The reading ended with the finish ofthe Act; Katharine had prepared a little speech. 

"That seems to me extremely well written, William; although, of course, I don't know enough to criticize in detail. "

"But it's the skill that strikes you--not the emotion?"

"In a fragment like that, of course, the skill strikes one most. "

"But perhaps--have you time to listen to one more short piece? the scenebetween the lovers? There's some real feeling in that, I think. Denhamagrees that it's the best thing I've done. "

"You've read it to Ralph Denham?" Katharine inquired, with surprise. "He's a better judge than I am. What did he say?"

"My dear Katharine, " Rodney exclaimed, "I don't ask you for criticism, as I should ask a scholar. I dare say there are only five men in Englandwhose opinion of my work matters a straw to me. But I trust you wherefeeling is concerned. I had you in my mind often when I was writingthose scenes. I kept asking myself, 'Now is this the sort of thingKatharine would like?' I always think of you when I'm writing, Katharine, even when it's the sort of thing you wouldn't know about. And I'd rather--yes, I really believe I'd rather--you thought well of mywriting than any one in the world. "

This was so genuine a tribute to his trust in her that Katharine wastouched. 

"You think too much of me altogether, William, " she said, forgettingthat she had not meant to speak in this way. 

"No, Katharine, I don't, " he replied, replacing his manuscript in thedrawer. "It does me good to think of you. "

So quiet an answer, followed as it was by no expression of love, butmerely by the statement that if she must go he would take her to theStrand, and would, if she could wait a moment, change his dressing-gownfor a coat, moved her to the warmest feeling of affection for him thatshe had yet experienced. While he changed in the next room, she stood bythe bookcase, taking down books and opening them, but reading nothing ontheir pages. 

She felt certain that she would marry Rodney. How could one avoid it?How could one find fault with it? Here she sighed, and, putting thethought of marriage away, fell into a dream state, in which she becameanother person, and the whole world seemed changed. Being a frequentvisitor to that world, she could find her way there unhesitatingly. Ifshe had tried to analyze her impressions, she would have said that theredwelt the realities of the appearances which figure in our world; sodirect, powerful, and unimpeded were her sensations there, compared withthose called forth in actual life. There dwelt the things one might havefelt, had there been cause; the perfect happiness of which here we tastethe fragment; the beauty seen here in flying glimpses only. No doubtmuch of the furniture of this world was drawn directly from thepast, and even from the England of the Elizabethan age. However theembellishment of this imaginary world might change, two qualities wereconstant in it. It was a place where feelings were liberated from theconstraint which the real world puts upon them; and the process ofawakenment was always marked by resignation and a kind of stoicalacceptance of facts. She met no acquaintance there, as Denham did, miraculously transfigured; she played no heroic part. But therecertainly she loved some magnanimous hero, and as they swept togetheramong the leaf-hung trees of an unknown world, they shared the feelingswhich came fresh and fast as the waves on the shore. But the sands ofher liberation were running fast; even through the forest branches camesounds of Rodney moving things on his dressing-table; and Katharine wokeherself from this excursion by shutting the cover of the book she washolding, and replacing it in the bookshelf. 

"William, " she said, speaking rather faintly at first, like one sendinga voice from sleep to reach the living. "William, " she repeated firmly, "if you still want me to marry you, I will. "

Perhaps it was that no man could expect to have the most momentousquestion of his life settled in a voice so level, so toneless, sodevoid of joy or energy. At any rate William made no answer. She waitedstoically. A moment later he stepped briskly from his dressing-room, andobserved that if she wanted to buy more oysters he thought he knew wherethey could find a fishmonger's shop still open. She breathed deeply asigh of relief. 

Extract from a letter sent a few days later by Mrs. Hilbery to hersister-in-law, Mrs. Milvain:

"... How stupid of me to forget the name in my telegram. Such a nice, rich, English name, too, and, in addition, he has all the graces ofintellect; he has read literally EVERYTHING. I tell Katharine, I shallalways put him on my right side at dinner, so as to have him by me whenpeople begin talking about characters in Shakespeare. They won't berich, but they'll be very, very happy. I was sitting in my room late onenight, feeling that nothing nice would ever happen to me again, when Iheard Katharine outside in the passage, and I thought to myself, 'ShallI call her in?' and then I thought (in that hopeless, dreary way onedoes think, with the fire going out and one's birthday just over), 'Whyshould I lay my troubles on HER?' But my little self-control had itsreward, for next moment she tapped at the door and came in, and sat onthe rug, and though we neither of us said anything, I felt so happy allof a second that I couldn't help crying, 'Oh, Katharine, when you cometo my age, how I hope you'll have a daughter, too!' You know how silentKatharine is. She was so silent, for such a long time, that in myfoolish, nervous state I dreaded something, I don't quite know what. And then she told me how, after all, she had made up her mind. She hadwritten. She expected him to-morrow. At first I wasn't glad at all. Ididn't want her to marry any one; but when she said, 'It will make nodifference. I shall always care for you and father most, ' then I saw howselfish I was, and I told her she must give him everything, everything, everything! I told her I should be thankful to come second. But why, when everything's turned out just as one always hoped it would turn out, why then can one do nothing but cry, nothing but feel a desolate oldwoman whose life's been a failure, and now is nearly over, and age is socruel? But Katharine said to me, 'I am happy. I'm very happy. ' Andthen I thought, though it all seemed so desperately dismal at the time, Katharine had said she was happy, and I should have a son, and it wouldall turn out so much more wonderfully than I could possibly imagine, forthough the sermons don't say so, I do believe the world is meant for usto be happy in. She told me that they would live quite near us, and seeus every day; and she would go on with the Life, and we should finish itas we had meant to. And, after all, it would be far more horrid ifshe didn't marry--or suppose she married some one we couldn't endure?Suppose she had fallen in love with some one who was married already?

"And though one never thinks any one good enough for the people one'sfond of, he has the kindest, truest instincts, I'm sure, and thoughhe seems nervous and his manner is not commanding, I only think thesethings because it's Katharine. And now I've written this, it comes overme that, of course, all the time, Katharine has what he hasn't. Shedoes command, she isn't nervous; it comes naturally to her to rule andcontrol. It's time that she should give all this to some one who willneed her when we aren't there, save in our spirits, for whatever peoplesay, I'm sure I shall come back to this wonderful world where one'sbeen so happy and so miserable, where, even now, I seem to see myselfstretching out my hands for another present from the great Fairy Treewhose boughs are still hung with enchanting toys, though they are rarernow, perhaps, and between the branches one sees no longer the blue sky, but the stars and the tops of the mountains. 

"One doesn't know any more, does one? One hasn't any advice to giveone's children. One can only hope that they will have the samevision and the same power to believe, without which life would be someaningless. That is what I ask for Katharine and her husband. "

CHAPTER XII

"Is Mr. Hilbery at home, or Mrs. Hilbery?" Denham asked, of theparlor-maid in Chelsea, a week later. 

"No, sir. But Miss Hilbery is at home, " the girl answered. 

Ralph had anticipated many answers, but not this one, and now itwas unexpectedly made plain to him that it was the chance of seeingKatharine that had brought him all the way to Chelsea on pretence ofseeing her father. 

He made some show of considering the matter, and was taken upstairs tothe drawing-room. As upon that first occasion, some weeks ago, the doorclosed as if it were a thousand doors softly excluding the world; andonce more Ralph received an impression of a room full of deep shadows, firelight, unwavering silver candle flames, and empty spaces to becrossed before reaching the round table in the middle of the room, with its frail burden of silver trays and china teacups. But this timeKatharine was there by herself; the volume in her hand showed that sheexpected no visitors. 

Ralph said something about hoping to find her father. 

"My father is out, " she replied. "But if you can wait, I expect himsoon. "

It might have been due merely to politeness, but Ralph felt that shereceived him almost with cordiality. Perhaps she was bored by drinkingtea and reading a book all alone; at any rate, she tossed the book on toa sofa with a gesture of relief. 

"Is that one of the moderns whom you despise?" he asked, smiling at thecarelessness of her gesture. 

"Yes, " she replied. "I think even you would despise him. "

"Even I?" he repeated. "Why even I?"

"You said you liked modern things; I said I hated them. "

This was not a very accurate report of their conversation among therelics, perhaps, but Ralph was flattered to think that she rememberedanything about it. 

"Or did I confess that I hated all books?" she went on, seeing him lookup with an air of inquiry. "I forget--"

"Do you hate all books?" he asked. 

"It would be absurd to say that I hate all books when I've only readten, perhaps; but--' Here she pulled herself up short. 

"Well?"

"Yes, I do hate books, " she continued. "Why do you want to be for evertalking about your feelings? That's what I can't make out. And poetry'sall about feelings--novels are all about feelings. "

She cut a cake vigorously into slices, and providing a tray with breadand butter for Mrs. Hilbery, who was in her room with a cold, she roseto go upstairs. 

Ralph held the door open for her, and then stood with clasped hands inthe middle of the room. His eyes were bright, and, indeed, he scarcelyknew whether they beheld dreams or realities. All down the street andon the doorstep, and while he mounted the stairs, his dream of Katharinepossessed him; on the threshold of the room he had dismissed it, inorder to prevent too painful a collision between what he dreamt of herand what she was. And in five minutes she had filled the shell of theold dream with the flesh of life; looked with fire out of phantom eyes. He glanced about him with bewilderment at finding himself among herchairs and tables; they were solid, for he grasped the back of the chairin which Katharine had sat; and yet they were unreal; the atmosphere wasthat of a dream. He summoned all the faculties of his spirit to seizewhat the minutes had to give him; and from the depths of his mind thererose unchecked a joyful recognition of the truth that human naturesurpasses, in its beauty, all that our wildest dreams bring us hints of. 

Katharine came into the room a moment later. He stood watching her cometowards him, and thought her more beautiful and strange than his dreamof her; for the real Katharine could speak the words which seemedto crowd behind the forehead and in the depths of the eyes, and thecommonest sentence would be flashed on by this immortal light. And sheoverflowed the edges of the dream; he remarked that her softness waslike that of some vast snowy owl; she wore a ruby on her finger. 

"My mother wants me to tell you, " she said, "that she hopes you havebegun your poem. She says every one ought to write poetry.... All myrelations write poetry, " she went on. "I can't bear to think of itsometimes--because, of course, it's none of it any good. But then oneneedn't read it--"

"You don't encourage me to write a poem, " said Ralph. 

"But you're not a poet, too, are you?" she inquired, turning upon himwith a laugh. 

"Should I tell you if I were?"

"Yes. Because I think you speak the truth, " she said, searching him forproof of this apparently, with eyes now almost impersonally direct. Itwould be easy, Ralph thought, to worship one so far removed, and yet ofso straight a nature; easy to submit recklessly to her, without thoughtof future pain. 

"Are you a poet?" she demanded. He felt that her question had anunexplained weight of meaning behind it, as if she sought an answer to aquestion that she did not ask. 

"No. I haven't written any poetry for years, " he replied. "But all thesame, I don't agree with you. I think it's the only thing worth doing. "

"Why do you say that?" she asked, almost with impatience, tapping herspoon two or three times against the side of her cup. 

"Why?" Ralph laid hands on the first words that came to mind. "Because, I suppose, it keeps an ideal alive which might die otherwise. "

A curious change came over her face, as if the flame of her mind weresubdued; and she looked at him ironically and with the expression whichhe had called sad before, for want of a better name for it. 

"I don't know that there's much sense in having ideals, " she said. 

"But you have them, " he replied energetically. "Why do we call themideals? It's a stupid word. Dreams, I mean--"

She followed his words with parted lips, as though to answer eagerlywhen he had done; but as he said, "Dreams, I mean, " the door of thedrawing-room swung open, and so remained for a perceptible instant. Theyboth held themselves silent, her lips still parted. 

Far off, they heard the rustle of skirts. Then the owner of the skirtsappeared in the doorway, which she almost filled, nearly concealing thefigure of a very much smaller lady who accompanied her. 

"My aunts!" Katharine murmured, under her breath. Her tone had a hint oftragedy in it, but no less, Ralph thought, than the situation required. She addressed the larger lady as Aunt Millicent; the smaller was AuntCelia, Mrs. Milvain, who had lately undertaken the task of marryingCyril to his wife. Both ladies, but Mrs. Cosham (Aunt Millicent)in particular, had that look of heightened, smoothed, incarnadinedexistence which is proper to elderly ladies paying calls in London aboutfive o'clock in the afternoon. Portraits by Romney, seen through glass, have something of their pink, mellow look, their blooming softness, asof apricots hanging upon a red wall in the afternoon sun. Mrs. Coshamwas so appareled with hanging muffs, chains, and swinging draperies thatit was impossible to detect the shape of a human being in the mass ofbrown and black which filled the arm-chair. Mrs. Milvain was a muchslighter figure; but the same doubt as to the precise lines of hercontour filled Ralph, as he regarded them, with dismal foreboding. What remark of his would ever reach these fabulous and fantasticcharacters?--for there was something fantastically unreal in the curiousswayings and noddings of Mrs. Cosham, as if her equipment included alarge wire spring. Her voice had a high-pitched, cooing note, whichprolonged words and cut them short until the English language seemedno longer fit for common purposes. In a moment of nervousness, so Ralphthought, Katharine had turned on innumerable electric lights. But Mrs. Cosham had gained impetus (perhaps her swaying movements had that end inview) for sustained speech; and she now addressed Ralph deliberately andelaborately. 

"I come from Woking, Mr. Popham. You may well ask me, why Woking? and tothat I answer, for perhaps the hundredth time, because of the sunsets. We went there for the sunsets, but that was five-and-twenty years ago. Where are the sunsets now? Alas! There is no sunset now nearer than theSouth Coast. " Her rich and romantic notes were accompanied by a waveof a long white hand, which, when waved, gave off a flash of diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. Ralph wondered whether she more resembled anelephant, with a jeweled head-dress, or a superb cockatoo, balancedinsecurely upon its perch, and pecking capriciously at a lump of sugar. 

"Where are the sunsets now?" she repeated. "Do you find sunsets now, Mr. Popham?"

"I live at Highgate, " he replied. 

"At Highgate? Yes, Highgate has its charms; your Uncle John lived atHighgate, " she jerked in the direction of Katharine. She sank her headupon her breast, as if for a moment's meditation, which past, she lookedup and observed: "I dare say there are very pretty lanes in Highgate. I can recollect walking with your mother, Katharine, through lanesblossoming with wild hawthorn. But where is the hawthorn now? Youremember that exquisite description in De Quincey, Mr. Popham?--butI forget, you, in your generation, with all your activity andenlightenment, at which I can only marvel"--here she displayed both herbeautiful white hands--"do not read De Quincey. You have your Belloc, your Chesterton, your Bernard Shaw--why should you read De Quincey?"

"But I do read De Quincey, " Ralph protested, "more than Belloc andChesterton, anyhow. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Cosham, with a gesture of surprise andrelief mingled. "You are, then, a 'rara avis' in your generation. I amdelighted to meet anyone who reads De Quincey. "

Here she hollowed her hand into a screen, and, leaning towardsKatharine, inquired, in a very audible whisper, "Does your friendWRITE?"

"Mr. Denham, " said Katharine, with more than her usual clearness andfirmness, "writes for the Review. He is a lawyer. "

"The clean-shaven lips, showing the expression of the mouth! I recognizethem at once. I always feel at home with lawyers, Mr. Denham--"

"They used to come about so much in the old days, " Mrs. Milvaininterposed, the frail, silvery notes of her voice falling with the sweettone of an old bell. 

"You say you live at Highgate, " she continued. "I wonder whether youhappen to know if there is an old house called Tempest Lodge still inexistence--an old white house in a garden?"

Ralph shook his head, and she sighed. 

"Ah, no; it must have been pulled down by this time, with all the otherold houses. There were such pretty lanes in those days. That was howyour uncle met your Aunt Emily, you know, " she addressed Katharine. "They walked home through the lanes. "

"A sprig of May in her bonnet, " Mrs. Cosham ejaculated, reminiscently. 

"And next Sunday he had violets in his buttonhole. And that was how weguessed. "

Katharine laughed. She looked at Ralph. His eyes were meditative, andshe wondered what he found in this old gossip to make him ponder socontentedly. She felt, she hardly knew why, a curious pity for him. 

"Uncle John--yes, 'poor John, ' you always called him. Why was that?"she asked, to make them go on talking, which, indeed, they needed littleinvitation to do. 

"That was what his father, old Sir Richard, always called him. PoorJohn, or the fool of the family, " Mrs. Milvain hastened to informthem. "The other boys were so brilliant, and he could never pass hisexaminations, so they sent him to India--a long voyage in those days, poor fellow. You had your own room, you know, and you did it up. But hewill get his knighthood and a pension, I believe, " she said, turning toRalph, "only it is not England. "

"No, " Mrs. Cosham confirmed her, "it is not England. In those days wethought an Indian Judgeship about equal to a county-court judgeship athome. His Honor--a pretty title, but still, not at the top of the tree. However, " she sighed, "if you have a wife and seven children, and peoplenowadays very quickly forget your father's name--well, you have to takewhat you can get, " she concluded. 

"And I fancy, " Mrs. Milvain resumed, lowering her voice ratherconfidentially, "that John would have done more if it hadn't been forhis wife, your Aunt Emily. She was a very good woman, devoted to him, ofcourse, but she was not ambitious for him, and if a wife isn't ambitiousfor her husband, especially in a profession like the law, clients soonget to know of it. In our young days, Mr. Denham, we used to say that weknew which of our friends would become judges, by looking at the girlsthey married. And so it was, and so, I fancy, it always will be. I don'tthink, " she added, summing up these scattered remarks, "that any man isreally happy unless he succeeds in his profession. "

Mrs. Cosham approved of this sentiment with more ponderous sagacity fromher side of the tea-table, in the first place by swaying her head, andin the second by remarking:

"No, men are not the same as women. I fancy Alfred Tennyson spoke thetruth about that as about many other things. How I wish he'd lived towrite 'The Prince'--a sequel to 'The Princess'! I confess I'm almosttired of Princesses. We want some one to show us what a good man can be. We have Laura and Beatrice, Antigone and Cordelia, but we have no heroicman. How do you, as a poet, account for that, Mr. Denham?"

"I'm not a poet, " said Ralph good-humoredly. "I'm only a solicitor. "

"But you write, too?" Mrs. Cosham demanded, afraid lest she shouldbe balked of her priceless discovery, a young man truly devoted toliterature. 

"In my spare time, " Denham reassured her. 

"In your spare time!" Mrs. Cosham echoed. "That is a proof of devotion, indeed. " She half closed her eyes, and indulged herself in a fascinatingpicture of a briefless barrister lodged in a garret, writing immortalnovels by the light of a farthing dip. But the romance which fell uponthe figures of great writers and illumined their pages was no falseradiance in her case. She carried her pocket Shakespeare about withher, and met life fortified by the words of the poets. How far she sawDenham, and how far she confused him with some hero of fiction, it wouldbe hard to say. Literature had taken possession even of her memories. She was matching him, presumably, with certain characters in the oldnovels, for she came out, after a pause, with:

"Um--um--Pendennis--Warrington--I could never forgive Laura, " shepronounced energetically, "for not marrying George, in spite ofeverything. George Eliot did the very same thing; and Lewes was a littlefrog-faced man, with the manner of a dancing master. But Warrington, now, had everything in his favor; intellect, passion, romance, distinction, and the connection was a mere piece of undergraduate folly. Arthur, I confess, has always seemed to me a bit of a fop; I can'timagine how Laura married him. But you say you're a solicitor, Mr. Denham. Now there are one or two things I should like to ask you--aboutShakespeare--" She drew out her small, worn volume with some difficulty, opened it, and shook it in the air. "They say, nowadays, thatShakespeare was a lawyer. They say, that accounts for his knowledge ofhuman nature. There's a fine example for you, Mr. Denham. Study yourclients, young man, and the world will be the richer one of these days, I have no doubt. Tell me, how do we come out of it, now; better or worsethan you expected?"

Thus called upon to sum up the worth of human nature in a few words, Ralph answered unhesitatingly:

"Worse, Mrs. Cosham, a good deal worse. I'm afraid the ordinary man is abit of a rascal--"

"And the ordinary woman?"

"No, I don't like the ordinary woman either--"

"Ah, dear me, I've no doubt that's very true, very true. " Mrs. Coshamsighed. "Swift would have agreed with you, anyhow--" She looked at him, and thought that there were signs of distinct power in his brow. Hewould do well, she thought, to devote himself to satire. 

"Charles Lavington, you remember, was a solicitor, " Mrs. Milvaininterposed, rather resenting the waste of time involved in talking aboutfictitious people when you might be talking about real people. "But youwouldn't remember him, Katharine. "

"Mr. Lavington? Oh, yes, I do, " said Katharine, waking from otherthoughts with her little start. "The summer we had a house near Tenby. Iremember the field and the pond with the tadpoles, and making haystackswith Mr. Lavington. "

"She is right. There WAS a pond with tadpoles, " Mrs. Coshamcorroborated. "Millais made studies of it for 'Ophelia. ' Some say thatis the best picture he ever painted--"

"And I remember the dog chained up in the yard, and the dead snakeshanging in the toolhouse. "

"It was at Tenby that you were chased by the bull, " Mrs. Milvaincontinued. "But that you couldn't remember, though it's true you werea wonderful child. Such eyes she had, Mr. Denham! I used to say to herfather, 'She's watching us, and summing us all up in her little mind. 'And they had a nurse in those days, " she went on, telling her story withcharming solemnity to Ralph, "who was a good woman, but engaged to asailor. When she ought to have been attending to the baby, her eyes wereon the sea. And Mrs. Hilbery allowed this girl--Susan her name was--tohave him to stay in the village. They abused her goodness, I'm sorryto say, and while they walked in the lanes, they stood the perambulatoralone in a field where there was a bull. The animal became enraged bythe red blanket in the perambulator, and Heaven knows what might havehappened if a gentleman had not been walking by in the nick of time, andrescued Katharine in his arms!"

"I think the bull was only a cow, Aunt Celia, " said Katharine. 

"My darling, it was a great red Devonshire bull, and not long after itgored a man to death and had to be destroyed. And your mother forgaveSusan--a thing I could never have done. "

"Maggie's sympathies were entirely with Susan and the sailor, Iam sure, " said Mrs. Cosham, rather tartly. "My sister-in-law, " shecontinued, "has laid her burdens upon Providence at every crisis in herlife, and Providence, I must confess, has responded nobly, so far--"

"Yes, " said Katharine, with a laugh, for she liked the rashness whichirritated the rest of the family. "My mother's bulls always turn intocows at the critical moment. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Milvain, "I'm glad you have some one to protect youfrom bulls now. "

"I can't imagine William protecting any one from bulls, " said Katharine. 

It happened that Mrs. Cosham had once more produced her pocket volumeof Shakespeare, and was consulting Ralph upon an obscure passage in"Measure for Measure. " He did not at once seize the meaning of whatKatharine and her aunt were saying; William, he supposed, referred tosome small cousin, for he now saw Katharine as a child in a pinafore;but, nevertheless, he was so much distracted that his eye could hardlyfollow the words on the paper. A moment later he heard them speakdistinctly of an engagement ring. 

"I like rubies, " he heard Katharine say. 

 "To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendant world.... "

Mrs. Cosham intoned; at the same instant "Rodney" fitted itself to"William" in Ralph's mind. He felt convinced that Katharine was engagedto Rodney. His first sensation was one of violent rage with her forhaving deceived him throughout the visit, fed him with pleasant oldwives' tales, let him see her as a child playing in a meadow, sharedher youth with him, while all the time she was a stranger entirely, andengaged to marry Rodney. 

But was it possible? Surely it was not possible. For in his eyes she wasstill a child. He paused so long over the book that Mrs. Cosham had timeto look over his shoulder and ask her niece:

"And have you settled upon a house yet, Katharine?"

This convinced him of the truth of the monstrous idea. He looked up atonce and said:

"Yes, it's a difficult passage. "

His voice had changed so much, he spoke with such curtness and even withsuch contempt, that Mrs. Cosham looked at him fairly puzzled. Happilyshe belonged to a generation which expected uncouthness in its men, andshe merely felt convinced that this Mr. Denham was very, very clever. She took back her Shakespeare, as Denham seemed to have no more to say, and secreted it once more about her person with the infinitely patheticresignation of the old. 

"Katharine's engaged to William Rodney, " she said, by way of filling inthe pause; "a very old friend of ours. He has a wonderful knowledge ofliterature, too--wonderful. " She nodded her head rather vaguely. "Youshould meet each other. "

Denham's one wish was to leave the house as soon as he could; but theelderly ladies had risen, and were proposing to visit Mrs. Hilbery inher bedroom, so that any move on his part was impossible. At the sametime, he wished to say something, but he knew not what, to Katharinealone. She took her aunts upstairs, and returned, coming towards himonce more with an air of innocence and friendliness that amazed him. 

"My father will be back, " she said. "Won't you sit down?" and shelaughed, as if now they might share a perfectly friendly laugh at thetea-party. 

But Ralph made no attempt to seat himself. 

"I must congratulate you, " he said. "It was news to me. " He saw her facechange, but only to become graver than before. 

"My engagement?" she asked. "Yes, I am going to marry William Rodney. "

Ralph remained standing with his hand on the back of a chair in absolutesilence. Abysses seemed to plunge into darkness between them. He lookedat her, but her face showed that she was not thinking of him. No regretor consciousness of wrong disturbed her. 

"Well, I must go, " he said at length. 

She seemed about to say something, then changed her mind and saidmerely:

"You will come again, I hope. We always seem"--she hesitated--"to beinterrupted. "

He bowed and left the room. 

Ralph strode with extreme swiftness along the Embankment. Every musclewas taut and braced as if to resist some sudden attack from outside. Forthe moment it seemed as if the attack were about to be directedagainst his body, and his brain thus was on the alert, but withoutunderstanding. Finding himself, after a few minutes, no longer underobservation, and no attack delivered, he slackened his pace, the painspread all through him, took possession of every governing seat, and metwith scarcely any resistance from powers exhausted by their first effortat defence. He took his way languidly along the river embankment, awayfrom home rather than towards it. The world had him at its mercy. Hemade no pattern out of the sights he saw. He felt himself now, as he hadoften fancied other people, adrift on the stream, and far removed fromcontrol of it, a man with no grasp upon circumstances any longer. Oldbattered men loafing at the doors of public-houses now seemed to be hisfellows, and he felt, as he supposed them to feel, a mingling of envyand hatred towards those who passed quickly and certainly to a goal oftheir own. They, too, saw things very thin and shadowy, and were waftedabout by the lightest breath of wind. For the substantial world, withits prospect of avenues leading on and on to the invisible distance, had slipped from him, since Katharine was engaged. Now all his lifewas visible, and the straight, meager path had its ending soon enough. Katharine was engaged, and she had deceived him, too. He felt forcorners of his being untouched by his disaster; but there was nolimit to the flood of damage; not one of his possessions was safe now. Katharine had deceived him; she had mixed herself with every thought ofhis, and reft of her they seemed false thoughts which he would blush tothink again. His life seemed immeasurably impoverished. 

He sat himself down, in spite of the chilly fog which obscured thefarther bank and left its lights suspended upon a blank surface, uponone of the riverside seats, and let the tide of disillusionment sweepthrough him. For the time being all bright points in his life wereblotted out; all prominences leveled. At first he made himself believethat Katharine had treated him badly, and drew comfort from the thoughtthat, left alone, she would recollect this, and think of him and tenderhim, in silence, at any rate, an apology. But this grain of comfortfailed him after a second or two, for, upon reflection, he had to admitthat Katharine owed him nothing. Katharine had promised nothing, takennothing; to her his dreams had meant nothing. This, indeed, was thelowest pitch of his despair. If the best of one's feelings means nothingto the person most concerned in those feelings, what reality is leftus? The old romance which had warmed his days for him, the thoughts ofKatharine which had painted every hour, were now made to appear foolishand enfeebled. He rose, and looked into the river, whose swift race ofdun-colored waters seemed the very spirit of futility and oblivion. 

"In what can one trust, then?" he thought, as he leant there. So feebleand insubstantial did he feel himself that he repeated the word aloud. 

"In what can one trust? Not in men and women. Not in one's dreams aboutthem. There's nothing--nothing, nothing left at all. "

Now Denham had reason to know that he could bring to birth and keepalive a fine anger when he chose. Rodney provided a good target forthat emotion. And yet at the moment, Rodney and Katharine herself seemeddisembodied ghosts. He could scarcely remember the look of them. Hismind plunged lower and lower. Their marriage seemed of no importance tohim. All things had turned to ghosts; the whole mass of the world wasinsubstantial vapor, surrounding the solitary spark in his mind, whoseburning point he could remember, for it burnt no more. He had oncecherished a belief, and Katharine had embodied this belief, and she didso no longer. He did not blame her; he blamed nothing, nobody; he sawthe truth. He saw the dun-colored race of waters and the blank shore. But life is vigorous; the body lives, and the body, no doubt, dictatedthe reflection, which now urged him to movement, that one may castaway the forms of human beings, and yet retain the passion which seemedinseparable from their existence in the flesh. Now this passion burnt onhis horizon, as the winter sun makes a greenish pane in the west throughthinning clouds. His eyes were set on something infinitely far andremote; by that light he felt he could walk, and would, in future, haveto find his way. But that was all there was left to him of a populousand teeming world. 

CHAPTER XIII

The lunch hour in the office was only partly spent by Denham in theconsumption of food. Whether fine or wet, he passed most of it pacingthe gravel paths in Lincoln's Inn Fields. The children got to knowhis figure, and the sparrows expected their daily scattering ofbread-crumbs. No doubt, since he often gave a copper and almost always ahandful of bread, he was not as blind to his surroundings as he thoughthimself. 

He thought that these winter days were spent in long hours beforewhite papers radiant in electric light; and in short passages throughfog-dimmed streets. When he came back to his work after lunch he carriedin his head a picture of the Strand, scattered with omnibuses, and ofthe purple shapes of leaves pressed flat upon the gravel, as if his eyeshad always been bent upon the ground. His brain worked incessantly, buthis thought was attended with so little joy that he did not willinglyrecall it; but drove ahead, now in this direction, now in that; and camehome laden with dark books borrowed from a library. 

Mary Datchet, coming from the Strand at lunch-time, saw him one daytaking his turn, closely buttoned in an overcoat, and so lost in thoughtthat he might have been sitting in his own room. 

She was overcome by something very like awe by the sight of him; thenshe felt much inclined to laugh, although her pulse beat faster. Shepassed him, and he never saw her. She came back and touched him on theshoulder. 

"Gracious, Mary!" he exclaimed. "How you startled me!"

"Yes. You looked as if you were walking in your sleep, " she said. "Areyou arranging some terrible love affair? Have you got to reconcile adesperate couple?"

"I wasn't thinking about my work, " Ralph replied, rather hastily. "And, besides, that sort of thing's not in my line, " he added, rather grimly. 

The morning was fine, and they had still some minutes of leisure tospend. They had not met for two or three weeks, and Mary had much tosay to Ralph; but she was not certain how far he wished for her company. However, after a turn or two, in which a few facts were communicated, hesuggested sitting down, and she took the seat beside him. The sparrowscame fluttering about them, and Ralph produced from his pocket the halfof a roll saved from his luncheon. He threw a few crumbs among them. 

"I've never seen sparrows so tame, " Mary observed, by way of sayingsomething. 

"No, " said Ralph. "The sparrows in Hyde Park aren't as tame as this. Ifwe keep perfectly still, I'll get one to settle on my arm. "

Mary felt that she could have forgone this display of animal goodtemper, but seeing that Ralph, for some curious reason, took a pride inthe sparrows, she bet him sixpence that he would not succeed. 

"Done!" he said; and his eye, which had been gloomy, showed a sparkof light. His conversation was now addressed entirely to a baldcock-sparrow, who seemed bolder than the rest; and Mary took theopportunity of looking at him. She was not satisfied; his face was worn, and his expression stern. A child came bowling its hoop through theconcourse of birds, and Ralph threw his last crumbs of bread into thebushes with a snort of impatience. 

"That's what always happens--just as I've almost got him, " he said. "Here's your sixpence, Mary. But you've only got it thanks to that bruteof a boy. They oughtn't to be allowed to bowl hoops here--"

"Oughtn't to be allowed to bowl hoops! My dear Ralph, what nonsense!"

"You always say that, " he complained; "and it isn't nonsense. What's thepoint of having a garden if one can't watch birds in it? The street doesall right for hoops. And if children can't be trusted in the streets, their mothers should keep them at home. "

Mary made no answer to this remark, but frowned. 

She leant back on the seat and looked about her at the great housesbreaking the soft gray-blue sky with their chimneys. 

"Ah, well, " she said, "London's a fine place to live in. I believe Icould sit and watch people all day long. I like my fellow-creatures.... "

Ralph sighed impatiently. 

"Yes, I think so, when you come to know them, " she added, as if hisdisagreement had been spoken. 

"That's just when I don't like them, " he replied. "Still, I don't seewhy you shouldn't cherish that illusion, if it pleases you. " He spokewithout much vehemence of agreement or disagreement. He seemed chilled. 

"Wake up, Ralph! You're half asleep!" Mary cried, turning and pinchinghis sleeve. "What have you been doing with yourself? Moping? Working?Despising the world, as usual?"

As he merely shook his head, and filled his pipe, she went on:

"It's a bit of a pose, isn't it?"

"Not more than most things, " he said. 

"Well, " Mary remarked, "I've a great deal to say to you, but I must goon--we have a committee. " She rose, but hesitated, looking down uponhim rather gravely. "You don't look happy, Ralph, " she said. "Is itanything, or is it nothing?"

He did not immediately answer her, but rose, too, and walked with hertowards the gate. As usual, he did not speak to her without consideringwhether what he was about to say was the sort of thing that he could sayto her. 

"I've been bothered, " he said at length. "Partly by work, and partly byfamily troubles. Charles has been behaving like a fool. He wants to goout to Canada as a farmer--"

"Well, there's something to be said for that, " said Mary; and theypassed the gate, and walked slowly round the Fields again, discussingdifficulties which, as a matter of fact, were more or less chronicin the Denham family, and only now brought forward to appease Mary'ssympathy, which, however, soothed Ralph more than he was aware of. Shemade him at least dwell upon problems which were real in the sense thatthey were capable of solution; and the true cause of his melancholy, which was not susceptible to such treatment, sank rather more deeplyinto the shades of his mind. 

Mary was attentive; she was helpful. Ralph could not help feelinggrateful to her, the more so, perhaps, because he had not told her thetruth about his state; and when they reached the gate again he wished tomake some affectionate objection to her leaving him. But his affectiontook the rather uncouth form of expostulating with her about her work. 

"What d'you want to sit on a committee for?" he asked. "It's waste ofyour time, Mary. "

"I agree with you that a country walk would benefit the world more, "she said. "Look here, " she added suddenly, "why don't you come to us atChristmas? It's almost the best time of year. "

"Come to you at Disham?" Ralph repeated. 

"Yes. We won't interfere with you. But you can tell me later, " she said, rather hastily, and then started off in the direction of Russell Square. She had invited him on the impulse of the moment, as a vision of thecountry came before her; and now she was annoyed with herself for havingdone so, and then she was annoyed at being annoyed. 

"If I can't face a walk in a field alone with Ralph, " she reasoned, "I'dbetter buy a cat and live in a lodging at Ealing, like Sally Seal--andhe won't come. Or did he mean that he WOULD come?"

She shook her head. She really did not know what he had meant. She neverfelt quite certain; but now she was more than usually baffled. Washe concealing something from her? His manner had been odd; his deepabsorption had impressed her; there was something in him that she hadnot fathomed, and the mystery of his nature laid more of a spell uponher than she liked. Moreover, she could not prevent herself from doingnow what she had often blamed others of her sex for doing--from endowingher friend with a kind of heavenly fire, and passing her life before itfor his sanction. 

Under this process, the committee rather dwindled in importance;the Suffrage shrank; she vowed she would work harder at the Italianlanguage; she thought she would take up the study of birds. But thisprogram for a perfect life threatened to become so absurd that she verysoon caught herself out in the evil habit, and was rehearsing her speechto the committee by the time the chestnut-colored bricks of RussellSquare came in sight. Indeed, she never noticed them. She ran upstairsas usual, and was completely awakened to reality by the sight of Mrs. Seal, on the landing outside the office, inducing a very large dog todrink water out of a tumbler. 

"Miss Markham has already arrived, " Mrs. Seal remarked, with duesolemnity, "and this is her dog. "

"A very fine dog, too, " said Mary, patting him on the head. 

"Yes. A magnificent fellow, " Mrs. Seal agreed. "A kind of St. Bernard, she tells me--so like Kit to have a St. Bernard. And you guard yourmistress well, don't you, Sailor? You see that wicked men don't breakinto her larder when she's out at HER work--helping poor souls who havelost their way.... But we're late--we must begin!" and scattering therest of the water indiscriminately over the floor, she hurried Mary intothe committee-room. 

CHAPTER XIV

Mr. Clacton was in his glory. The machinery which he had perfected andcontrolled was now about to turn out its bi-monthly product, a committeemeeting; and his pride in the perfect structure of these assemblies wasgreat. He loved the jargon of committee-rooms; he loved the way in whichthe door kept opening as the clock struck the hour, in obedience toa few strokes of his pen on a piece of paper; and when it had openedsufficiently often, he loved to issue from his inner chamber withdocuments in his hands, visibly important, with a preoccupied expressionon his face that might have suited a Prime Minister advancing to meethis Cabinet. By his orders the table had been decorated beforehand withsix sheets of blotting-paper, with six pens, six ink-pots, a tumblerand a jug of water, a bell, and, in deference to the taste of the ladymembers, a vase of hardy chrysanthemums. He had already surreptitiouslystraightened the sheets of blotting-paper in relation to the ink-pots, and now stood in front of the fire engaged in conversation with MissMarkham. But his eye was on the door, and when Mary and Mrs. Sealentered, he gave a little laugh and observed to the assembly which wasscattered about the room:

"I fancy, ladies and gentlemen, that we are ready to commence. "

So speaking, he took his seat at the head of the table, and arrangingone bundle of papers upon his right and another upon his left, calledupon Miss Datchet to read the minutes of the previous meeting. Maryobeyed. A keen observer might have wondered why it was necessary for thesecretary to knit her brows so closely over the tolerably matter-of-factstatement before her. Could there be any doubt in her mind that it hadbeen resolved to circularize the provinces with Leaflet No. 3, or toissue a statistical diagram showing the proportion of married womento spinsters in New Zealand; or that the net profits of Mrs. Hipsley'sBazaar had reached a total of five pounds eight shillings and twopencehalf-penny?

Could any doubt as to the perfect sense and propriety of thesestatements be disturbing her? No one could have guessed, from the lookof her, that she was disturbed at all. A pleasanter and saner womanthan Mary Datchet was never seen within a committee-room. She seemed acompound of the autumn leaves and the winter sunshine; less poeticallyspeaking, she showed both gentleness and strength, an indefinablepromise of soft maternity blending with her evident fitness for honestlabor. Nevertheless, she had great difficulty in reducing her mind toobedience; and her reading lacked conviction, as if, as was indeed thecase, she had lost the power of visualizing what she read. And directlythe list was completed, her mind floated to Lincoln's Inn Fields and thefluttering wings of innumerable sparrows. Was Ralph still enticing thebald-headed cock-sparrow to sit upon his hand? Had he succeeded? Wouldhe ever succeed? She had meant to ask him why it is that the sparrows inLincoln's Inn Fields are tamer than the sparrows in Hyde Park--perhapsit is that the passers-by are rarer, and they come to recognize theirbenefactors. For the first half-hour of the committee meeting, Maryhad thus to do battle with the skeptical presence of Ralph Denham, whothreatened to have it all his own way. Mary tried half a dozen methodsof ousting him. She raised her voice, she articulated distinctly, shelooked firmly at Mr. Clacton's bald head, she began to write a note. To her annoyance, her pencil drew a little round figure on theblotting-paper, which, she could not deny, was really a bald-headedcock-sparrow. She looked again at Mr. Clacton; yes, he was bald, and soare cock-sparrows. Never was a secretary tormented by so many unsuitablesuggestions, and they all came, alas! with something ludicrouslygrotesque about them, which might, at any moment, provoke her to suchflippancy as would shock her colleagues for ever. The thought of whatshe might say made her bite her lips, as if her lips would protect her. 

But all these suggestions were but flotsam and jetsam cast to thesurface by a more profound disturbance, which, as she could not considerit at present, manifested its existence by these grotesque nodsand beckonings. Consider it, she must, when the committee was over. Meanwhile, she was behaving scandalously; she was looking out of thewindow, and thinking of the color of the sky, and of the decorationson the Imperial Hotel, when she ought to have been shepherding hercolleagues, and pinning them down to the matter in hand. She could notbring herself to attach more weight to one project than to another. Ralph had said--she could not stop to consider what he had said, but hehad somehow divested the proceedings of all reality. And then, withoutconscious effort, by some trick of the brain, she found herself becominginterested in some scheme for organizing a newspaper campaign. Certainarticles were to be written; certain editors approached. What line wasit advisable to take? She found herself strongly disapproving of whatMr. Clacton was saying. She committed herself to the opinion that nowwas the time to strike hard. Directly she had said this, she felt thatshe had turned upon Ralph's ghost; and she became more and more inearnest, and anxious to bring the others round to her point of view. Once more, she knew exactly and indisputably what is right and whatis wrong. As if emerging from a mist, the old foes of the publicgood loomed ahead of her--capitalists, newspaper proprietors, anti-suffragists, and, in some ways most pernicious of all, the masseswho take no interest one way or another--among whom, for the time being, she certainly discerned the features of Ralph Denham. Indeed, when MissMarkham asked her to suggest the names of a few friends of hers, sheexpressed herself with unusual bitterness:

"My friends think all this kind of thing useless. " She felt that she wasreally saying that to Ralph himself. 

"Oh, they're that sort, are they?" said Miss Markham, with a littlelaugh; and with renewed vigor their legions charged the foe. 

Mary's spirits had been low when she entered the committee-room; but nowthey were considerably improved. She knew the ways of this world; it wasa shapely, orderly place; she felt convinced of its right and itswrong; and the feeling that she was fit to deal a heavy blow against herenemies warmed her heart and kindled her eye. In one of those flights offancy, not characteristic of her but tiresomely frequent this afternoon, she envisaged herself battered with rotten eggs upon a platform, fromwhich Ralph vainly begged her to descend. But--

"What do I matter compared with the cause?" she said, and so on. Much toher credit, however teased by foolish fancies, she kept the surface ofher brain moderate and vigilant, and subdued Mrs. Seal very tactfullymore than once when she demanded, "Action!--everywhere!--at once!" asbecame her father's daughter. 

The other members of the committee, who were all rather elderly people, were a good deal impressed by Mary, and inclined to side with her andagainst each other, partly, perhaps, because of her youth. The feelingthat she controlled them all filled Mary with a sense of power; and shefelt that no work can equal in importance, or be so exciting as, thework of making other people do what you want them to do. Indeed, whenshe had won her point she felt a slight degree of contempt for thepeople who had yielded to her. 

The committee now rose, gathered together their papers, shook themstraight, placed them in their attache-cases, snapped the locks firmlytogether, and hurried away, having, for the most part, to catch trains, in order to keep other appointments with other committees, for they wereall busy people. Mary, Mrs. Seal, and Mr. Clacton were left alone; theroom was hot and untidy, the pieces of pink blotting-paper were lying atdifferent angles upon the table, and the tumbler was half full of water, which some one had poured out and forgotten to drink. 

Mrs. Seal began preparing the tea, while Mr. Clacton retired to his roomto file the fresh accumulation of documents. Mary was too much excitedeven to help Mrs. Seal with the cups and saucers. She flung up thewindow and stood by it, looking out. The street lamps were already lit;and through the mist in the square one could see little figures hurryingacross the road and along the pavement, on the farther side. In herabsurd mood of lustful arrogance, Mary looked at the little figures andthought, "If I liked I could make you go in there or stop short; I couldmake you walk in single file or in double file; I could do what I likedwith you. " Then Mrs. Seal came and stood by her. 

"Oughtn't you to put something round your shoulders, Sally?" Mary asked, in rather a condescending tone of voice, feeling a sort of pity for theenthusiastic ineffective little woman. But Mrs. Seal paid no attentionto the suggestion. 

"Well, did you enjoy yourself?" Mary asked, with a little laugh. 

Mrs. Seal drew a deep breath, restrained herself, and then burst out, looking out, too, upon Russell Square and Southampton Row, and at thepassers-by, "Ah, if only one could get every one of those people intothis room, and make them understand for five minutes! But they MUST seethe truth some day.... If only one could MAKE them see it.... "

Mary knew herself to be very much wiser than Mrs. Seal, and when Mrs. Seal said anything, even if it was what Mary herself was feeling, sheautomatically thought of all that there was to be said against it. On this occasion her arrogant feeling that she could direct everybodydwindled away. 

"Let's have our tea, " she said, turning back from the window and pullingdown the blind. "It was a good meeting--didn't you think so, Sally?" shelet fall, casually, as she sat down at the table. Surely Mrs. Seal mustrealize that Mary had been extraordinarily efficient?

"But we go at such a snail's pace, " said Sally, shaking her headimpatiently. 

At this Mary burst out laughing, and all her arrogance was dissipated. 

"You can afford to laugh, " said Sally, with another shake of her head, "but I can't. I'm fifty-five, and I dare say I shall be in my grave bythe time we get it--if we ever do. "

"Oh, no, you won't be in your grave, " said Mary, kindly. 

"It'll be such a great day, " said Mrs. Seal, with a toss of her locks. "A great day, not only for us, but for civilization. That's what I feel, you know, about these meetings. Each one of them is a step onwards inthe great march--humanity, you know. We do want the people after us tohave a better time of it--and so many don't see it. I wonder how it isthat they don't see it?"

She was carrying plates and cups from the cupboard as she spoke, so thather sentences were more than usually broken apart. Mary could not helplooking at the odd little priestess of humanity with something likeadmiration. While she had been thinking about herself, Mrs. Seal hadthought of nothing but her vision. 

"You mustn't wear yourself out, Sally, if you want to see the greatday, " she said, rising and trying to take a plate of biscuits from Mrs. Seal's hands. 

"My dear child, what else is my old body good for?" she exclaimed, clinging more tightly than before to her plate of biscuits. "Shouldn'tI be proud to give everything I have to the cause?--for I'm not anintelligence like you. There were domestic circumstances--I'd like totell you one of these days--so I say foolish things. I lose my head, you know. You don't. Mr. Clacton doesn't. It's a great mistake, to loseone's head. But my heart's in the right place. And I'm so glad Kit has abig dog, for I didn't think her looking well. "

They had their tea, and went over many of the points that had beenraised in the committee rather more intimately than had been possiblethen; and they all felt an agreeable sense of being in some way behindthe scenes; of having their hands upon strings which, when pulled, wouldcompletely change the pageant exhibited daily to those who read thenewspapers. Although their views were very different, this sense unitedthem and made them almost cordial in their manners to each other. 

Mary, however, left the tea-party rather early, desiring both to bealone, and then to hear some music at the Queen's Hall. She fullyintended to use her loneliness to think out her position with regard toRalph; but although she walked back to the Strand with this end in view, she found her mind uncomfortably full of different trains of thought. She started one and then another. They seemed even to take their colorfrom the street she happened to be in. Thus the vision of humanityappeared to be in some way connected with Bloomsbury, and fadeddistinctly by the time she crossed the main road; then a belatedorgan-grinder in Holborn set her thoughts dancing incongruously; andby the time she was crossing the great misty square of Lincoln's InnFields, she was cold and depressed again, and horribly clear-sighted. The dark removed the stimulus of human companionship, and a tearactually slid down her cheek, accompanying a sudden conviction withinher that she loved Ralph, and that he didn't love her. All dark andempty now was the path where they had walked that morning, and thesparrows silent in the bare trees. But the lights in her own buildingsoon cheered her; all these different states of mind were submerged inthe deep flood of desires, thoughts, perceptions, antagonisms, whichwashed perpetually at the base of her being, to rise into prominence inturn when the conditions of the upper world were favorable. She put offthe hour of clear thought until Christmas, saying to herself, as she lither fire, that it is impossible to think anything out in London; and, nodoubt, Ralph wouldn't come at Christmas, and she would take long walksinto the heart of the country, and decide this question and all theothers that puzzled her. Meanwhile, she thought, drawing her feet up onto the fender, life was full of complexity; life was a thing one mustlove to the last fiber of it. 

She had sat there for five minutes or so, and her thoughts had had timeto grow dim, when there came a ring at her bell. Her eye brightened;she felt immediately convinced that Ralph had come to visit her. Accordingly, she waited a moment before opening the door; she wantedto feel her hands secure upon the reins of all the troublesome emotionswhich the sight of Ralph would certainly arouse. She composed herselfunnecessarily, however, for she had to admit, not Ralph, but Katharineand William Rodney. Her first impression was that they were bothextremely well dressed. She felt herself shabby and slovenly besidethem, and did not know how she should entertain them, nor could sheguess why they had come. She had heard nothing of their engagement. Butafter the first disappointment, she was pleased, for she felt instantlythat Katharine was a personality, and, moreover, she need not nowexercise her self-control. 

"We were passing and saw a light in your window, so we came up, "Katharine explained, standing and looking very tall and distinguishedand rather absent-minded. 

"We have been to see some pictures, " said William. "Oh, dear, " heexclaimed, looking about him, "this room reminds me of one of the worsthours in my existence--when I read a paper, and you all sat round andjeered at me. Katharine was the worst. I could feel her gloating overevery mistake I made. Miss Datchet was kind. Miss Datchet just made itpossible for me to get through, I remember. "

Sitting down, he drew off his light yellow gloves, and began slappinghis knees with them. His vitality was pleasant, Mary thought, althoughhe made her laugh. The very look of him was inclined to make her laugh. His rather prominent eyes passed from one young woman to the other, andhis lips perpetually formed words which remained unspoken. 

"We have been seeing old masters at the Grafton Gallery, " saidKatharine, apparently paying no attention to William, and accepting acigarette which Mary offered her. She leant back in her chair, and thesmoke which hung about her face seemed to withdraw her still furtherfrom the others. 

"Would you believe it, Miss Datchet, " William continued, "Katharinedoesn't like Titian. She doesn't like apricots, she doesn't likepeaches, she doesn't like green peas. She likes the Elgin marbles, andgray days without any sun. She's a typical example of the cold northernnature. I come from Devonshire--"

Had they been quarreling, Mary wondered, and had they, for that reason, sought refuge in her room, or were they engaged, or had Katharine justrefused him? She was completely baffled. 

Katharine now reappeared from her veil of smoke, knocked the ash fromher cigarette into the fireplace, and looked, with an odd expression ofsolicitude, at the irritable man. 

"Perhaps, Mary, " she said tentatively, "you wouldn't mind giving us sometea? We did try to get some, but the shop was so crowded, and in thenext one there was a band playing; and most of the pictures, at anyrate, were very dull, whatever you may say, William. " She spoke with akind of guarded gentleness. 

Mary, accordingly, retired to make preparations in the pantry. 

"What in the world are they after?" she asked of her own reflection inthe little looking-glass which hung there. She was not left to doubtmuch longer, for, on coming back into the sitting-room with thetea-things, Katharine informed her, apparently having been instructed soto do by William, of their engagement. 

"William, " she said, "thinks that perhaps you don't know. We are goingto be married. "

Mary found herself shaking William's hand, and addressing hercongratulations to him, as if Katharine were inaccessible; she had, indeed, taken hold of the tea-kettle. 

"Let me see, " Katharine said, "one puts hot water into the cups first, doesn't one? You have some dodge of your own, haven't you, William, about making tea?"

Mary was half inclined to suspect that this was said in order to concealnervousness, but if so, the concealment was unusually perfect. Talkof marriage was dismissed. Katharine might have been seated in herown drawing-room, controlling a situation which presented no sort ofdifficulty to her trained mind. Rather to her surprise, Mary foundherself making conversation with William about old Italian pictures, while Katharine poured out tea, cut cake, kept William's plate supplied, without joining more than was necessary in the conversation. She seemedto have taken possession of Mary's room, and to handle the cups asif they belonged to her. But it was done so naturally that it bred noresentment in Mary; on the contrary, she found herself putting her handon Katharine's knee, affectionately, for an instant. Was there somethingmaternal in this assumption of control? And thinking of Katharine as onewho would soon be married, these maternal airs filled Mary's mind with anew tenderness, and even with awe. Katharine seemed very much older andmore experienced than she was. 

Meanwhile Rodney talked. If his appearance was superficially againsthim, it had the advantage of making his solid merits something of asurprise. He had kept notebooks; he knew a great deal about pictures. He could compare different examples in different galleries, and hisauthoritative answers to intelligent questions gained not a little, Maryfelt, from the smart taps which he dealt, as he delivered them, upon thelumps of coal. She was impressed. 

"Your tea, William, " said Katharine gently. 

He paused, gulped it down, obediently, and continued. 

And then it struck Mary that Katharine, in the shade of herbroad-brimmed hat, and in the midst of the smoke, and in the obscurityof her character, was, perhaps, smiling to herself, not altogether inthe maternal spirit. What she said was very simple, but her words, even"Your tea, William, " were set down as gently and cautiously and exactlyas the feet of a Persian cat stepping among China ornaments. For thesecond time that day Mary felt herself baffled by something inscrutablein the character of a person to whom she felt herself much attracted. She thought that if she were engaged to Katharine, she, too, wouldfind herself very soon using those fretful questions with which Williamevidently teased his bride. And yet Katharine's voice was humble. 

"I wonder how you find the time to know all about pictures as well asbooks?" she asked. 

"How do I find the time?" William answered, delighted, Mary guessed, atthis little compliment. "Why, I always travel with a notebook. And I askmy way to the picture gallery the very first thing in the morning. Andthen I meet men, and talk to them. There's a man in my office who knowsall about the Flemish school. I was telling Miss Datchet about theFlemish school. I picked up a lot of it from him--it's a way menhave--Gibbons, his name is. You must meet him. We'll ask him to lunch. And this not caring about art, " he explained, turning to Mary, "it's oneof Katharine's poses, Miss Datchet. Did you know she posed? She pretendsthat she's never read Shakespeare. And why should she read Shakespeare, since she IS Shakespeare--Rosalind, you know, " and he gave his queerlittle chuckle. Somehow this compliment appeared very old-fashioned andalmost in bad taste. Mary actually felt herself blush, as if he had said"the sex" or "the ladies. " Constrained, perhaps, by nervousness, Rodneycontinued in the same vein. 

"She knows enough--enough for all decent purposes. What do you womenwant with learning, when you have so much else--everything, I shouldsay--everything. Leave us something, eh, Katharine?"

"Leave you something?" said Katharine, apparently waking from a brownstudy. "I was thinking we must be going--"

"Is it to-night that Lady Ferrilby dines with us? No, we mustn't belate, " said Rodney, rising. "D'you know the Ferrilbys, Miss Datchet?They own Trantem Abbey, " he added, for her information, as she lookeddoubtful. "And if Katharine makes herself very charming to-night, perhaps'll lend it to us for the honeymoon. "

"I agree that may be a reason. Otherwise she's a dull woman, " saidKatharine. "At least, " she added, as if to qualify her abruptness, "Ifind it difficult to talk to her. "

"Because you expect every one else to take all the trouble. I've seenher sit silent a whole evening, " he said, turning to Mary, as he hadfrequently done already. "Don't you find that, too? Sometimes when we'realone, I've counted the time on my watch"--here he took out a large goldwatch, and tapped the glass--"the time between one remark and the next. And once I counted ten minutes and twenty seconds, and then, if you'llbelieve me, she only said 'Um!'"

"I'm sure I'm sorry, " Katharine apologized. "I know it's a bad habit, but then, you see, at home--"

The rest of her excuse was cut short, so far as Mary was concerned, by the closing of the door. She fancied she could hear William findingfresh fault on the stairs. A moment later, the door-bell rang again, andKatharine reappeared, having left her purse on a chair. She soon foundit, and said, pausing for a moment at the door, and speaking differentlyas they were alone:

"I think being engaged is very bad for the character. " She shook herpurse in her hand until the coins jingled, as if she alluded merelyto this example of her forgetfulness. But the remark puzzled Mary;it seemed to refer to something else; and her manner had changed sostrangely, now that William was out of hearing, that she could not helplooking at her for an explanation. She looked almost stern, so thatMary, trying to smile at her, only succeeded in producing a silent stareof interrogation. 

As the door shut for the second time, she sank on to the floor in frontof the fire, trying, now that their bodies were not there to distracther, to piece together her impressions of them as a whole. And, thoughpriding herself, with all other men and women, upon an infallible eyefor character, she could not feel at all certain that she knew whatmotives inspired Katharine Hilbery in life. There was somethingthat carried her on smoothly, out of reach--something, yes, butwhat?--something that reminded Mary of Ralph. Oddly enough, he gaveher the same feeling, too, and with him, too, she felt baffled. Oddlyenough, for no two people, she hastily concluded, were more unlike. Andyet both had this hidden impulse, this incalculable force--this thingthey cared for and didn't talk about--oh, what was it?

CHAPTER XV

The village of Disham lies somewhere on the rolling piece of cultivatedground in the neighborhood of Lincoln, not so far inland but that asound, bringing rumors of the sea, can be heard on summer nights or whenthe winter storms fling the waves upon the long beach. So large isthe church, and in particular the church tower, in comparison with thelittle street of cottages which compose the village, that the traveleris apt to cast his mind back to the Middle Ages, as the only time whenso much piety could have been kept alive. So great a trust in the Churchcan surely not belong to our day, and he goes on to conjecture thatevery one of the villagers has reached the extreme limit of human life. Such are the reflections of the superficial stranger, and his sight ofthe population, as it is represented by two or three men hoeing in aturnip-field, a small child carrying a jug, and a young woman shakinga piece of carpet outside her cottage door, will not lead him to seeanything very much out of keeping with the Middle Ages in the villageof Disham as it is to-day. These people, though they seem young enough, look so angular and so crude that they remind him of the little picturespainted by monks in the capital letters of their manuscripts. He onlyhalf understands what they say, and speaks very loud and clearly, asthough, indeed, his voice had to carry through a hundred years ormore before it reached them. He would have a far better chance ofunderstanding some dweller in Paris or Rome, Berlin or Madrid, thanthese countrymen of his who have lived for the last two thousand yearsnot two hundred miles from the City of London. 

The Rectory stands about half a mile beyond the village. It is a largehouse, and has been growing steadily for some centuries round the greatkitchen, with its narrow red tiles, as the Rector would point out tohis guests on the first night of their arrival, taking his brasscandlestick, and bidding them mind the steps up and the steps down, and notice the immense thickness of the walls, the old beams across theceiling, the staircases as steep as ladders, and the attics, with theirdeep, tent-like roofs, in which swallows bred, and once a white owl. But nothing very interesting or very beautiful had resulted from thedifferent additions made by the different rectors. 

The house, however, was surrounded by a garden, in which the Rector tookconsiderable pride. The lawn, which fronted the drawing-room windows, was a rich and uniform green, unspotted by a single daisy, and on theother side of it two straight paths led past beds of tall, standingflowers to a charming grassy walk, where the Rev. Wyndham Datchet wouldpace up and down at the same hour every morning, with a sundial tomeasure the time for him. As often as not, he carried a book in hishand, into which he would glance, then shut it up, and repeat the restof the ode from memory. He had most of Horace by heart, and had got intothe habit of connecting this particular walk with certain odes which herepeated duly, at the same time noting the condition of his flowers, andstooping now and again to pick any that were withered or overblown. Onwet days, such was the power of habit over him, he rose from his chairat the same hour, and paced his study for the same length of time, pausing now and then to straighten some book in the bookcase, oralter the position of the two brass crucifixes standing upon cairns ofserpentine stone upon the mantelpiece. His children had a great respectfor him, credited him with far more learning than he actually possessed, and saw that his habits were not interfered with, if possible. Like mostpeople who do things methodically, the Rector himself had morestrength of purpose and power of self-sacrifice than of intellect or oforiginality. On cold and windy nights he rode off to visit sick people, who might need him, without a murmur; and by virtue of doing dull dutiespunctually, he was much employed upon committees and local Boards andCouncils; and at this period of his life (he was sixty-eight) he wasbeginning to be commiserated by tender old ladies for the extremeleanness of his person, which, they said, was worn out upon the roadswhen it should have been resting before a comfortable fire. His elderdaughter, Elizabeth, lived with him and managed the house, and alreadymuch resembled him in dry sincerity and methodical habit of mind; of thetwo sons one, Richard, was an estate agent, the other, Christopher, wasreading for the Bar. At Christmas, naturally, they met together; and fora month past the arrangement of the Christmas week had been much inthe mind of mistress and maid, who prided themselves every year moreconfidently upon the excellence of their equipment. The late Mrs. Datchet had left an excellent cupboard of linen, to which Elizabeth hadsucceeded at the age of nineteen, when her mother died, and the chargeof the family rested upon the shoulders of the eldest daughter. She kepta fine flock of yellow chickens, sketched a little, certain rose-treesin the garden were committed specially to her care; and what with thecare of the house, the care of the chickens, and the care of thepoor, she scarcely knew what it was to have an idle minute. An extremerectitude of mind, rather than any gift, gave her weight in the family. When Mary wrote to say that she had asked Ralph Denham to stay withthem, she added, out of deference to Elizabeth's character, that hewas very nice, though rather queer, and had been overworking himself inLondon. No doubt Elizabeth would conclude that Ralph was in love withher, but there could be no doubt either that not a word of this would bespoken by either of them, unless, indeed, some catastrophe made mentionof it unavoidable. 

Mary went down to Disham without knowing whether Ralph intended to come;but two or three days before Christmas she received a telegram fromRalph, asking her to take a room for him in the village. This wasfollowed by a letter explaining that he hoped he might have his mealswith them; but quiet, essential for his work, made it necessary to sleepout. 

Mary was walking in the garden with Elizabeth, and inspecting the roses, when the letter arrived. 

"But that's absurd, " said Elizabeth decidedly, when the plan wasexplained to her. "There are five spare rooms, even when the boys arehere. Besides, he wouldn't get a room in the village. And he oughtn't towork if he's overworked. "

"But perhaps he doesn't want to see so much of us, " Mary thought toherself, although outwardly she assented, and felt grateful to Elizabethfor supporting her in what was, of course, her desire. They were cuttingroses at the time, and laying them, head by head, in a shallow basket. 

"If Ralph were here, he'd find this very dull, " Mary thought, with alittle shiver of irritation, which led her to place her rose the wrongway in the basket. Meanwhile, they had come to the end of the path, andwhile Elizabeth straightened some flowers, and made them stand uprightwithin their fence of string, Mary looked at her father, who waspacing up and down, with his hand behind his back and his head bowedin meditation. Obeying an impulse which sprang from some desire tointerrupt this methodical marching, Mary stepped on to the grass walkand put her hand on his arm. 

"A flower for your buttonhole, father, " she said, presenting a rose. 

"Eh, dear?" said Mr. Datchet, taking the flower, and holding it at anangle which suited his bad eyesight, without pausing in his walk. 

"Where does this fellow come from? One of Elizabeth's roses--I hope youasked her leave. Elizabeth doesn't like having her roses picked withouther leave, and quite right, too. "

He had a habit, Mary remarked, and she had never noticed it so clearlybefore, of letting his sentences tail away in a continuous murmur, whereupon he passed into a state of abstraction, presumed by hischildren to indicate some train of thought too profound for utterance. 

"What?" said Mary, interrupting, for the first time in her life, perhaps, when the murmur ceased. He made no reply. She knew very wellthat he wished to be left alone, but she stuck to his side much asshe might have stuck to some sleep-walker, whom she thought it rightgradually to awaken. She could think of nothing to rouse him withexcept:

"The garden's looking very nice, father. "

"Yes, yes, yes, " said Mr. Datchet, running his words together in thesame abstracted manner, and sinking his head yet lower upon his breast. And suddenly, as they turned their steps to retrace their way, he jerkedout:

"The traffic's very much increased, you know. More rolling-stock neededalready. Forty trucks went down yesterday by the 12. 15--counted themmyself. They've taken off the 9. 3, and given us an 8. 30 instead--suitsthe business men, you know. You came by the old 3. 10 yesterday, Isuppose?"

She said "Yes, " as he seemed to wish for a reply, and then he lookedat his watch, and made off down the path towards the house, holding therose at the same angle in front of him. Elizabeth had gone round to theside of the house, where the chickens lived, so that Mary found herselfalone, holding Ralph's letter in her hand. She was uneasy. She had putoff the season for thinking things out very successfully, and now thatRalph was actually coming, the next day, she could only wonder how herfamily would impress him. She thought it likely that her father woulddiscuss the train service with him; Elizabeth would be bright andsensible, and always leaving the room to give messages to the servants. Her brothers had already said that they would give him a day's shooting. She was content to leave the problem of Ralph's relations to theyoung men obscure, trusting that they would find some common ground ofmasculine agreement. But what would he think of HER? Would he see thatshe was different from the rest of the family? She devised a plan fortaking him to her sitting-room, and artfully leading the talk towardsthe English poets, who now occupied prominent places in her littlebookcase. Moreover, she might give him to understand, privately, thatshe, too, thought her family a queer one--queer, yes, but not dull. Thatwas the rock past which she was bent on steering him. And she thoughthow she would draw his attention to Edward's passion for Jorrocks, andthe enthusiasm which led Christopher to collect moths and butterfliesthough he was now twenty-two. Perhaps Elizabeth's sketching, if thefruits were invisible, might lend color to the general effect which shewished to produce of a family, eccentric and limited, perhaps, butnot dull. Edward, she perceived, was rolling the lawn, for the sake ofexercise; and the sight of him, with pink cheeks, bright little browneyes, and a general resemblance to a clumsy young cart-horse in itswinter coat of dusty brown hair, made Mary violently ashamed of herambitious scheming. She loved him precisely as he was; she loved themall; and as she walked by his side, up and down, and down and up, her strong moral sense administered a sound drubbing to the vain andromantic element aroused in her by the mere thought of Ralph. She feltquite certain that, for good or for bad, she was very like the rest ofher family. 

Sitting in the corner of a third-class railway carriage, on theafternoon of the following day, Ralph made several inquiries of acommercial traveler in the opposite corner. They centered round avillage called Lampsher, not three miles, he understood, from Lincoln;was there a big house in Lampsher, he asked, inhabited by a gentleman ofthe name of Otway?

The traveler knew nothing, but rolled the name of Otway on his tongue, reflectively, and the sound of it gratified Ralph amazingly. It gavehim an excuse to take a letter from his pocket in order to verify theaddress. 

"Stogdon House, Lampsher, Lincoln, " he read out. 

"You'll find somebody to direct you at Lincoln, " said the man; and Ralphhad to confess that he was not bound there this very evening. 

"I've got to walk over from Disham, " he said, and in the heart of himcould not help marveling at the pleasure which he derived from makinga bagman in a train believe what he himself did not believe. For theletter, though signed by Katharine's father, contained no invitation orwarrant for thinking that Katharine herself was there; the only fact itdisclosed was that for a fortnight this address would be Mr. Hilbery'saddress. But when he looked out of the window, it was of her he thought;she, too, had seen these gray fields, and, perhaps, she was there wherethe trees ran up a slope, and one yellow light shone now, and then wentout again, at the foot of the hill. The light shone in the windows ofan old gray house, he thought. He lay back in his corner and forgot thecommercial traveler altogether. The process of visualizing Katharinestopped short at the old gray manor-house; instinct warned him that ifhe went much further with this process reality would soon force itselfin; he could not altogether neglect the figure of William Rodney. Sincethe day when he had heard from Katharine's lips of her engagement, hehad refrained from investing his dream of her with the details ofreal life. But the light of the late afternoon glowed green behind thestraight trees, and became a symbol of her. The light seemed to expandhis heart. She brooded over the gray fields, and was with him now inthe railway carriage, thoughtful, silent, and infinitely tender; butthe vision pressed too close, and must be dismissed, for the trainwas slackening. Its abrupt jerks shook him wide awake, and he saw MaryDatchet, a sturdy russet figure, with a dash of scarlet about it, as thecarriage slid down the platform. A tall youth who accompanied her shookhim by the hand, took his bag, and led the way without uttering onearticulate word. 

Never are voices so beautiful as on a winter's evening, when dusk almosthides the body, and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note ofintimacy seldom heard by day. Such an edge was there in Mary's voicewhen she greeted him. About her seemed to hang the mist of the winterhedges, and the clear red of the bramble leaves. He felt himself at oncestepping on to the firm ground of an entirely different world, but hedid not allow himself to yield to the pleasure of it directly. Theygave him his choice of driving with Edward or of walking home across thefields with Mary--not a shorter way, they explained, but Mary thought ita nicer way. He decided to walk with her, being conscious, indeed, that he got comfort from her presence. What could be the cause of hercheerfulness, he wondered, half ironically, and half enviously, as thepony-cart started briskly away, and the dusk swam between their eyesand the tall form of Edward, standing up to drive, with the reins in onehand and the whip in the other. People from the village, who had been tothe market town, were climbing into their gigs, or setting off home downthe road together in little parties. Many salutations were addressedto Mary, who shouted back, with the addition of the speaker's name. Butsoon she led the way over a stile, and along a path worn slightly darkerthan the dim green surrounding it. In front of them the sky now showeditself of a reddish-yellow, like a slice of some semilucent stone behindwhich a lamp burnt, while a fringe of black trees with distinct branchesstood against the light, which was obscured in one direction by a humpof earth, in all other directions the land lying flat to the very vergeof the sky. One of the swift and noiseless birds of the winter's nightseemed to follow them across the field, circling a few feet in front ofthem, disappearing and returning again and again. 

Mary had gone this walk many hundred times in the course of her life, generally alone, and at different stages the ghosts of past moods wouldflood her mind with a whole scene or train of thought merely at thesight of three trees from a particular angle, or at the sound of thepheasant clucking in the ditch. But to-night the circumstances werestrong enough to oust all other scenes; and she looked at the fieldand the trees with an involuntary intensity as if they had no suchassociations for her. 

"Well, Ralph, " she said, "this is better than Lincoln's Inn Fields, isn't it? Look, there's a bird for you! Oh, you've brought glasses, haveyou? Edward and Christopher mean to make you shoot. Can you shoot? Ishouldn't think so--"

"Look here, you must explain, " said Ralph. "Who are these young men?Where am I staying?"

"You are staying with us, of course, " she said boldly. "Of course, you're staying with us--you don't mind coming, do you?"

"If I had, I shouldn't have come, " he said sturdily. They walked on insilence; Mary took care not to break it for a time. She wished Ralph tofeel, as she thought he would, all the fresh delights of the earth andair. She was right. In a moment he expressed his pleasure, much to hercomfort. 

"This is the sort of country I thought you'd live in, Mary, " he said, pushing his hat back on his head, and looking about him. "Real country. No gentlemen's seats. "

He snuffed the air, and felt more keenly than he had done for many weeksthe pleasure of owning a body. 

"Now we have to find our way through a hedge, " said Mary. In the gap ofthe hedge Ralph tore up a poacher's wire, set across a hole to trap arabbit. 

"It's quite right that they should poach, " said Mary, watching himtugging at the wire. "I wonder whether it was Alfred Duggins or SidRankin? How can one expect them not to, when they only make fifteenshillings a week? Fifteen shillings a week, " she repeated, coming out onthe other side of the hedge, and running her fingers through her hair torid herself of a bramble which had attached itself to her. "I could liveon fifteen shillings a week--easily. "

"Could you?" said Ralph. "I don't believe you could, " he added. 

"Oh yes. They have a cottage thrown in, and a garden where one can growvegetables. It wouldn't be half bad, " said Mary, with a soberness whichimpressed Ralph very much. 

"But you'd get tired of it, " he urged. 

"I sometimes think it's the only thing one would never get tired of, "she replied. 

The idea of a cottage where one grew one's own vegetables and lived onfifteen shillings a week, filled Ralph with an extraordinary sense ofrest and satisfaction. 

"But wouldn't it be on the main road, or next door to a woman withsix squalling children, who'd always be hanging her washing out to dryacross your garden?"

"The cottage I'm thinking of stands by itself in a little orchard. "

"And what about the Suffrage?" he asked, attempting sarcasm. 

"Oh, there are other things in the world besides the Suffrage, " shereplied, in an off-hand manner which was slightly mysterious. 

Ralph fell silent. It annoyed him that she should have plans of which heknew nothing; but he felt that he had no right to press her further. Hismind settled upon the idea of life in a country cottage. Conceivably, for he could not examine into it now, here lay a tremendous possibility;a solution of many problems. He struck his stick upon the earth, andstared through the dusk at the shape of the country. 

"D'you know the points of the compass?" he asked. 

"Well, of course, " said Mary. "What d'you take me for?--a Cockney likeyou?" She then told him exactly where the north lay, and where thesouth. 

"It's my native land, this, " she said. "I could smell my way about itblindfold. "

As if to prove this boast, she walked a little quicker, so that Ralphfound it difficult to keep pace with her. At the same time, he feltdrawn to her as he had never been before; partly, no doubt, because shewas more independent of him than in London, and seemed to be attachedfirmly to a world where he had no place at all. Now the dusk had fallento such an extent that he had to follow her implicitly, and even leanhis hand on her shoulder when they jumped a bank into a very narrowlane. And he felt curiously shy of her when she began to shout throughher hands at a spot of light which swung upon the mist in a neighboringfield. He shouted, too, and the light stood still. 

"That's Christopher, come in already, and gone to feed his chickens, "she said. 

She introduced him to Ralph, who could see only a tall figure ingaiters, rising from a fluttering circle of soft feathery bodies, uponwhom the light fell in wavering discs, calling out now a bright spot ofyellow, now one of greenish-black and scarlet. Mary dipped her hand inthe bucket he carried, and was at once the center of a circle also; andas she cast her grain she talked alternately to the birds and to herbrother, in the same clucking, half-inarticulate voice, as it sounded toRalph, standing on the outskirts of the fluttering feathers in his blackovercoat. 

He had removed his overcoat by the time they sat round the dinner-table, but nevertheless he looked very strange among the others. A country lifeand breeding had preserved in them all a look which Mary hesitated tocall either innocent or youthful, as she compared them, now sittinground in an oval, softly illuminated by candlelight; and yet it wassomething of the kind, yes, even in the case of the Rector himself. Though superficially marked with lines, his face was a clear pink, andhis blue eyes had the long-sighted, peaceful expression of eyes seekingthe turn of the road, or a distant light through rain, or the darknessof winter. She looked at Ralph. He had never appeared to her moreconcentrated and full of purpose; as if behind his forehead were massedso much experience that he could choose for himself which part of ithe would display and which part he would keep to himself. Compared withthat dark and stern countenance, her brothers' faces, bending low overtheir soup-plates, were mere circles of pink, unmolded flesh. 

"You came by the 3. 10, Mr. Denham?" said the Reverend Wyndham Datchet, tucking his napkin into his collar, so that almost the whole of his bodywas concealed by a large white diamond. "They treat us very well, onthe whole. Considering the increase of traffic, they treat us very wellindeed. I have the curiosity sometimes to count the trucks on the goods'trains, and they're well over fifty--well over fifty, at this season ofthe year. "

The old gentleman had been roused agreeably by the presence of thisattentive and well-informed young man, as was evident by the carewith which he finished the last words in his sentences, and his slightexaggeration in the number of trucks on the trains. Indeed, the chiefburden of the talk fell upon him, and he sustained it to-night in amanner which caused his sons to look at him admiringly now and then; forthey felt shy of Denham, and were glad not to have to talk themselves. The store of information about the present and past of this particularcorner of Lincolnshire which old Mr. Datchet produced really surprisedhis children, for though they knew of its existence, they had forgottenits extent, as they might have forgotten the amount of family platestored in the plate-chest, until some rare celebration brought it forth. 

After dinner, parish business took the Rector to his study, and Maryproposed that they should sit in the kitchen. 

"It's not the kitchen really, " Elizabeth hastened to explain to herguest, "but we call it so--"

"It's the nicest room in the house, " said Edward. 

"It's got the old rests by the side of the fireplace, where the menhung their guns, " said Elizabeth, leading the way, with a tall brasscandlestick in her hand, down a passage. "Show Mr. Denham the steps, Christopher.... When the Ecclesiastical Commissioners were here twoyears ago they said this was the most interesting part of the house. These narrow bricks prove that it is five hundred years old--fivehundred years, I think--they may have said six. " She, too, feltan impulse to exaggerate the age of the bricks, as her father hadexaggerated the number of trucks. A big lamp hung down from the centerof the ceiling and, together with a fine log fire, illuminated a largeand lofty room, with rafters running from wall to wall, a floor of redtiles, and a substantial fireplace built up of those narrow redbricks which were said to be five hundred years old. A few rugs anda sprinkling of arm-chairs had made this ancient kitchen into asitting-room. Elizabeth, after pointing out the gun-racks, and thehooks for smoking hams, and other evidence of incontestable age, and explaining that Mary had had the idea of turning the room into asitting-room--otherwise it was used for hanging out the wash and for themen to change in after shooting--considered that she had done her dutyas hostess, and sat down in an upright chair directly beneath the lamp, beside a very long and narrow oak table. She placed a pair of hornspectacles upon her nose, and drew towards her a basketful of threadsand wools. In a few minutes a smile came to her face, and remained therefor the rest of the evening. 

"Will you come out shooting with us to-morrow?" said Christopher, whohad, on the whole, formed a favorable impression of his sister's friend. 

"I won't shoot, but I'll come with you, " said Ralph. 

"Don't you care about shooting?" asked Edward, whose suspicions were notyet laid to rest. 

"I've never shot in my life, " said Ralph, turning and looking him in theface, because he was not sure how this confession would be received. 

"You wouldn't have much chance in London, I suppose, " said Christopher. "But won't you find it rather dull--just watching us?"

"I shall watch birds, " Ralph replied, with a smile. 

"I can show you the place for watching birds, " said Edward, "if that'swhat you like doing. I know a fellow who comes down from London aboutthis time every year to watch them. It's a great place for the wildgeese and the ducks. I've heard this man say that it's one of the bestplaces for birds in the country. "

"It's about the best place in England, " Ralph replied. They were allgratified by this praise of their native county; and Mary now hadthe pleasure of hearing these short questions and answers lose theirundertone of suspicious inspection, so far as her brothers wereconcerned, and develop into a genuine conversation about the habitsof birds which afterwards turned to a discussion as to the habits ofsolicitors, in which it was scarcely necessary for her to take part. Shewas pleased to see that her brothers liked Ralph, to the extent, thatis, of wishing to secure his good opinion. Whether or not he liked themit was impossible to tell from his kind but experienced manner. Now andthen she fed the fire with a fresh log, and as the room filled withthe fine, dry heat of burning wood, they all, with the exception ofElizabeth, who was outside the range of the fire, felt less and lessanxious about the effect they were making, and more and more inclinedfor sleep. At this moment a vehement scratching was heard on the door. 

"Piper!--oh, damn!--I shall have to get up, " murmured Christopher. 

"It's not Piper, it's Pitch, " Edward grunted. 

"All the same, I shall have to get up, " Christopher grumbled. He letin the dog, and stood for a moment by the door, which opened into thegarden, to revive himself with a draught of the black, starlit air. 

"Do come in and shut the door!" Mary cried, half turning in her chair. 

"We shall have a fine day to-morrow, " said Christopher with complacency, and he sat himself on the floor at her feet, and leant his back againsther knees, and stretched out his long stockinged legs to the fire--allsigns that he felt no longer any restraint at the presence of thestranger. He was the youngest of the family, and Mary's favorite, partlybecause his character resembled hers, as Edward's character resembledElizabeth's. She made her knees a comfortable rest for his head, and ranher fingers through his hair. 

"I should like Mary to stroke my head like that, " Ralph thought tohimself suddenly, and he looked at Christopher, almost affectionately, for calling forth his sister's caresses. Instantly he thought ofKatharine, the thought of her being surrounded by the spaces of nightand the open air; and Mary, watching him, saw the lines upon hisforehead suddenly deepen. He stretched out an arm and placed a log uponthe fire, constraining himself to fit it carefully into the frail redscaffolding, and also to limit his thoughts to this one room. 

Mary had ceased to stroke her brother's head; he moved it impatientlybetween her knees, and, much as though he were a child, she began oncemore to part the thick, reddish-colored locks this way and that. Buta far stronger passion had taken possession of her soul than any herbrother could inspire in her, and, seeing Ralph's change of expression, her hand almost automatically continued its movements, while her mindplunged desperately for some hold upon slippery banks. 

CHAPTER XVI

Into that same black night, almost, indeed, into the very same layer ofstarlit air, Katharine Hilbery was now gazing, although not with a viewto the prospects of a fine day for duck shooting on the morrow. She waswalking up and down a gravel path in the garden of Stogdon House, hersight of the heavens being partially intercepted by the light leaflesshoops of a pergola. Thus a spray of clematis would completely obscureCassiopeia, or blot out with its black pattern myriads of miles of theMilky Way. At the end of the pergola, however, there was a stone seat, from which the sky could be seen completely swept clear of any earthlyinterruption, save to the right, indeed, where a line of elm-trees wasbeautifully sprinkled with stars, and a low stable building had a fulldrop of quivering silver just issuing from the mouth of the chimney. Itwas a moonless night, but the light of the stars was sufficient to showthe outline of the young woman's form, and the shape of her face gazinggravely, indeed almost sternly, into the sky. She had come out intothe winter's night, which was mild enough, not so much to look withscientific eyes upon the stars, as to shake herself free from certainpurely terrestrial discontents. Much as a literary person in likecircumstances would begin, absent-mindedly, pulling out volume aftervolume, so she stepped into the garden in order to have the stars athand, even though she did not look at them. Not to be happy, when shewas supposed to be happier than she would ever be again--that, as far asshe could see, was the origin of a discontent which had begun almost assoon as she arrived, two days before, and seemed now so intolerablethat she had left the family party, and come out here to consider it byherself. It was not she who thought herself unhappy, but her cousins, who thought it for her. The house was full of cousins, much of her age, or even younger, and among them they had some terribly bright eyes. Theyseemed always on the search for something between her and Rodney, whichthey expected to find, and yet did not find; and when they searched, Katharine became aware of wanting what she had not been conscious ofwanting in London, alone with William and her parents. Or, if shedid not want it, she missed it. And this state of mind depressed her, because she had been accustomed always to give complete satisfaction, and her self-love was now a little ruffled. She would have liked tobreak through the reserve habitual to her in order to justify herengagement to some one whose opinion she valued. No one had spoken aword of criticism, but they left her alone with William; not that thatwould have mattered, if they had not left her alone so politely; and, perhaps, that would not have mattered if they had not seemed so queerlysilent, almost respectful, in her presence, which gave way to criticism, she felt, out of it. 

Looking now and then at the sky, she went through the list of hercousins' names: Eleanor, Humphrey, Marmaduke, Silvia, Henry, Cassandra, Gilbert, and Mostyn--Henry, the cousin who taught the young ladiesof Bungay to play upon the violin, was the only one in whom she couldconfide, and as she walked up and down beneath the hoops of the pergola, she did begin a little speech to him, which ran something like this:

"To begin with, I'm very fond of William. You can't deny that. I knowhim better than any one, almost. But why I'm marrying him is, partly, I admit--I'm being quite honest with you, and you mustn't tell anyone--partly because I want to get married. I want to have a house of myown. It isn't possible at home. It's all very well for you, Henry; youcan go your own way. I have to be there always. Besides, you know whatour house is. You wouldn't be happy either, if you didn't do something. It isn't that I haven't the time at home--it's the atmosphere. " Here, presumably, she imagined that her cousin, who had listened withhis usual intelligent sympathy, raised his eyebrows a little, andinterposed:

"Well, but what do you want to do?"

Even in this purely imaginary dialogue, Katharine found it difficult toconfide her ambition to an imaginary companion. 

"I should like, " she began, and hesitated quite a long time before sheforced herself to add, with a change of voice, "to study mathematics--toknow about the stars. "

Henry was clearly amazed, but too kind to express all his doubts; heonly said something about the difficulties of mathematics, and remarkedthat very little was known about the stars. 

Katharine thereupon went on with the statement of her case. 

"I don't care much whether I ever get to know anything--but I want towork out something in figures--something that hasn't got to do withhuman beings. I don't want people particularly. In some ways, Henry, I'ma humbug--I mean, I'm not what you all take me for. I'm not domestic, orvery practical or sensible, really. And if I could calculate things, anduse a telescope, and have to work out figures, and know to a fractionwhere I was wrong, I should be perfectly happy, and I believe I shouldgive William all he wants. "

Having reached this point, instinct told her that she had passed beyondthe region in which Henry's advice could be of any good; and, having ridher mind of its superficial annoyance, she sat herself upon the stoneseat, raised her eyes unconsciously and thought about the deeperquestions which she had to decide, she knew, for herself. Would she, indeed, give William all he wanted? In order to decide the question, sheran her mind rapidly over her little collection of significant sayings, looks, compliments, gestures, which had marked their intercourse duringthe last day or two. He had been annoyed because a box, containing someclothes specially chosen by him for her to wear, had been taken to thewrong station, owing to her neglect in the matter of labels. The box hadarrived in the nick of time, and he had remarked, as she came downstairson the first night, that he had never seen her look more beautiful. Sheoutshone all her cousins. He had discovered that she never made an uglymovement; he also said that the shape of her head made it possible forher, unlike most women, to wear her hair low. He had twice reprovedher for being silent at dinner; and once for never attending to what hesaid. He had been surprised at the excellence of her French accent, buthe thought it was selfish of her not to go with her mother to callupon the Middletons, because they were old family friends and very nicepeople. On the whole, the balance was nearly even; and, writing down akind of conclusion in her mind which finished the sum for the present, at least, she changed the focus of her eyes, and saw nothing but thestars. 

To-night they seemed fixed with unusual firmness in the blue, andflashed back such a ripple of light into her eyes that she found herselfthinking that to-night the stars were happy. Without knowing or caringmore for Church practices than most people of her age, Katharine couldnot look into the sky at Christmas time without feeling that, at thisone season, the Heavens bend over the earth with sympathy, and signalwith immortal radiance that they, too, take part in her festival. Somehow, it seemed to her that they were even now beholding theprocession of kings and wise men upon some road on a distant part ofthe earth. And yet, after gazing for another second, the stars did theirusual work upon the mind, froze to cinders the whole of our shorthuman history, and reduced the human body to an ape-like, furry form, crouching amid the brushwood of a barbarous clod of mud. This stage wassoon succeeded by another, in which there was nothing in the universesave stars and the light of stars; as she looked up the pupils of hereyes so dilated with starlight that the whole of her seemed dissolvedin silver and spilt over the ledges of the stars for ever andever indefinitely through space. Somehow simultaneously, thoughincongruously, she was riding with the magnanimous hero upon the shoreor under forest trees, and so might have continued were it not for therebuke forcibly administered by the body, which, content with the normalconditions of life, in no way furthers any attempt on the part of themind to alter them. She grew cold, shook herself, rose, and walkedtowards the house. 

By the light of the stars, Stogdon House looked pale and romantic, andabout twice its natural size. Built by a retired admiral in the earlyyears of the nineteenth century, the curving bow windows of the front, now filled with reddish-yellow light, suggested a portly three-decker, sailing seas where those dolphins and narwhals who disport themselvesupon the edges of old maps were scattered with an impartial hand. Asemicircular flight of shallow steps led to a very large door, whichKatharine had left ajar. She hesitated, cast her eyes over the front ofthe house, marked that a light burnt in one small window upon an upperfloor, and pushed the door open. For a moment she stood in the squarehall, among many horned skulls, sallow globes, cracked oil-paintings, and stuffed owls, hesitating, it seemed, whether she should open thedoor on her right, through which the stir of life reached her ears. Listening for a moment, she heard a sound which decided her, apparently, not to enter; her uncle, Sir Francis, was playing his nightly game ofwhist; it appeared probable that he was losing. 

She went up the curving stairway, which represented the one attempt atceremony in the otherwise rather dilapidated mansion, and down a narrowpassage until she came to the room whose light she had seen from thegarden. Knocking, she was told to come in. A young man, Henry Otway, was reading, with his feet on the fender. He had a fine head, the browarched in the Elizabethan manner, but the gentle, honest eyes wererather skeptical than glowing with the Elizabethan vigor. He gavethe impression that he had not yet found the cause which suited histemperament. 

He turned, put down his book, and looked at her. He noticed her ratherpale, dew-drenched look, as of one whose mind is not altogether settledin the body. He had often laid his difficulties before her, and guessed, in some ways hoped, that perhaps she now had need of him. At the sametime, she carried on her life with such independence that he scarcelyexpected any confidence to be expressed in words. 

"You have fled, too, then?" he said, looking at her cloak. Katharine hadforgotten to remove this token of her star-gazing. 

"Fled?" she asked. "From whom d'you mean? Oh, the family party. Yes, itwas hot down there, so I went into the garden. "

"And aren't you very cold?" Henry inquired, placing coal on the fire, drawing a chair up to the grate, and laying aside her cloak. Herindifference to such details often forced Henry to act the partgenerally taken by women in such dealings. It was one of the tiesbetween them. 

"Thank you, Henry, " she said. "I'm not disturbing you?"

"I'm not here. I'm at Bungay, " he replied. "I'm giving a music lessonto Harold and Julia. That was why I had to leave the table with theladies--I'm spending the night there, and I shan't be back till late onChristmas Eve. "

"How I wish--" Katharine began, and stopped short. "I think theseparties are a great mistake, " she added briefly, and sighed. 

"Oh, horrible!" he agreed; and they both fell silent. 

Her sigh made him look at her. Should he venture to ask her why shesighed? Was her reticence about her own affairs as inviolable as it hadoften been convenient for rather an egoistical young man to think it?But since her engagement to Rodney, Henry's feeling towards her hadbecome rather complex; equally divided between an impulse to hurt herand an impulse to be tender to her; and all the time he suffered acurious irritation from the sense that she was drifting away from himfor ever upon unknown seas. On her side, directly Katharine got into hispresence, and the sense of the stars dropped from her, she knew that anyintercourse between people is extremely partial; from the whole mass ofher feelings, only one or two could be selected for Henry's inspection, and therefore she sighed. Then she looked at him, and their eyesmeeting, much more seemed to be in common between them than had appearedpossible. At any rate they had a grandfather in common; at any ratethere was a kind of loyalty between them sometimes found betweenrelations who have no other cause to like each other, as these two had. 

"Well, what's the date of the wedding?" said Henry, the malicious moodnow predominating. 

"I think some time in March, " she replied. 

"And afterwards?" he asked. 

"We take a house, I suppose, somewhere in Chelsea. "

"It's very interesting, " he observed, stealing another look at her. 

She lay back in her arm-chair, her feet high upon the side of the grate, and in front of her, presumably to screen her eyes, she held a newspaperfrom which she picked up a sentence or two now and again. Observingthis, Henry remarked:

"Perhaps marriage will make you more human. "

At this she lowered the newspaper an inch or two, but said nothing. Indeed, she sat quite silent for over a minute. 

"When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don't seem tomatter very much, do they?" she said suddenly. 

"I don't think I ever do consider things like the stars, " Henry replied. "I'm not sure that that's not the explanation, though, " he added, nowobserving her steadily. 

"I doubt whether there is an explanation, " she replied rather hurriedly, not clearly understanding what he meant. 

"What? No explanation of anything?" he inquired, with a smile. 

"Oh, things happen. That's about all, " she let drop in her casual, decided way. 

"That certainly seems to explain some of your actions, " Henry thought tohimself. 

"One thing's about as good as another, and one's got to do something, "he said aloud, expressing what he supposed to be her attitude, much inher accent. Perhaps she detected the imitation, for looking gently athim, she said, with ironical composure:

"Well, if you believe that your life must be simple, Henry. "

"But I don't believe it, " he said shortly. 

"No more do I, " she replied. 

"What about the stars?" he asked a moment later. "I understand that yourule your life by the stars?"

She let this pass, either because she did not attend to it, or becausethe tone was not to her liking. 

Once more she paused, and then she inquired:

"But do you always understand why you do everything? Ought one tounderstand? People like my mother understand, " she reflected. "Now Imust go down to them, I suppose, and see what's happening. "

"What could be happening?" Henry protested. 

"Oh, they may want to settle something, " she replied vaguely, puttingher feet on the ground, resting her chin on her hands, and looking outof her large dark eyes contemplatively at the fire. 

"And then there's William, " she added, as if by an afterthought. 

Henry very nearly laughed, but restrained himself. 

"Do they know what coals are made of, Henry?" she asked, a moment later. 

"Mares' tails, I believe, " he hazarded. 

"Have you ever been down a coal-mine?" she went on. 

"Don't let's talk about coal-mines, Katharine, " he protested. "We shallprobably never see each other again. When you're married--"

Tremendously to his surprise, he saw the tears stand in her eyes. 

"Why do you all tease me?" she said. "It isn't kind. "

Henry could not pretend that he was altogether ignorant of her meaning, though, certainly, he had never guessed that she minded the teasing. Butbefore he knew what to say, her eyes were clear again, and the suddencrack in the surface was almost filled up. 

"Things aren't easy, anyhow, " she stated. 

Obeying an impulse of genuine affection, Henry spoke. 

"Promise me, Katharine, that if I can ever help you, you will let me. "

She seemed to consider, looking once more into the red of the fire, anddecided to refrain from any explanation. 

"Yes, I promise that, " she said at length, and Henry felt himselfgratified by her complete sincerity, and began to tell her now about thecoal-mine, in obedience to her love of facts. 

They were, indeed, descending the shaft in a small cage, and could hearthe picks of the miners, something like the gnawing of rats, in theearth beneath them, when the door was burst open, without any knocking. 

"Well, here you are!" Rodney exclaimed. Both Katharine and Henry turnedround very quickly and rather guiltily. Rodney was in evening dress. Itwas clear that his temper was ruffled. 

"That's where you've been all the time, " he repeated, looking atKatharine. 

"I've only been here about ten minutes, " she replied. 

"My dear Katharine, you left the drawing-room over an hour ago. "

She said nothing. 

"Does it very much matter?" Henry asked. 

Rodney found it hard to be unreasonable in the presence of another man, and did not answer him. 

"They don't like it, " he said. "It isn't kind to old people to leavethem alone--although I've no doubt it's much more amusing to sit up hereand talk to Henry. "

"We were discussing coal-mines, " said Henry urbanely. 

"Yes. But we were talking about much more interesting things beforethat, " said Katharine. 

From the apparent determination to hurt him with which she spoke, Henrythought that some sort of explosion on Rodney's part was about to takeplace. 

"I can quite understand that, " said Rodney, with his little chuckle, leaning over the back of his chair and tapping the woodwork lightlywith his fingers. They were all silent, and the silence was acutelyuncomfortable to Henry, at least. 

"Was it very dull, William?" Katharine suddenly asked, with a completechange of tone and a little gesture of her hand. 

"Of course it was dull, " William said sulkily. 

"Well, you stay and talk to Henry, and I'll go down, " she replied. 

She rose as she spoke, and as she turned to leave the room, she laidher hand, with a curiously caressing gesture, upon Rodney's shoulder. Instantly Rodney clasped her hand in his, with such an impulse ofemotion that Henry was annoyed, and rather ostentatiously opened a book. 

"I shall come down with you, " said William, as she drew back her hand, and made as if to pass him. 

"Oh no, " she said hastily. "You stay here and talk to Henry. "

"Yes, do, " said Henry, shutting up his book again. His invitation waspolite, without being precisely cordial. Rodney evidently hesitated asto the course he should pursue, but seeing Katharine at the door, heexclaimed:

"No. I want to come with you. "

She looked back, and said in a very commanding tone, and with anexpression of authority upon her face:

"It's useless for you to come. I shall go to bed in ten minutes. Goodnight. "

She nodded to them both, but Henry could not help noticing that her lastnod was in his direction. Rodney sat down rather heavily. 

His mortification was so obvious that Henry scarcely liked to open theconversation with some remark of a literary character. On the otherhand, unless he checked him, Rodney might begin to talk about hisfeelings, and irreticence is apt to be extremely painful, at any rate inprospect. He therefore adopted a middle course; that is to say, hewrote a note upon the fly-leaf of his book, which ran, "The situationis becoming most uncomfortable. " This he decorated with those flourishesand decorative borders which grow of themselves upon these occasions;and as he did so, he thought to himself that whatever Katharine'sdifficulties might be, they did not justify her behavior. She had spokenwith a kind of brutality which suggested that, whether it is natural orassumed, women have a peculiar blindness to the feelings of men. 

The penciling of this note gave Rodney time to recover himself. Perhaps, for he was a very vain man, he was more hurt that Henry had seen himrebuffed than by the rebuff itself. He was in love with Katharine, and vanity is not decreased but increased by love; especially, one mayhazard, in the presence of one's own sex. But Rodney enjoyed the couragewhich springs from that laughable and lovable defect, and when he hadmastered his first impulse, in some way to make a fool of himself, hedrew inspiration from the perfect fit of his evening dress. He chose acigarette, tapped it on the back of his hand, displayed his exquisitepumps on the edge of the fender, and summoned his self-respect. 

"You've several big estates round here, Otway, " he began. "Any goodhunting? Let me see, what pack would it be? Who's your great man?"

"Sir William Budge, the sugar king, has the biggest estate. He boughtout poor Stanham, who went bankrupt. "

"Which Stanham would that be? Verney or Alfred?"

"Alfred.... I don't hunt myself. You're a great huntsman, aren't you?You have a great reputation as a horseman, anyhow, " he added, desiringto help Rodney in his effort to recover his complacency. 

"Oh, I love riding, " Rodney replied. "Could I get a horse down here?Stupid of me! I forgot to bring any clothes. I can't imagine, though, who told you I was anything of a rider?"

To tell the truth, Henry labored under the same difficulty; he did notwish to introduce Katharine's name, and, therefore, he replied vaguelythat he had always heard that Rodney was a great rider. In truth, hehad heard very little about him, one way or another, accepting him asa figure often to be found in the background at his aunt's house, andinevitably, though inexplicably, engaged to his cousin. 

"I don't care much for shooting, " Rodney continued; "but one has to doit, unless one wants to be altogether out of things. I dare say there'ssome very pretty country round here. I stayed once at Bolham Hall. YoungCranthorpe was up with you, wasn't he? He married old Lord Bolham'sdaughter. Very nice people--in their way. "

"I don't mix in that society, " Henry remarked, rather shortly. ButRodney, now started on an agreeable current of reflection, could notresist the temptation of pursuing it a little further. He appeared tohimself as a man who moved easily in very good society, and knew enoughabout the true values of life to be himself above it. 

"Oh, but you should, " he went on. "It's well worth staying there, anyhow, once a year. They make one very comfortable, and the women areravishing. "

"The women?" Henry thought to himself, with disgust. "What could anywoman see in you?" His tolerance was rapidly becoming exhausted, buthe could not help liking Rodney nevertheless, and this appeared to himstrange, for he was fastidious, and such words in another mouth wouldhave condemned the speaker irreparably. He began, in short, to wonderwhat kind of creature this man who was to marry his cousin might be. Could any one, except a rather singular character, afford to be soridiculously vain?

"I don't think I should get on in that society, " he replied. "I don'tthink I should know what to say to Lady Rose if I met her. "

"I don't find any difficulty, " Rodney chuckled. "You talk to them abouttheir children, if they have any, or their accomplishments--painting, gardening, poetry--they're so delightfully sympathetic. Seriously, youknow I think a woman's opinion of one's poetry is always worth having. Don't ask them for their reasons. Just ask them for their feelings. Katharine, for example--"

"Katharine, " said Henry, with an emphasis upon the name, almost as if heresented Rodney's use of it, "Katharine is very unlike most women. "

"Quite, " Rodney agreed. "She is--" He seemed about to describe her, andhe hesitated for a long time. "She's looking very well, " he stated, orrather almost inquired, in a different tone from that in which he hadbeen speaking. Henry bent his head. 

"But, as a family, you're given to moods, eh?"

"Not Katharine, " said Henry, with decision. 

"Not Katharine, " Rodney repeated, as if he weighed the meaning of thewords. "No, perhaps you're right. But her engagement has changed her. Naturally, " he added, "one would expect that to be so. " He waited forHenry to confirm this statement, but Henry remained silent. 

"Katharine has had a difficult life, in some ways, " he continued. "Iexpect that marriage will be good for her. She has great powers. "

"Great, " said Henry, with decision. 

"Yes--but now what direction d'you think they take?"

Rodney had completely dropped his pose as a man of the world, and seemedto be asking Henry to help him in a difficulty. 

"I don't know, " Henry hesitated cautiously. 

"D'you think children--a household--that sort of thing--d'you thinkthat'll satisfy her? Mind, I'm out all day. "

"She would certainly be very competent, " Henry stated. 

"Oh, she's wonderfully competent, " said Rodney. "But--I get absorbed inmy poetry. Well, Katharine hasn't got that. She admires my poetry, youknow, but that wouldn't be enough for her?"

"No, " said Henry. He paused. "I think you're right, " he added, as if hewere summing up his thoughts. "Katharine hasn't found herself yet. Lifeisn't altogether real to her yet--I sometimes think--"

"Yes?" Rodney inquired, as if he were eager for Henry to continue. "Thatis what I--" he was going on, as Henry remained silent, but the sentencewas not finished, for the door opened, and they were interrupted byHenry's younger brother Gilbert, much to Henry's relief, for he hadalready said more than he liked. 

CHAPTER XVII

When the sun shone, as it did with unusual brightness that Christmasweek, it revealed much that was faded and not altogether well-kept-upin Stogdon House and its grounds. In truth, Sir Francis had retiredfrom service under the Government of India with a pension that wasnot adequate, in his opinion, to his services, as it certainly wasnot adequate to his ambitions. His career had not come up to hisexpectations, and although he was a very fine, white-whiskered, mahogany-colored old man to look at, and had laid down a very choicecellar of good reading and good stories, you could not long remainignorant of the fact that some thunder-storm had soured them; he hada grievance. This grievance dated back to the middle years of the lastcentury, when, owing to some official intrigue, his merits had beenpassed over in a disgraceful manner in favor of another, his junior. 

The rights and wrongs of the story, presuming that they had someexistence in fact, were no longer clearly known to his wife andchildren; but this disappointment had played a very large part in theirlives, and had poisoned the life of Sir Francis much as a disappointmentin love is said to poison the whole life of a woman. Long brooding onhis failure, continual arrangement and rearrangement of his deserts andrebuffs, had made Sir Francis much of an egoist, and in his retirementhis temper became increasingly difficult and exacting. 

His wife now offered so little resistance to his moods that she waspractically useless to him. He made his daughter Eleanor into his chiefconfidante, and the prime of her life was being rapidly consumed by herfather. To her he dictated the memoirs which were to avenge his memory, and she had to assure him constantly that his treatment had been adisgrace. Already, at the age of thirty-five, her cheeks were whiteningas her mother's had whitened, but for her there would be no memories ofIndian suns and Indian rivers, and clamor of children in a nursery; shewould have very little of substance to think about when she sat, asLady Otway now sat, knitting white wool, with her eyes fixed almostperpetually upon the same embroidered bird upon the same fire-screen. But then Lady Otway was one of the people for whom the greatmake-believe game of English social life has been invented; she spentmost of her time in pretending to herself and her neighbors that shewas a dignified, important, much-occupied person, of considerable socialstanding and sufficient wealth. In view of the actual state of thingsthis game needed a great deal of skill; and, perhaps, at the age she hadreached--she was over sixty--she played far more to deceive herselfthan to deceive any one else. Moreover, the armor was wearing thin; sheforgot to keep up appearances more and more. 

The worn patches in the carpets, and the pallor of the drawing-room, where no chair or cover had been renewed for some years, were duenot only to the miserable pension, but to the wear and tear of twelvechildren, eight of whom were sons. As often happens in these largefamilies, a distinct dividing-line could be traced, about half-way inthe succession, where the money for educational purposes had run short, and the six younger children had grown up far more economically thanthe elder. If the boys were clever, they won scholarships, and went toschool; if they were not clever, they took what the family connectionhad to offer them. The girls accepted situations occasionally, but therewere always one or two at home, nursing sick animals, tending silkworms, or playing the flute in their bedrooms. The distinction between theelder children and the younger corresponded almost to the distinctionbetween a higher class and a lower one, for with only a haphazardeducation and insufficient allowances, the younger children had pickedup accomplishments, friends, and points of view which were not to befound within the walls of a public school or of a Government office. Between the two divisions there was considerable hostility, the eldertrying to patronize the younger, the younger refusing to respect theelder; but one feeling united them and instantly closed any risk of abreach--their common belief in the superiority of their own family toall others. Henry was the eldest of the younger group, and their leader;he bought strange books and joined odd societies; he went without a tiefor a whole year, and had six shirts made of black flannel. He hadlong refused to take a seat either in a shipping office or in atea-merchant's warehouse; and persisted, in spite of the disapproval ofuncles and aunts, in practicing both violin and piano, with the resultthat he could not perform professionally upon either. Indeed, forthirty-two years of life he had nothing more substantial to show than amanuscript book containing the score of half an opera. In this protestof his, Katharine had always given him her support, and as she wasgenerally held to be an extremely sensible person, who dressed too wellto be eccentric, he had found her support of some use. Indeed, when shecame down at Christmas she usually spent a great part of her time inprivate conferences with Henry and with Cassandra, the youngest girl, to whom the silkworms belonged. With the younger section she had a greatreputation for common sense, and for something that they despised butinwardly respected and called knowledge of the world--that is to say, of the way in which respectable elderly people, going to their clubsand dining out with ministers, think and behave. She had more than onceplayed the part of ambassador between Lady Otway and her children. Thatpoor lady, for instance, consulted her for advice when, one day, sheopened Cassandra's bedroom door on a mission of discovery, and found theceiling hung with mulberry-leaves, the windows blocked with cages, andthe tables stacked with home-made machines for the manufacture of silkdresses. 

"I wish you could help her to take an interest in something that otherpeople are interested in, Katharine, " she observed, rather plaintively, detailing her grievances. "It's all Henry's doing, you know, giving upher parties and taking to these nasty insects. It doesn't follow that ifa man can do a thing a woman may too. "

The morning was sufficiently bright to make the chairs and sofas in LadyOtway's private sitting-room appear more than usually shabby, and thegallant gentlemen, her brothers and cousins, who had defended the Empireand left their bones on many frontiers, looked at the world through afilm of yellow which the morning light seemed to have drawn acrosstheir photographs. Lady Otway sighed, it may be at the faded relics, and turned, with resignation, to her balls of wool, which, curiouslyand characteristically, were not an ivory-white, but rather a tarnishedyellow-white. She had called her niece in for a little chat. She hadalways trusted her, and now more than ever, since her engagement toRodney, which seemed to Lady Otway extremely suitable, and just what onewould wish for one's own daughter. Katharine unwittingly increased herreputation for wisdom by asking to be given knitting-needles too. 

"It's so very pleasant, " said Lady Otway, "to knit while one's talking. And now, my dear Katharine, tell me about your plans. "

The emotions of the night before, which she had suppressed in such a wayas to keep her awake till dawn, had left Katharine a little jaded, andthus more matter-of-fact than usual. She was quite ready to discuss herplans--houses and rents, servants and economy--without feeling that theyconcerned her very much. As she spoke, knitting methodically meanwhile, Lady Otway noted, with approval, the upright, responsible bearing of herniece, to whom the prospect of marriage had brought some gravity mostbecoming in a bride, and yet, in these days, most rare. Yes, Katharine'sengagement had changed her a little. 

"What a perfect daughter, or daughter-in-law!" she thought to herself, and could not help contrasting her with Cassandra, surrounded byinnumerable silkworms in her bedroom. 

"Yes, " she continued, glancing at Katharine, with the round, greenisheyes which were as inexpressive as moist marbles, "Katharine is like thegirls of my youth. We took the serious things of life seriously. "But just as she was deriving satisfaction from this thought, and wasproducing some of the hoarded wisdom which none of her own daughters, alas! seemed now to need, the door opened, and Mrs. Hilbery came in, or rather, did not come in, but stood in the doorway and smiled, havingevidently mistaken the room. 

"I never SHALL know my way about this house!" she exclaimed. "I'm onmy way to the library, and I don't want to interrupt. You and Katharinewere having a little chat?"

The presence of her sister-in-law made Lady Otway slightly uneasy. Howcould she go on with what she was saying in Maggie's presence? for shewas saying something that she had never said, all these years, to Maggieherself. 

"I was telling Katharine a few little commonplaces about marriage, " shesaid, with a little laugh. "Are none of my children looking after you, Maggie?"

"Marriage, " said Mrs. Hilbery, coming into the room, and nodding herhead once or twice, "I always say marriage is a school. And you don'tget the prizes unless you go to school. Charlotte has won all theprizes, " she added, giving her sister-in-law a little pat, whichmade Lady Otway more uncomfortable still. She half laughed, mutteredsomething, and ended on a sigh. 

"Aunt Charlotte was saying that it's no good being married unless yousubmit to your husband, " said Katharine, framing her aunt's words intoa far more definite shape than they had really worn; and when she spokethus she did not appear at all old-fashioned. Lady Otway looked at herand paused for a moment. 

"Well, I really don't advise a woman who wants to have things her ownway to get married, " she said, beginning a fresh row rather elaborately. 

Mrs. Hilbery knew something of the circumstances which, as she thought, had inspired this remark. In a moment her face was clouded with sympathywhich she did not quite know how to express. 

"What a shame it was!" she exclaimed, forgetting that her train ofthought might not be obvious to her listeners. "But, Charlotte, it wouldhave been much worse if Frank had disgraced himself in any way. And itisn't what our husbands GET, but what they ARE. I used to dream of whitehorses and palanquins, too; but still, I like the ink-pots best. And whoknows?" she concluded, looking at Katharine, "your father may be made abaronet to-morrow. "

Lady Otway, who was Mr. Hilbery's sister, knew quite well that, inprivate, the Hilberys called Sir Francis "that old Turk, " and thoughshe did not follow the drift of Mrs. Hilbery's remarks, she knew whatprompted them. 

"But if you can give way to your husband, " she said, speaking toKatharine, as if there were a separate understanding between them, "ahappy marriage is the happiest thing in the world. "

"Yes, " said Katharine, "but--" She did not mean to finish her sentence, she merely wished to induce her mother and her aunt to go on talkingabout marriage, for she was in the mood to feel that other people couldhelp her if they would. She went on knitting, but her fingers workedwith a decision that was oddly unlike the smooth and contemplativesweep of Lady Otway's plump hand. Now and then she looked swiftly at hermother, then at her aunt. Mrs. Hilbery held a book in her hand, andwas on her way, as Katharine guessed, to the library, where anotherparagraph was to be added to that varied assortment of paragraphs, theLife of Richard Alardyce. Normally, Katharine would have hurried hermother downstairs, and seen that no excuse for distraction came her way. Her attitude towards the poet's life, however, had changed with otherchanges; and she was content to forget all about her scheme of hours. Mrs. Hilbery was secretly delighted. Her relief at finding herselfexcused manifested itself in a series of sidelong glances of sly humorin her daughter's direction, and the indulgence put her in the best ofspirits. Was she to be allowed merely to sit and talk? It was so muchpleasanter to sit in a nice room filled with all sorts of interestingodds and ends which she hadn't looked at for a year, at least, than toseek out one date which contradicted another in a dictionary. 

"We've all had perfect husbands, " she concluded, generously forgivingSir Francis all his faults in a lump. "Not that I think a bad temperis really a fault in a man. I don't mean a bad temper, " she correctedherself, with a glance obviously in the direction of Sir Francis. "Ishould say a quick, impatient temper. Most, in fact ALL great men havehad bad tempers--except your grandfather, Katharine, " and here shesighed, and suggested that, perhaps, she ought to go down to thelibrary. 

"But in the ordinary marriage, is it necessary to give way to one'shusband?" said Katharine, taking no notice of her mother's suggestion, blind even to the depression which had now taken possession of her atthe thought of her own inevitable death. 

"I should say yes, certainly, " said Lady Otway, with a decision mostunusual for her. 

"Then one ought to make up one's mind to that before one is married, "Katharine mused, seeming to address herself. 

Mrs. Hilbery was not much interested in these remarks, which seemed tohave a melancholy tendency, and to revive her spirits she had recourseto an infallible remedy--she looked out of the window. 

"Do look at that lovely little blue bird!" she exclaimed, and her eyelooked with extreme pleasure at the soft sky. At the trees, at the greenfields visible behind those trees, and at the leafless branches whichsurrounded the body of the small blue tit. Her sympathy with nature wasexquisite. 

"Most women know by instinct whether they can give it or not, " LadyOtway slipped in quickly, in rather a low voice, as if she wanted toget this said while her sister-in-law's attention was diverted. "And ifnot--well then, my advice would be--don't marry. "

"Oh, but marriage is the happiest life for a woman, " said Mrs. Hilbery, catching the word marriage, as she brought her eyes back to the roomagain. Then she turned her mind to what she had said. 

"It's the most INTERESTING life, " she corrected herself. She looked ather daughter with a look of vague alarm. It was the kind of maternalscrutiny which suggests that, in looking at her daughter a mother isreally looking at herself. She was not altogether satisfied; but shepurposely made no attempt to break down the reserve which, as a matterof fact, was a quality she particularly admired and depended upon inher daughter. But when her mother said that marriage was the mostinteresting life, Katharine felt, as she was apt to do suddenly, for nodefinite reason, that they understood each other, in spite of differingin every possible way. Yet the wisdom of the old seems to apply more tofeelings which we have in common with the rest of the human race thanto our feelings as individuals, and Katharine knew that only some one ofher own age could follow her meaning. Both these elderly women seemed toher to have been content with so little happiness, and at the moment shehad not sufficient force to feel certain that their version of marriagewas the wrong one. In London, certainly, this temperate attitude towardher own marriage had seemed to her just. Why had she now changed? Whydid it now depress her? It never occurred to her that her own conductcould be anything of a puzzle to her mother, or that elder people are asmuch affected by the young as the young are by them. And yet it was truethat love--passion--whatever one chose to call it, had played far lesspart in Mrs. Hilbery's life than might have seemed likely, judging fromher enthusiastic and imaginative temperament. She had always beenmore interested by other things. Lady Otway, strange though it seemed, guessed more accurately at Katharine's state of mind than her motherdid. 

"Why don't we all live in the country?" exclaimed Mrs. Hilbery, oncemore looking out of the window. "I'm sure one would think such beautifulthings if one lived in the country. No horrid slum houses to depressone, no trams or motor-cars; and the people all looking so plump andcheerful. Isn't there some little cottage near you, Charlotte, whichwould do for us, with a spare room, perhaps, in case we asked a frienddown? And we should save so much money that we should be able totravel--"

"Yes. You would find it very nice for a week or two, no doubt, " saidLady Otway. "But what hour would you like the carriage this morning?"she continued, touching the bell. 

"Katharine shall decide, " said Mrs. Hilbery, feeling herself unableto prefer one hour to another. "And I was just going to tell you, Katharine, how, when I woke this morning, everything seemed so clear inmy head that if I'd had a pencil I believe I could have written quite along chapter. When we're out on our drive I shall find us a house. A fewtrees round it, and a little garden, a pond with a Chinese duck, astudy for your father, a study for me, and a sitting room for Katharine, because then she'll be a married lady. "

At this Katharine shivered a little, drew up to the fire, and warmed herhands by spreading them over the topmost peak of the coal. She wished tobring the talk back to marriage again, in order to hear Aunt Charlotte'sviews, but she did not know how to do this. 

"Let me look at your engagement-ring, Aunt Charlotte, " she said, noticing her own. 

She took the cluster of green stones and turned it round and round, butshe did not know what to say next. 

"That poor old ring was a sad disappointment to me when I first had it, "Lady Otway mused. "I'd set my heart on a diamond ring, but I never likedto tell Frank, naturally. He bought it at Simla. "

Katharine turned the ring round once more, and gave it back to her auntwithout speaking. And while she turned it round her lips set themselvesfirmly together, and it seemed to her that she could satisfy Williamas these women had satisfied their husbands; she could pretend to likeemeralds when she preferred diamonds. Having replaced her ring, LadyOtway remarked that it was chilly, though not more so than one mustexpect at this time of year. Indeed, one ought to be thankful to see thesun at all, and she advised them both to dress warmly for their drive. Her aunt's stock of commonplaces, Katharine sometimes suspected, hadbeen laid in on purpose to fill silences with, and had little to do withher private thoughts. But at this moment they seemed terribly in keepingwith her own conclusions, so that she took up her knitting again andlistened, chiefly with a view to confirming herself in the belief thatto be engaged to marry some one with whom you are not in love is aninevitable step in a world where the existence of passion is only atraveller's story brought from the heart of deep forests and told sorarely that wise people doubt whether the story can be true. She did herbest to listen to her mother asking for news of John, and to her auntreplying with the authentic history of Hilda's engagement to an officerin the Indian Army, but she cast her mind alternately towards forestpaths and starry blossoms, and towards pages of neatly writtenmathematical signs. When her mind took this turn her marriage seemed nomore than an archway through which it was necessary to pass in order tohave her desire. At such times the current of her nature ran in itsdeep narrow channel with great force and with an alarming lack ofconsideration for the feelings of others. Just as the two elder ladieshad finished their survey of the family prospects, and Lady Otway wasnervously anticipating some general statement as to life and death fromher sister-in-law, Cassandra burst into the room with the news that thecarriage was at the door. 

"Why didn't Andrews tell me himself?" said Lady Otway, peevishly, blaming her servants for not living up to her ideals. 

When Mrs. Hilbery and Katharine arrived in the hall, ready dressed fortheir drive, they found that the usual discussion was going forward asto the plans of the rest of the family. In token of this, a great manydoors were opening and shutting, two or three people stood irresolutelyon the stairs, now going a few steps up, and now a few steps down, andSir Francis himself had come out from his study, with the "Times" underhis arm, and a complaint about noise and draughts from the open doorwhich, at least, had the effect of bundling the people who did not wantto go into the carriage, and sending those who did not want to stay backto their rooms. It was decided that Mrs. Hilbery, Katharine, Rodney, andHenry should drive to Lincoln, and any one else who wished to go shouldfollow on bicycles or in the pony-cart. Every one who stayed at StogdonHouse had to make this expedition to Lincoln in obedience to LadyOtway's conception of the right way to entertain her guests, whichshe had imbibed from reading in fashionable papers of the behavior ofChristmas parties in ducal houses. The carriage horses were both fat andaged, still they matched; the carriage was shaky and uncomfortable, but the Otway arms were visible on the panels. Lady Otway stood onthe topmost step, wrapped in a white shawl, and waved her hand almostmechanically until they had turned the corner under the laurel-bushes, when she retired indoors with a sense that she had played her part, anda sigh at the thought that none of her children felt it necessary toplay theirs. 

The carriage bowled along smoothly over the gently curving road. Mrs. Hilbery dropped into a pleasant, inattentive state of mind, in which shewas conscious of the running green lines of the hedges, of the swellingploughland, and of the mild blue sky, which served her, after the firstfive minutes, for a pastoral background to the drama of human life; andthen she thought of a cottage garden, with the flash of yellow daffodilsagainst blue water; and what with the arrangement of these differentprospects, and the shaping of two or three lovely phrases, she did notnotice that the young people in the carriage were almost silent. Henry, indeed, had been included against his wish, and revenged himself byobserving Katharine and Rodney with disillusioned eyes; while Katharinewas in a state of gloomy self-suppression which resulted in completeapathy. When Rodney spoke to her she either said "Hum!" or assentedso listlessly that he addressed his next remark to her mother. Hisdeference was agreeable to her, his manners were exemplary; and whenthe church towers and factory chimneys of the town came into sight, sheroused herself, and recalled memories of the fair summer of 1853, whichfitted in harmoniously with what she was dreaming of the future. 

CHAPTER XVIII

But other passengers were approaching Lincoln meanwhile by other roadson foot. A county town draws the inhabitants of all vicarages, farms, country houses, and wayside cottages, within a radius of ten miles atleast, once or twice a week to its streets; and among them, on thisoccasion, were Ralph Denham and Mary Datchet. They despised the roads, and took their way across the fields; and yet, from their appearance, itdid not seem as if they cared much where they walked so long as the waydid not actually trip them up. When they left the Vicarage, they hadbegun an argument which swung their feet along so rhythmically in timewith it that they covered the ground at over four miles an hour, and sawnothing of the hedgerows, the swelling plowland, or the mild blue sky. What they saw were the Houses of Parliament and the Government Officesin Whitehall. They both belonged to the class which is conscious ofhaving lost its birthright in these great structures and is seeking tobuild another kind of lodging for its own notion of law and government. Purposely, perhaps, Mary did not agree with Ralph; she loved to feel hermind in conflict with his, and to be certain that he spared her femalejudgment no ounce of his male muscularity. He seemed to argue asfiercely with her as if she were his brother. They were alike, however, in believing that it behooved them to take in hand the repair andreconstruction of the fabric of England. They agreed in thinking thatnature has not been generous in the endowment of our councilors. Theyagreed, unconsciously, in a mute love for the muddy field through whichthey tramped, with eyes narrowed close by the concentration of theirminds. At length they drew breath, let the argument fly away into thelimbo of other good arguments, and, leaning over a gate, opened theireyes for the first time and looked about them. Their feet tingledwith warm blood and their breath rose in steam around them. The bodilyexercise made them both feel more direct and less self-conscious thanusual, and Mary, indeed, was overcome by a sort of light-headednesswhich made it seem to her that it mattered very little what happenednext. It mattered so little, indeed, that she felt herself on the pointof saying to Ralph:

"I love you; I shall never love anybody else. Marry me or leave me;think what you like of me--I don't care a straw. " At the moment, however, speech or silence seemed immaterial, and she merely clapped herhands together, and looked at the distant woods with the rust-like bloomon their brown, and the green and blue landscape through the steam ofher own breath. It seemed a mere toss-up whether she said, "I love you, "or whether she said, "I love the beech-trees, " or only "I love--I love. "

"Do you know, Mary, " Ralph suddenly interrupted her, "I've made up mymind. "

Her indifference must have been superficial, for it disappeared atonce. Indeed, she lost sight of the trees, and saw her own hand upon thetopmost bar of the gate with extreme distinctness, while he went on:

"I've made up my mind to chuck my work and live down here. I want you totell me about that cottage you spoke of. However, I suppose there'llbe no difficulty about getting a cottage, will there?" He spoke with anassumption of carelessness as if expecting her to dissuade him. 

She still waited, as if for him to continue; she was convinced that insome roundabout way he approached the subject of their marriage. 

"I can't stand the office any longer, " he proceeded. "I don't know whatmy family will say; but I'm sure I'm right. Don't you think so?"

"Live down here by yourself?" she asked. 

"Some old woman would do for me, I suppose, " he replied. "I'm sick ofthe whole thing, " he went on, and opened the gate with a jerk. Theybegan to cross the next field walking side by side. 

"I tell you, Mary, it's utter destruction, working away, day after day, at stuff that doesn't matter a damn to any one. I've stood eight yearsof it, and I'm not going to stand it any longer. I suppose this allseems to you mad, though?"

By this time Mary had recovered her self-control. 

"No. I thought you weren't happy, " she said. 

"Why did you think that?" he asked, with some surprise. 

"Don't you remember that morning in Lincoln's Inn Fields?" she asked. 

"Yes, " said Ralph, slackening his pace and remembering Katharine andher engagement, the purple leaves stamped into the path, the white paperradiant under the electric light, and the hopelessness which seemed tosurround all these things. 

"You're right, Mary, " he said, with something of an effort, "though Idon't know how you guessed it. "

She was silent, hoping that he might tell her the reason of hisunhappiness, for his excuses had not deceived her. 

"I was unhappy--very unhappy, " he repeated. Some six weeks separatedhim from that afternoon when he had sat upon the Embankment watching hisvisions dissolve in mist as the waters swam past and the sense of hisdesolation still made him shiver. He had not recovered in the least fromthat depression. Here was an opportunity for making himself face it, as he felt that he ought to; for, by this time, no doubt, it was only asentimental ghost, better exorcised by ruthless exposure to such an eyeas Mary's, than allowed to underlie all his actions and thoughts as hadbeen the case ever since he first saw Katharine Hilbery pouring out tea. He must begin, however, by mentioning her name, and this he found itimpossible to do. He persuaded himself that he could make an honeststatement without speaking her name; he persuaded himself that hisfeeling had very little to do with her. 

"Unhappiness is a state of mind, " he said, "by which I mean that it isnot necessarily the result of any particular cause. "

This rather stilted beginning did not please him, and it became moreand more obvious to him that, whatever he might say, his unhappiness hadbeen directly caused by Katharine. 

"I began to find my life unsatisfactory, " he started afresh. "It seemedto me meaningless. " He paused again, but felt that this, at any rate, was true, and that on these lines he could go on. 

"All this money-making and working ten hours a day in an office, what'sit FOR? When one's a boy, you see, one's head is so full of dreams thatit doesn't seem to matter what one does. And if you're ambitious, you'reall right; you've got a reason for going on. Now my reasons ceased tosatisfy me. Perhaps I never had any. That's very likely now I come tothink of it. (What reason is there for anything, though?) Still, it'simpossible, after a certain age, to take oneself in satisfactorily. AndI know what carried me on"--for a good reason now occurred to him--"Iwanted to be the savior of my family and all that kind of thing. Iwanted them to get on in the world. That was a lie, of course--a kind ofself-glorification, too. Like most people, I suppose, I've lived almostentirely among delusions, and now I'm at the awkward stage of finding itout. I want another delusion to go on with. That's what my unhappinessamounts to, Mary. "

There were two reasons that kept Mary very silent during this speech, and drew curiously straight lines upon her face. In the first place, Ralph made no mention of marriage; in the second, he was not speakingthe truth. 

"I don't think it will be difficult to find a cottage, " she said, withcheerful hardness, ignoring the whole of this statement. "You've gota little money, haven't you? Yes, " she concluded, "I don't see why itshouldn't be a very good plan. "

They crossed the field in complete silence. Ralph was surprised by herremark and a little hurt, and yet, on the whole, rather pleased. Hehad convinced himself that it was impossible to lay his case truthfullybefore Mary, and, secretly, he was relieved to find that he had notparted with his dream to her. She was, as he had always found her, thesensible, loyal friend, the woman he trusted; whose sympathy hecould count upon, provided he kept within certain limits. He was notdispleased to find that those limits were very clearly marked. When theyhad crossed the next hedge she said to him:

"Yes, Ralph, it's time you made a break. I've come to the sameconclusion myself. Only it won't be a country cottage in my case; it'llbe America. America!" she cried. "That's the place for me! They'll teachme something about organizing a movement there, and I'll come back andshow you how to do it. "

If she meant consciously or unconsciously to belittle the seclusionand security of a country cottage, she did not succeed; for Ralph'sdetermination was genuine. But she made him visualize her in her owncharacter, so that he looked quickly at her, as she walked a little infront of him across the plowed field; for the first time that morning hesaw her independently of him or of his preoccupation with Katharine. He seemed to see her marching ahead, a rather clumsy but powerful andindependent figure, for whose courage he felt the greatest respect. 

"Don't go away, Mary!" he exclaimed, and stopped. 

"That's what you said before, Ralph, " she returned, without looking athim. "You want to go away yourself and you don't want me to go away. That's not very sensible, is it?"

"Mary, " he cried, stung by the remembrance of his exacting anddictatorial ways with her, "what a brute I've been to you!"

It took all her strength to keep the tears from springing, and to thrustback her assurance that she would forgive him till Doomsday if he chose. She was preserved from doing so only by a stubborn kind of respect forherself which lay at the root of her nature and forbade surrender, evenin moments of almost overwhelming passion. Now, when all was tempest andhigh-running waves, she knew of a land where the sun shone clear uponItalian grammars and files of docketed papers. Nevertheless, from theskeleton pallor of that land and the rocks that broke its surface, she knew that her life there would be harsh and lonely almost beyondendurance. She walked steadily a little in front of him across theplowed field. Their way took them round the verge of a wood of thintrees standing at the edge of a steep fold in the land. Looking betweenthe tree-trunks, Ralph saw laid out on the perfectly flat and richlygreen meadow at the bottom of the hill a small gray manor-house, withponds, terraces, and clipped hedges in front of it, a farm building orso at the side, and a screen of fir-trees rising behind, all perfectlysheltered and self-sufficient. Behind the house the hill rose again, and the trees on the farther summit stood upright against the sky, whichappeared of a more intense blue between their trunks. His mind at oncewas filled with a sense of the actual presence of Katharine; the grayhouse and the intense blue sky gave him the feeling of her presenceclose by. He leant against a tree, forming her name beneath his breath:

"Katharine, Katharine, " he said aloud, and then, looking round, saw Marywalking slowly away from him, tearing a long spray of ivy from the treesas she passed them. She seemed so definitely opposed to the vision heheld in his mind that he returned to it with a gesture of impatience. 

"Katharine, Katharine, " he repeated, and seemed to himself to be withher. He lost his sense of all that surrounded him; all substantialthings--the hour of the day, what we have done and are about to do, thepresence of other people and the support we derive from seeing theirbelief in a common reality--all this slipped from him. So he might havefelt if the earth had dropped from his feet, and the empty blue hadhung all round him, and the air had been steeped in the presence of onewoman. The chirp of a robin on the bough above his head awakened him, and his awakenment was accompanied by a sigh. Here was the world inwhich he had lived; here the plowed field, the high road yonder, andMary, stripping ivy from the trees. When he came up with her he linkedhis arm through hers and said:

"Now, Mary, what's all this about America?"

There was a brotherly kindness in his voice which seemed to hermagnanimous, when she reflected that she had cut short his explanationsand shown little interest in his change of plan. She gave him herreasons for thinking that she might profit by such a journey, omittingthe one reason which had set all the rest in motion. He listenedattentively, and made no attempt to dissuade her. In truth, he foundhimself curiously eager to make certain of her good sense, and acceptedeach fresh proof of it with satisfaction, as though it helped him tomake up his mind about something. She forgot the pain he had caused her, and in place of it she became conscious of a steady tide of well-beingwhich harmonized very aptly with the tramp of their feet upon the dryroad and the support of his arm. The comfort was the more glowing inthat it seemed to be the reward of her determination to behave to himsimply and without attempting to be other than she was. Instead ofmaking out an interest in the poets, she avoided them instinctively, anddwelt rather insistently upon the practical nature of her gifts. 

In a practical way she asked for particulars of his cottage, whichhardly existed in his mind, and corrected his vagueness. 

"You must see that there's water, " she insisted, with an exaggerationof interest. She avoided asking him what he meant to do in this cottage, and, at last, when all the practical details had been thrashed out asmuch as possible, he rewarded her by a more intimate statement. 

"One of the rooms, " he said, "must be my study, for, you see, Mary, I'm going to write a book. " Here he withdrew his arm from hers, lit hispipe, and they tramped on in a sagacious kind of comradeship, the mostcomplete they had attained in all their friendship. 

"And what's your book to be about?" she said, as boldly as if she hadnever come to grief with Ralph in talking about books. He told herunhesitatingly that he meant to write the history of the English villagefrom Saxon days to the present time. Some such plan had lain as a seedin his mind for many years; and now that he had decided, in a flash, to give up his profession, the seed grew in the space of twenty minutesboth tall and lusty. He was surprised himself at the positive way inwhich he spoke. It was the same with the question of his cottage. Thathad come into existence, too, in an unromantic shape--a square whitehouse standing just off the high road, no doubt, with a neighbor whokept a pig and a dozen squalling children; for these plans were shornof all romance in his mind, and the pleasure he derived from thinkingof them was checked directly it passed a very sober limit. So a sensibleman who has lost his chance of some beautiful inheritance might treadout the narrow bounds of his actual dwelling-place, and assure himselfthat life is supportable within its demesne, only one must grow turnipsand cabbages, not melons and pomegranates. Certainly Ralph took somepride in the resources of his mind, and was insensibly helped to righthimself by Mary's trust in him. She wound her ivy spray round herash-plant, and for the first time for many days, when alone with Ralph, set no spies upon her motives, sayings, and feelings, but surrenderedherself to complete happiness. 

Thus talking, with easy silences and some pauses to look at the viewover the hedge and to decide upon the species of a little gray-brownbird slipping among the twigs, they walked into Lincoln, and afterstrolling up and down the main street, decided upon an inn where therounded window suggested substantial fare, nor were they mistaken. Forover a hundred and fifty years hot joints, potatoes, greens, and applepuddings had been served to generations of country gentlemen, and now, sitting at a table in the hollow of the bow window, Ralph and Mary tooktheir share of this perennial feast. Looking across the joint, half-waythrough the meal, Mary wondered whether Ralph would ever come to lookquite like the other people in the room. Would he be absorbed among theround pink faces, pricked with little white bristles, the calves fittedin shiny brown leather, the black-and-white check suits, which weresprinkled about in the same room with them? She half hoped so; shethought that it was only in his mind that he was different. She did notwish him to be too different from other people. The walk had given hima ruddy color, too, and his eyes were lit up by a steady, honest light, which could not make the simplest farmer feel ill at ease, or suggestto the most devout of clergymen a disposition to sneer at his faith. Sheloved the steep cliff of his forehead, and compared it to the brow of ayoung Greek horseman, who reins his horse back so sharply that ithalf falls on its haunches. He always seemed to her like a rider on aspirited horse. And there was an exaltation to her in being with him, because there was a risk that he would not be able to keep to the rightpace among other people. Sitting opposite him at the little table inthe window, she came back to that state of careless exaltation which hadovercome her when they halted by the gate, but now it was accompanied bya sense of sanity and security, for she felt that they had a feelingin common which scarcely needed embodiment in words. How silent hewas! leaning his forehead on his hand, now and then, and again lookingsteadily and gravely at the backs of the two men at the next table, with so little self-consciousness that she could almost watch his mindplacing one thought solidly upon the top of another; she thought thatshe could feel him thinking, through the shade of her fingers, andshe could anticipate the exact moment when he would put an end to histhought and turn a little in his chair and say:

"Well, Mary--?" inviting her to take up the thread of thought where hehad dropped it. 

And at that very moment he turned just so, and said:

"Well, Mary?" with the curious touch of diffidence which she loved inhim. 

She laughed, and she explained her laugh on the spur of the moment bythe look of the people in the street below. There was a motor-carwith an old lady swathed in blue veils, and a lady's maid on the seatopposite, holding a King Charles's spaniel; there was a country-womanwheeling a perambulator full of sticks down the middle of the road;there was a bailiff in gaiters discussing the state of the cattle marketwith a dissenting minister--so she defined them. 

She ran over this list without any fear that her companion would thinkher trivial. Indeed, whether it was due to the warmth of the room or tothe good roast beef, or whether Ralph had achieved the process which iscalled making up one's mind, certainly he had given up testing the goodsense, the independent character, the intelligence shown in her remarks. He had been building one of those piles of thought, as ramshackle andfantastic as a Chinese pagoda, half from words let fall by gentlemen ingaiters, half from the litter in his own mind, about duck shooting andlegal history, about the Roman occupation of Lincoln and the relationsof country gentlemen with their wives, when, from all this disconnectedrambling, there suddenly formed itself in his mind the idea that hewould ask Mary to marry him. The idea was so spontaneous that it seemedto shape itself of its own accord before his eyes. It was then that heturned round and made use of his old, instinctive phrase:

"Well, Mary--?"

As it presented itself to him at first, the idea was so new andinteresting that he was half inclined to address it, without more ado, to Mary herself. His natural instinct to divide his thoughts carefullyinto two different classes before he expressed them to her prevailed. But as he watched her looking out of the window and describing the oldlady, the woman with the perambulator, the bailiff and the dissentingminister, his eyes filled involuntarily with tears. He would have likedto lay his head on her shoulder and sob, while she parted his hair withher fingers and soothed him and said:

"There, there. Don't cry! Tell me why you're crying--"; and they wouldclasp each other tight, and her arms would hold him like his mother's. He felt that he was very lonely, and that he was afraid of the otherpeople in the room. 

"How damnable this all is!" he exclaimed abruptly. 

"What are you talking about?" she replied, rather vaguely, still lookingout of the window. 

He resented this divided attention more than, perhaps, he knew, and hethought how Mary would soon be on her way to America. 

"Mary, " he said, "I want to talk to you. Haven't we nearly done? Whydon't they take away these plates?"

Mary felt his agitation without looking at him; she felt convinced thatshe knew what it was that he wished to say to her. 

"They'll come all in good time, " she said; and felt it necessary todisplay her extreme calmness by lifting a salt-cellar and sweeping up alittle heap of bread-crumbs. 

"I want to apologize, " Ralph continued, not quite knowing what he wasabout to say, but feeling some curious instinct which urged him tocommit himself irrevocably, and to prevent the moment of intimacy frompassing. 

"I think I've treated you very badly. That is, I've told you lies. Didyou guess that I was lying to you? Once in Lincoln's Inn Fields andagain to-day on our walk. I am a liar, Mary. Did you know that? Do youthink you do know me?"

"I think I do, " she said. 

At this point the waiter changed their plates. 

"It's true I don't want you to go to America, " he said, looking fixedlyat the table-cloth. "In fact, my feelings towards you seem to be utterlyand damnably bad, " he said energetically, although forced to keep hisvoice low. 

"If I weren't a selfish beast I should tell you to have nothing more todo with me. And yet, Mary, in spite of the fact that I believe what I'msaying, I also believe that it's good we should know each other--theworld being what it is, you see--" and by a nod of his head he indicatedthe other occupants of the room, "for, of course, in an ideal state ofthings, in a decent community even, there's no doubt you shouldn't haveanything to do with me--seriously, that is. "

"You forget that I'm not an ideal character, either, " said Mary, inthe same low and very earnest tones, which, in spite of being almostinaudible, surrounded their table with an atmosphere of concentrationwhich was quite perceptible to the other diners, who glanced at them nowand then with a queer mixture of kindness, amusement, and curiosity. 

"I'm much more selfish than I let on, and I'm worldly a little--morethan you think, anyhow. I like bossing things--perhaps that's mygreatest fault. I've none of your passion for--" here she hesitated, andglanced at him, as if to ascertain what his passion was for--"for thetruth, " she added, as if she had found what she sought indisputably. 

"I've told you I'm a liar, " Ralph repeated obstinately. 

"Oh, in little things, I dare say, " she said impatiently. "But not inreal ones, and that's what matters. I dare say I'm more truthful thanyou are in small ways. But I could never care"--she was surprised tofind herself speaking the word, and had to force herself to speak itout--"for any one who was a liar in that way. I love the truth a certainamount--a considerable amount--but not in the way you love it. " Hervoice sank, became inaudible, and wavered as if she could scarcely keepherself from tears. 

"Good heavens!" Ralph exclaimed to himself. "She loves me! Why did Inever see it before? She's going to cry; no, but she can't speak. "

The certainty overwhelmed him so that he scarcely knew what he wasdoing; the blood rushed to his cheeks, and although he had quite madeup his mind to ask her to marry him, the certainty that she loved himseemed to change the situation so completely that he could not do it. He did not dare to look at her. If she cried, he did not know what heshould do. It seemed to him that something of a terrible and devastatingnature had happened. The waiter changed their plates once more. 

In his agitation Ralph rose, turned his back upon Mary, and looked outof the window. The people in the street seemed to him only a dissolvingand combining pattern of black particles; which, for the moment, represented very well the involuntary procession of feelings andthoughts which formed and dissolved in rapid succession in his own mind. At one moment he exulted in the thought that Mary loved him; at thenext, it seemed that he was without feeling for her; her love wasrepulsive to him. Now he felt urged to marry her at once; now todisappear and never see her again. In order to control this disorderlyrace of thought he forced himself to read the name on the chemist's shopdirectly opposite him; then to examine the objects in the shop windows, and then to focus his eyes exactly upon a little group of women lookingin at the great windows of a large draper's shop. This discipline havinggiven him at least a superficial control of himself, he was about toturn and ask the waiter to bring the bill, when his eye was caught by atall figure walking quickly along the opposite pavement--a tall figure, upright, dark, and commanding, much detached from her surroundings. Sheheld her gloves in her left hand, and the left hand was bare. All thisRalph noticed and enumerated and recognized before he put a name to thewhole--Katharine Hilbery. She seemed to be looking for somebody. Hereyes, in fact, scanned both sides of the street, and for one second wereraised directly to the bow window in which Ralph stood; but she lookedaway again instantly without giving any sign that she had seen him. Thissudden apparition had an extraordinary effect upon him. It was as if hehad thought of her so intensely that his mind had formed the shapeof her, rather than that he had seen her in the flesh outside in thestreet. And yet he had not been thinking of her at all. The impressionwas so intense that he could not dismiss it, nor even think whetherhe had seen her or merely imagined her. He sat down at once, and said, briefly and strangely, rather to himself than to Mary:

"That was Katharine Hilbery. "

"Katharine Hilbery? What do you mean?" she asked, hardly understandingfrom his manner whether he had seen her or not. 

"Katharine Hilbery, " he repeated. "But she's gone now. "

"Katharine Hilbery!" Mary thought, in an instant of blinding revelation;"I've always known it was Katharine Hilbery!" She knew it all now. 

After a moment of downcast stupor, she raised her eyes, looked steadilyat Ralph, and caught his fixed and dreamy gaze leveled at a point farbeyond their surroundings, a point that she had never reached in allthe time that she had known him. She noticed the lips just parted, thefingers loosely clenched, the whole attitude of rapt contemplation, which fell like a veil between them. She noticed everything about him;if there had been other signs of his utter alienation she would havesought them out, too, for she felt that it was only by heaping one truthupon another that she could keep herself sitting there, upright. Thetruth seemed to support her; it struck her, even as she looked at hisface, that the light of truth was shining far away beyond him; the lightof truth, she seemed to frame the words as she rose to go, shines on aworld not to be shaken by our personal calamities. 

Ralph handed her her coat and her stick. She took them, fastened thecoat securely, grasped the stick firmly. The ivy spray was still twistedabout the handle; this one sacrifice, she thought, she might make tosentimentality and personality, and she picked two leaves from the ivyand put them in her pocket before she disencumbered her stick of therest of it. She grasped the stick in the middle, and settled her fur capclosely upon her head, as if she must be in trim for a long and stormywalk. Next, standing in the middle of the road, she took a slip of paperfrom her purse, and read out loud a list of commissions entrusted toher--fruit, butter, string, and so on; and all the time she never spokedirectly to Ralph or looked at him. 

Ralph heard her giving orders to attentive, rosy-checked men in whiteaprons, and in spite of his own preoccupation, he commented upon thedetermination with which she made her wishes known. Once more he began, automatically, to take stock of her characteristics. Standingthus, superficially observant and stirring the sawdust on the floormeditatively with the toe of his boot, he was roused by a musicaland familiar voice behind him, accompanied by a light touch upon hisshoulder. 

"I'm not mistaken? Surely Mr. Denham? I caught a glimpse of your coatthrough the window, and I felt sure that I knew your coat. Have youseen Katharine or William? I'm wandering about Lincoln looking for theruins. "

It was Mrs. Hilbery; her entrance created some stir in the shop; manypeople looked at her. 

"First of all, tell me where I am, " she demanded, but, catching sightof the attentive shopman, she appealed to him. "The ruins--my party iswaiting for me at the ruins. The Roman ruins--or Greek, Mr. Denham? Yourtown has a great many beautiful things in it, but I wish it hadn'tso many ruins. I never saw such delightful little pots of honey in mylife--are they made by your own bees? Please give me one of those littlepots, and tell me how I shall find my way to the ruins. "

"And now, " she continued, having received the information and the potof honey, having been introduced to Mary, and having insisted that theyshould accompany her back to the ruins, since in a town with so manyturnings, such prospects, such delightful little half-naked boysdabbling in pools, such Venetian canals, such old blue china in thecuriosity shops, it was impossible for one person all alone to findher way to the ruins. "Now, " she exclaimed, "please tell me whatyou're doing here, Mr. Denham--for you ARE Mr. Denham, aren't you?" sheinquired, gazing at him with a sudden suspicion of her own accuracy. "The brilliant young man who writes for the Review, I mean? Onlyyesterday my husband was telling me he thought you one of the cleverestyoung men he knew. Certainly, you've been the messenger of Providence tome, for unless I'd seen you I'm sure I should never have found the ruinsat all. "

They had reached the Roman arch when Mrs. Hilbery caught sight of herown party, standing like sentinels facing up and down the road so as tointercept her if, as they expected, she had got lodged in some shop. 

"I've found something much better than ruins!" she exclaimed. "I'vefound two friends who told me how to find you, which I could never havedone without them. They must come and have tea with us. What a pity thatwe've just had luncheon. " Could they not somehow revoke that meal?

Katharine, who had gone a few steps by herself down the road, and wasinvestigating the window of an ironmonger, as if her mother might havegot herself concealed among mowing-machines and garden-shears, turnedsharply on hearing her voice, and came towards them. She was a greatdeal surprised to see Denham and Mary Datchet. Whether the cordialitywith which she greeted them was merely that which is natural to asurprise meeting in the country, or whether she was really glad to seethem both, at any rate she exclaimed with unusual pleasure as she shookhands:

"I never knew you lived here. Why didn't you say so, and we could havemet? And are you staying with Mary?" she continued, turning to Ralph. "What a pity we didn't meet before. "

Thus confronted at a distance of only a few feet by the real body of thewoman about whom he had dreamt so many million dreams, Ralph stammered;he made a clutch at his self-control; the color either came to hischeeks or left them, he knew not which; but he was determined to faceher and track down in the cold light of day whatever vestige of truththere might be in his persistent imaginations. He did not succeed insaying anything. It was Mary who spoke for both of them. He was struckdumb by finding that Katharine was quite different, in some strangeway, from his memory, so that he had to dismiss his old view in orderto accept the new one. The wind was blowing her crimson scarf across herface; the wind had already loosened her hair, which looped across thecorner of one of the large, dark eyes which, so he used to think, lookedsad; now they looked bright with the brightness of the sea struck by anunclouded ray; everything about her seemed rapid, fragmentary, and fullof a kind of racing speed. He realized suddenly that he had never seenher in the daylight before. 

Meanwhile, it was decided that it was too late to go in search of ruinsas they had intended; and the whole party began to walk towards thestables where the carriage had been put up. 

"Do you know, " said Katharine, keeping slightly in advance of the restwith Ralph, "I thought I saw you this morning, standing at a window. But I decided that it couldn't be you. And it must have been you all thesame. "

"Yes, I thought I saw you--but it wasn't you, " he replied. 

This remark, and the rough strain in his voice, recalled to her memoryso many difficult speeches and abortive meetings that she was jerkeddirectly back to the London drawing-room, the family relics, andthe tea-table; and at the same time recalled some half-finished orinterrupted remark which she had wanted to make herself or to hear fromhim--she could not remember what it was. 

"I expect it was me, " she said. "I was looking for my mother. It happensevery time we come to Lincoln. In fact, there never was a family sounable to take care of itself as ours is. Not that it very much matters, because some one always turns up in the nick of time to help us outof our scrapes. Once I was left in a field with a bull when I was ababy--but where did we leave the carriage? Down that street or thenext? The next, I think. " She glanced back and saw that the others werefollowing obediently, listening to certain memories of Lincoln uponwhich Mrs. Hilbery had started. "But what are you doing here?" sheasked. 

"I'm buying a cottage. I'm going to live here--as soon as I can find acottage, and Mary tells me there'll be no difficulty about that. "

"But, " she exclaimed, almost standing still in her surprise, "you willgive up the Bar, then?" It flashed across her mind that he must alreadybe engaged to Mary. 

"The solicitor's office? Yes. I'm giving that up. "

"But why?" she asked. She answered herself at once, with a curiouschange from rapid speech to an almost melancholy tone. "I think you'revery wise to give it up. You will be much happier. "

At this very moment, when her words seemed to be striking a path intothe future for him, they stepped into the yard of an inn, and therebeheld the family coach of the Otways, to which one sleek horse wasalready attached, while the second was being led out of the stable doorby the hostler. 

"I don't know what one means by happiness, " he said briefly, having tostep aside in order to avoid a groom with a bucket. "Why do you think Ishall be happy? I don't expect to be anything of the kind. I expect tobe rather less unhappy. I shall write a book and curse my charwoman--ifhappiness consists in that. What do you think?"

She could not answer because they were immediately surrounded by othermembers of the party--by Mrs. Hilbery, and Mary, Henry Otway, andWilliam. 

Rodney went up to Katharine immediately and said to her:

"Henry is going to drive home with your mother, and I suggest that theyshould put us down half-way and let us walk back. "

Katharine nodded her head. She glanced at him with an oddly furtiveexpression. 

"Unfortunately we go in opposite directions, or we might have given youa lift, " he continued to Denham. His manner was unusually peremptory; heseemed anxious to hasten the departure, and Katharine looked at him fromtime to time, as Denham noticed, with an expression half of inquiry, half of annoyance. She at once helped her mother into her cloak, andsaid to Mary:

"I want to see you. Are you going back to London at once? I willwrite. " She half smiled at Ralph, but her look was a little overcast bysomething she was thinking, and in a very few minutes the Otway carriagerolled out of the stable yard and turned down the high road leading tothe village of Lampsher. 

The return drive was almost as silent as the drive from home had beenin the morning; indeed, Mrs. Hilbery leant back with closed eyes inher corner, and either slept or feigned sleep, as her habit was in theintervals between the seasons of active exertion, or continued the storywhich she had begun to tell herself that morning. 

About two miles from Lampsher the road ran over the rounded summit ofthe heath, a lonely spot marked by an obelisk of granite, setting forththe gratitude of some great lady of the eighteenth century who had beenset upon by highwaymen at this spot and delivered from death just ashope seemed lost. In summer it was a pleasant place, for the deep woodson either side murmured, and the heather, which grew thick round thegranite pedestal, made the light breeze taste sweetly; in winter thesighing of the trees was deepened to a hollow sound, and the heath wasas gray and almost as solitary as the empty sweep of the clouds aboveit. 

Here Rodney stopped the carriage and helped Katharine to alight. Henry, too, gave her his hand, and fancied that she pressed it very slightlyin parting as if she sent him a message. But the carriage rolled onimmediately, without wakening Mrs. Hilbery, and left the couple standingby the obelisk. That Rodney was angry with her and had made thisopportunity for speaking to her, Katharine knew very well; she wasneither glad nor sorry that the time had come, nor, indeed, knew what toexpect, and thus remained silent. The carriage grew smaller and smallerupon the dusky road, and still Rodney did not speak. Perhaps, shethought, he waited until the last sign of the carriage had disappearedbeneath the curve of the road and they were left entirely alone. Tocloak their silence she read the writing on the obelisk, to do which shehad to walk completely round it. She was murmuring a word to two of thepious lady's thanks above her breath when Rodney joined her. In silencethey set out along the cart-track which skirted the verge of the trees. 

To break the silence was exactly what Rodney wished to do, and yet couldnot do to his own satisfaction. In company it was far easier to approachKatharine; alone with her, the aloofness and force of her characterchecked all his natural methods of attack. He believed that she hadbehaved very badly to him, but each separate instance of unkindnessseemed too petty to be advanced when they were alone together. 

"There's no need for us to race, " he complained at last; upon which sheimmediately slackened her pace, and walked too slowly to suit him. Indesperation he said the first thing he thought of, very peevishly andwithout the dignified prelude which he had intended. 

"I've not enjoyed my holiday. "

"No?"

"No. I shall be glad to get back to work again. "

"Saturday, Sunday, Monday--there are only three days more, " she counted. 

"No one enjoys being made a fool of before other people, " he blurtedout, for his irritation rose as she spoke, and got the better of his aweof her, and was inflamed by that awe. 

"That refers to me, I suppose, " she said calmly. 

"Every day since we've been here you've done something to make me appearridiculous, " he went on. "Of course, so long as it amuses you, you'rewelcome; but we have to remember that we are going to spend our livestogether. I asked you, only this morning, for example, to come out andtake a turn with me in the garden. I was waiting for you ten minutes, and you never came. Every one saw me waiting. The stable-boys saw me. I was so ashamed that I went in. Then, on the drive you hardly spoke tome. Henry noticed it. Every one notices it.... You find no difficulty intalking to Henry, though. "

She noted these various complaints and determined philosophicallyto answer none of them, although the last stung her to considerableirritation. She wished to find out how deep his grievance lay. 

"None of these things seem to me to matter, " she said. 

"Very well, then. I may as well hold my tongue, " he replied. 

"In themselves they don't seem to me to matter; if they hurt you, ofcourse they matter, " she corrected herself scrupulously. Her tone ofconsideration touched him, and he walked on in silence for a space. 

"And we might be so happy, Katharine!" he exclaimed impulsively, anddrew her arm through his. She withdrew it directly. 

"As long as you let yourself feel like this we shall never be happy, "she said. 

The harshness, which Henry had noticed, was again unmistakable in hermanner. William flinched and was silent. Such severity, accompaniedby something indescribably cold and impersonal in her manner, hadconstantly been meted out to him during the last few days, always in thecompany of others. He had recouped himself by some ridiculous display ofvanity which, as he knew, put him still more at her mercy. Now thathe was alone with her there was no stimulus from outside to draw hisattention from his injury. By a considerable effort of self-control heforced himself to remain silent, and to make himself distinguish whatpart of his pain was due to vanity, what part to the certainty that nowoman really loving him could speak thus. 

"What do I feel about Katharine?" he thought to himself. It was clearthat she had been a very desirable and distinguished figure, themistress of her little section of the world; but more than that, she wasthe person of all others who seemed to him the arbitress of life, thewoman whose judgment was naturally right and steady, as his had neverbeen in spite of all his culture. And then he could not see her comeinto a room without a sense of the flowing of robes, of the flowering ofblossoms, of the purple waves of the sea, of all things that are lovelyand mutable on the surface but still and passionate in their heart. 

"If she were callous all the time and had only led me on to laugh at meI couldn't have felt that about her, " he thought. "I'm not a fool, afterall. I can't have been utterly mistaken all these years. And yet, whenshe speaks to me like that! The truth of it is, " he thought, "that I'vegot such despicable faults that no one could help speaking to melike that. Katharine is quite right. And yet those are not my seriousfeelings, as she knows quite well. How can I change myself? What wouldmake her care for me?" He was terribly tempted here to break the silenceby asking Katharine in what respects he could change himself to suither; but he sought consolation instead by running over the list of hisgifts and acquirements, his knowledge of Greek and Latin, his knowledgeof art and literature, his skill in the management of meters, and hisancient west-country blood. But the feeling that underlay all thesefeelings and puzzled him profoundly and kept him silent was thecertainty that he loved Katharine as sincerely as he had it in him tolove any one. And yet she could speak to him like that! In a sort ofbewilderment he lost all desire to speak, and would quite readily havetaken up some different topic of conversation if Katharine had startedone. This, however, she did not do. 

He glanced at her, in case her expression might help him to understandher behavior. As usual, she had quickened her pace unconsciously, andwas now walking a little in front of him; but he could gain littleinformation from her eyes, which looked steadily at the brown heather, or from the lines drawn seriously upon her forehead. Thus to lose touchwith her, for he had no idea what she was thinking, was so unpleasant tohim that he began to talk about his grievances again, without, however, much conviction in his voice. 

"If you have no feeling for me, wouldn't it be kinder to say so to me inprivate?"

"Oh, William, " she burst out, as if he had interrupted some absorbingtrain of thought, "how you go on about feelings! Isn't it better not totalk so much, not to be worrying always about small things that don'treally matter?"

"That's the question precisely, " he exclaimed. "I only want you to tellme that they don't matter. There are times when you seem indifferent toeverything. I'm vain, I've a thousand faults; but you know they're noteverything; you know I care for you. "

"And if I say that I care for you, don't you believe me?"

"Say it, Katharine! Say it as if you meant it! Make me feel that youcare for me!"

She could not force herself to speak a word. The heather was growing dimaround them, and the horizon was blotted out by white mist. To ask herfor passion or for certainty seemed like asking that damp prospect forfierce blades of fire, or the faded sky for the intense blue vault ofJune. 

He went on now to tell her of his love for her, in words which bore, even to her critical senses, the stamp of truth; but none of thistouched her, until, coming to a gate whose hinge was rusty, he heavedit open with his shoulder, still talking and taking no account of hiseffort. The virility of this deed impressed her; and yet, normally, sheattached no value to the power of opening gates. The strength of muscleshas nothing to do on the face of it with the strength of affections;nevertheless, she felt a sudden concern for this power running to wasteon her account, which, combined with a desire to keep possession of thatstrangely attractive masculine power, made her rouse herself from hertorpor. 

Why should she not simply tell him the truth--which was that she hadaccepted him in a misty state of mind when nothing had its right shapeor size? that it was deplorable, but that with clearer eyesight marriagewas out of the question? She did not want to marry any one. She wantedto go away by herself, preferably to some bleak northern moor, andthere study mathematics and the science of astronomy. Twenty words wouldexplain the whole situation to him. He had ceased to speak; he had toldher once more how he loved her and why. She summoned her courage, fixedher eyes upon a lightning-splintered ash-tree, and, almost as if shewere reading a writing fixed to the trunk, began:

"I was wrong to get engaged to you. I shall never make you happy. I havenever loved you. "

"Katharine!" he protested. 

"No, never, " she repeated obstinately. "Not rightly. Don't you see, Ididn't know what I was doing?"

"You love some one else?" he cut her short. 

"Absolutely no one. "

"Henry?" he demanded. 

"Henry? I should have thought, William, even you--"

"There is some one, " he persisted. "There has been a change in the lastfew weeks. You owe it to me to be honest, Katharine. "

"If I could, I would, " she replied. 

"Why did you tell me you would marry me, then?" he demanded. 

Why, indeed? A moment of pessimism, a sudden conviction of theundeniable prose of life, a lapse of the illusion which sustains youthmidway between heaven and earth, a desperate attempt to reconcileherself with facts--she could only recall a moment, as of waking from adream, which now seemed to her a moment of surrender. But who could givereasons such as these for doing what she had done? She shook her headvery sadly. 

"But you're not a child--you're not a woman of moods, " Rodney persisted. "You couldn't have accepted me if you hadn't loved me!" he cried. 

A sense of her own misbehavior, which she had succeeded in keeping fromher by sharpening her consciousness of Rodney's faults, now swept overher and almost overwhelmed her. What were his faults in comparison withthe fact that he cared for her? What were her virtues in comparison withthe fact that she did not care for him? In a flash the conviction thatnot to care is the uttermost sin of all stamped itself upon her inmostthought; and she felt herself branded for ever. 

He had taken her arm, and held her hand firmly in his, nor had she theforce to resist what now seemed to her his enormously superior strength. Very well; she would submit, as her mother and her aunt and most women, perhaps, had submitted; and yet she knew that every second of suchsubmission to his strength was a second of treachery to him. 

"I did say I would marry you, but it was wrong, " she forced herselfto say, and she stiffened her arm as if to annul even the seemingsubmission of that separate part of her; "for I don't love you, William; you've noticed it, every one's noticed it; why should we go onpretending? When I told you I loved you, I was wrong. I said what I knewto be untrue. "

As none of her words seemed to her at all adequate to represent whatshe felt, she repeated them, and emphasized them without realizingthe effect that they might have upon a man who cared for her. She wascompletely taken aback by finding her arm suddenly dropped; then she sawhis face most strangely contorted; was he laughing, it flashed acrossher? In another moment she saw that he was in tears. In her bewildermentat this apparition she stood aghast for a second. With a desperate sensethat this horror must, at all costs, be stopped, she then put her armsabout him, drew his head for a moment upon her shoulder, and led him on, murmuring words of consolation, until he heaved a great sigh. They heldfast to each other; her tears, too, ran down her cheeks; and were bothquite silent. Noticing the difficulty with which he walked, and feelingthe same extreme lassitude in her own limbs, she proposed that theyshould rest for a moment where the bracken was brown and shriveledbeneath an oak-tree. He assented. Once more he gave a great sigh, andwiped his eyes with a childlike unconsciousness, and began to speakwithout a trace of his previous anger. The idea came to her that theywere like the children in the fairy tale who were lost in a wood, andwith this in her mind she noticed the scattering of dead leaves allround them which had been blown by the wind into heaps, a foot or twodeep, here and there. 

"When did you begin to feel this, Katharine?" he said; "for it isn'ttrue to say that you've always felt it. I admit I was unreasonablethe first night when you found that your clothes had been left behind. Still, where's the fault in that? I could promise you never to interferewith your clothes again. I admit I was cross when I found you upstairswith Henry. Perhaps I showed it too openly. But that's not unreasonableeither when one's engaged. Ask your mother. And now this terriblething--" He broke off, unable for the moment to proceed any further. "This decision you say you've come to--have you discussed it with anyone? Your mother, for example, or Henry?"

"No, no, of course not, " she said, stirring the leaves with her hand. "But you don't understand me, William--"

"Help me to understand you--"

"You don't understand, I mean, my real feelings; how could you? I'veonly now faced them myself. But I haven't got the sort of feeling--love, I mean--I don't know what to call it"--she looked vaguely towards thehorizon sunk under mist--"but, anyhow, without it our marriage would bea farce--"

"How a farce?" he asked. "But this kind of analysis is disastrous!" heexclaimed. 

"I should have done it before, " she said gloomily. 

"You make yourself think things you don't think, " he continued, becomingdemonstrative with his hands, as his manner was. "Believe me, Katharine, before we came here we were perfectly happy. You were full of plans forour house--the chair-covers, don't you remember?--like any other womanwho is about to be married. Now, for no reason whatever, you begin tofret about your feeling and about my feeling, with the usual result. Iassure you, Katharine, I've been through it all myself. At one time Iwas always asking myself absurd questions which came to nothing either. What you want, if I may say so, is some occupation to take you outof yourself when this morbid mood comes on. If it hadn't been for mypoetry, I assure you, I should often have been very much in the samestate myself. To let you into a secret, " he continued, with his littlechuckle, which now sounded almost assured, "I've often gone home fromseeing you in such a state of nerves that I had to force myself to writea page or two before I could get you out of my head. Ask Denham; he'lltell you how he met me one night; he'll tell you what a state he foundme in. "

Katharine started with displeasure at the mention of Ralph's name. Thethought of the conversation in which her conduct had been made a subjectfor discussion with Denham roused her anger; but, as she instantly felt, she had scarcely the right to grudge William any use of her name, seeingwhat her fault against him had been from first to last. And yet Denham!She had a view of him as a judge. She figured him sternly weighinginstances of her levity in this masculine court of inquiry into femininemorality and gruffly dismissing both her and her family with somehalf-sarcastic, half-tolerant phrase which sealed her doom, as far ashe was concerned, for ever. Having met him so lately, the sense of hischaracter was strong in her. The thought was not a pleasant one fora proud woman, but she had yet to learn the art of subduing herexpression. Her eyes fixed upon the ground, her brows drawn together, gave William a very fair picture of the resentment that she was forcingherself to control. A certain degree of apprehension, occasionallyculminating in a kind of fear, had always entered into his love for her, and had increased, rather to his surprise, in the greater intimacy oftheir engagement. Beneath her steady, exemplary surface ran a vein ofpassion which seemed to him now perverse, now completely irrational, forit never took the normal channel of glorification of him and his doings;and, indeed, he almost preferred the steady good sense, which had alwaysmarked their relationship, to a more romantic bond. But passion she had, he could not deny it, and hitherto he had tried to see it employed inhis thoughts upon the lives of the children who were to be born to them. 

"She will make a perfect mother--a mother of sons, " he thought; butseeing her sitting there, gloomy and silent, he began to have his doubtson this point. "A farce, a farce, " he thought to himself. "She said thatour marriage would be a farce, " and he became suddenly aware of theirsituation, sitting upon the ground, among the dead leaves, not fiftyyards from the main road, so that it was quite possible for some onepassing to see and recognize them. He brushed off his face any tracethat might remain of that unseemly exhibition of emotion. But he wasmore troubled by Katharine's appearance, as she sat rapt in thought uponthe ground, than by his own; there was something improper to him in herself-forgetfulness. A man naturally alive to the conventions of society, he was strictly conventional where women were concerned, and especiallyif the women happened to be in any way connected with him. He noticedwith distress the long strand of dark hair touching her shoulder and twoor three dead beech-leaves attached to her dress; but to recall hermind in their present circumstances to a sense of these details wasimpossible. She sat there, seeming unconscious of everything. Hesuspected that in her silence she was reproaching herself; but he wishedthat she would think of her hair and of the dead beech-leaves, whichwere of more immediate importance to him than anything else. Indeed, these trifles drew his attention strangely from his own doubtful anduneasy state of mind; for relief, mixing itself with pain, stirred up amost curious hurry and tumult in his breast, almost concealing hisfirst sharp sense of bleak and overwhelming disappointment. In order torelieve this restlessness and close a distressingly ill-ordered scene, he rose abruptly and helped Katharine to her feet. She smiled a littleat the minute care with which he tidied her and yet, when he brushed thedead leaves from his own coat, she flinched, seeing in that action thegesture of a lonely man. 

"William, " she said, "I will marry you. I will try to make you happy. "

CHAPTER XIX

The afternoon was already growing dark when the two other wayfarers, Mary and Ralph Denham, came out on the high road beyond the outskirtsof Lincoln. The high road, as they both felt, was better suited to thisreturn journey than the open country, and for the first mile or soof the way they spoke little. In his own mind Ralph was following thepassage of the Otway carriage over the heath; he then went back to thefive or ten minutes that he had spent with Katharine, and examined eachword with the care that a scholar displays upon the irregularities ofan ancient text. He was determined that the glow, the romance, theatmosphere of this meeting should not paint what he must in futureregard as sober facts. On her side Mary was silent, not because herthoughts took much handling, but because her mind seemed empty ofthought as her heart of feeling. Only Ralph's presence, as she knew, preserved this numbness, for she could foresee a time of loneliness whenmany varieties of pain would beset her. At the present moment her effortwas to preserve what she could of the wreck of her self-respect, forsuch she deemed that momentary glimpse of her love so involuntarilyrevealed to Ralph. In the light of reason it did not much matter, perhaps, but it was her instinct to be careful of that vision of herselfwhich keeps pace so evenly beside every one of us, and had been damagedby her confession. The gray night coming down over the country was kindto her; and she thought that one of these days she would find comfortin sitting upon the earth, alone, beneath a tree. Looking through thedarkness, she marked the swelling ground and the tree. Ralph made herstart by saying abruptly;

"What I was going to say when we were interrupted at lunch was that ifyou go to America I shall come, too. It can't be harder to earn a livingthere than it is here. However, that's not the point. The point is, Mary, that I want to marry you. Well, what do you say?" He spoke firmly, waited for no answer, and took her arm in his. "You know me by thistime, the good and the bad, " he went on. "You know my tempers. I'vetried to let you know my faults. Well, what do you say, Mary?"

She said nothing, but this did not seem to strike him. 

"In most ways, at least in the important ways, as you said, we know eachother and we think alike. I believe you are the only person in the worldI could live with happily. And if you feel the same about me--as you do, don't you, Mary?--we should make each other happy. " Here he paused, and seemed to be in no hurry for an answer; he seemed, indeed, to becontinuing his own thoughts. 

"Yes, but I'm afraid I couldn't do it, " Mary said at last. The casualand rather hurried way in which she spoke, together with the factthat she was saying the exact opposite of what he expected her to say, baffled him so much that he instinctively loosened his clasp upon herarm and she withdrew it quietly. 

"You couldn't do it?" he asked. 

"No, I couldn't marry you, " she replied. 

"You don't care for me?"

She made no answer. 

"Well, Mary, " he said, with a curious laugh, "I must be an arrant fool, for I thought you did. " They walked for a minute or two in silence, and suddenly he turned to her, looked at her, and exclaimed: "I don'tbelieve you, Mary. You're not telling me the truth. "

"I'm too tired to argue, Ralph, " she replied, turning her head away fromhim. "I ask you to believe what I say. I can't marry you; I don't wantto marry you. "

The voice in which she stated this was so evidently the voice of one insome extremity of anguish that Ralph had no course but to obey her. Andas soon as the tone of her voice had died out, and the surprise fadedfrom his mind, he found himself believing that she had spoken the truth, for he had but little vanity, and soon her refusal seemed a naturalthing to him. He slipped through all the grades of despondency until hereached a bottom of absolute gloom. Failure seemed to mark the whole ofhis life; he had failed with Katharine, and now he had failed withMary. Up at once sprang the thought of Katharine, and with it a sense ofexulting freedom, but this he checked instantly. No good had ever cometo him from Katharine; his whole relationship with her had been made upof dreams; and as he thought of the little substance there had been inhis dreams he began to lay the blame of the present catastrophe upon hisdreams. 

"Haven't I always been thinking of Katharine while I was with Mary? Imight have loved Mary if it hadn't been for that idiocy of mine. Shecared for me once, I'm certain of that, but I tormented her so with myhumors that I let my chances slip, and now she won't risk marrying me. And this is what I've made of my life--nothing, nothing, nothing. "

The tramp of their boots upon the dry road seemed to asseverate nothing, nothing, nothing. Mary thought that this silence was the silenceof relief; his depression she ascribed to the fact that he had seenKatharine and parted from her, leaving her in the company of WilliamRodney. She could not blame him for loving Katharine, but that, when heloved another, he should ask her to marry him--that seemed to herthe cruellest treachery. Their old friendship and its firm base uponindestructible qualities of character crumbled, and her whole pastseemed foolish, herself weak and credulous, and Ralph merely the shellof an honest man. Oh, the past--so much made up of Ralph; and now, asshe saw, made up of something strange and false and other than she hadthought it. She tried to recapture a saying she had made to help herselfthat morning, as Ralph paid the bill for luncheon; but she could seehim paying the bill more vividly than she could remember the phrase. Something about truth was in it; how to see the truth is our greatchance in this world. 

"If you don't want to marry me, " Ralph now began again, withoutabruptness, with diffidence rather, "there is no need why we shouldcease to see each other, is there? Or would you rather that we shouldkeep apart for the present?"

"Keep apart? I don't know--I must think about it. "

"Tell me one thing, Mary, " he resumed; "have I done anything to make youchange your mind about me?"

She was immensely tempted to give way to her natural trust in him, revived by the deep and now melancholy tones of his voice, and to tellhim of her love, and of what had changed it. But although it seemedlikely that she would soon control her anger with him, the certaintythat he did not love her, confirmed by every word of his proposal, forbade any freedom of speech. To hear him speak and to feel herselfunable to reply, or constrained in her replies, was so painful that shelonged for the time when she should be alone. A more pliant woman wouldhave taken this chance of an explanation, whatever risks attached to it;but to one of Mary's firm and resolute temperament there was degradationin the idea of self-abandonment; let the waves of emotion rise ever sohigh, she could not shut her eyes to what she conceived to be the truth. Her silence puzzled Ralph. He searched his memory for words or deedsthat might have made her think badly of him. In his present moodinstances came but too quickly, and on top of them this culminatingproof of his baseness--that he had asked her to marry him when hisreasons for such a proposal were selfish and half-hearted. 

"You needn't answer, " he said grimly. "There are reasons enough, I know. But must they kill our friendship, Mary? Let me keep that, at least. "

"Oh, " she thought to herself, with a sudden rush of anguish whichthreatened disaster to her self-respect, "it has come to this--tothis--when I could have given him everything!"

"Yes, we can still be friends, " she said, with what firmness she couldmuster. 

"I shall want your friendship, " he said. He added, "If you find itpossible, let me see you as often as you can. The oftener the better. Ishall want your help. "

She promised this, and they went on to talk calmly of things that hadno reference to their feelings--a talk which, in its constraint, wasinfinitely sad to both of them. 

One more reference was made to the state of things between them latethat night, when Elizabeth had gone to her room, and the two young menhad stumbled off to bed in such a state of sleep that they hardly feltthe floor beneath their feet after a day's shooting. 

Mary drew her chair a little nearer to the fire, for the logs wereburning low, and at this time of night it was hardly worth while toreplenish them. Ralph was reading, but she had noticed for some timethat his eyes instead of following the print were fixed rather above thepage with an intensity of gloom that came to weigh upon her mind. Shehad not weakened in her resolve not to give way, for reflection had onlymade her more bitterly certain that, if she gave way, it would be to herown wish and not to his. But she had determined that there was no reasonwhy he should suffer if her reticence were the cause of his suffering. Therefore, although she found it painful, she spoke:

"You asked me if I had changed my mind about you, Ralph, " she said. "Ithink there's only one thing. When you asked me to marry you, I don'tthink you meant it. That made me angry--for the moment. Before, you'dalways spoken the truth. "

Ralph's book slid down upon his knee and fell upon the floor. He restedhis forehead on his hand and looked into the fire. He was trying torecall the exact words in which he had made his proposal to Mary. 

"I never said I loved you, " he said at last. 

She winced; but she respected him for saying what he did, for this, after all, was a fragment of the truth which she had vowed to live by. 

"And to me marriage without love doesn't seem worth while, " she said. 

"Well, Mary, I'm not going to press you, " he said. "I see you don't wantto marry me. But love--don't we all talk a great deal of nonsense aboutit? What does one mean? I believe I care for you more genuinely thannine men out of ten care for the women they're in love with. It's only astory one makes up in one's mind about another person, and one knows allthe time it isn't true. Of course one knows; why, one's always takingcare not to destroy the illusion. One takes care not to see them toooften, or to be alone with them for too long together. It's a pleasantillusion, but if you're thinking of the risks of marriage, it seems tome that the risk of marrying a person you're in love with is somethingcolossal. "

"I don't believe a word of that, and what's more you don't, either, "she replied with anger. "However, we don't agree; I only wanted you tounderstand. " She shifted her position, as if she were about to go. Aninstinctive desire to prevent her from leaving the room made Ralph riseat this point and begin pacing up and down the nearly empty kitchen, checking his desire, each time he reached the door, to open it and stepout into the garden. A moralist might have said that at this point hismind should have been full of self-reproach for the suffering he hadcaused. On the contrary, he was extremely angry, with the confusedimpotent anger of one who finds himself unreasonably but efficientlyfrustrated. He was trapped by the illogicality of human life. Theobstacles in the way of his desire seemed to him purely artificial, andyet he could see no way of removing them. Mary's words, the tone of hervoice even, angered him, for she would not help him. She was part of theinsanely jumbled muddle of a world which impedes the sensible life. Hewould have liked to slam the door or break the hind legs of a chair, for the obstacles had taken some such curiously substantial shape in hismind. 

"I doubt that one human being ever understands another, " he said, stopping in his march and confronting Mary at a distance of a few feet. 

"Such damned liars as we all are, how can we? But we can try. If youdon't want to marry me, don't; but the position you take up about love, and not seeing each other--isn't that mere sentimentality? You thinkI've behaved very badly, " he continued, as she did not speak. "Of courseI behave badly; but you can't judge people by what they do. You can'tgo through life measuring right and wrong with a foot-rule. That's whatyou're always doing, Mary; that's what you're doing now. "

She saw herself in the Suffrage Office, delivering judgment, metingout right and wrong, and there seemed to her to be some justice in thecharge, although it did not affect her main position. 

"I'm not angry with you, " she said slowly. "I will go on seeing you, asI said I would. "

It was true that she had promised that much already, and it wasdifficult for him to say what more it was that he wanted--some intimacy, some help against the ghost of Katharine, perhaps, something that heknew he had no right to ask; and yet, as he sank into his chair andlooked once more at the dying fire it seemed to him that he had beendefeated, not so much by Mary as by life itself. He felt himself thrownback to the beginning of life again, where everything has yet to be won;but in extreme youth one has an ignorant hope. He was no longer certainthat he would triumph. 

CHAPTER XX

Happily for Mary Datchet she returned to the office to find that by someobscure Parliamentary maneuver the vote had once more slipped beyond theattainment of women. Mrs. Seal was in a condition bordering upon frenzy. The duplicity of Ministers, the treachery of mankind, the insult towomanhood, the setback to civilization, the ruin of her life's work, thefeelings of her father's daughter--all these topics were discussed inturn, and the office was littered with newspaper cuttings branded withthe blue, if ambiguous, marks of her displeasure. She confessed herselfat fault in her estimate of human nature. 

"The simple elementary acts of justice, " she said, waving her handtowards the window, and indicating the foot-passengers and omnibusesthen passing down the far side of Russell Square, "are as far beyondthem as they ever were. We can only look upon ourselves, Mary, aspioneers in a wilderness. We can only go on patiently putting the truthbefore them. It isn't THEM, " she continued, taking heart from her sightof the traffic, "it's their leaders. It's those gentlemen sitting inParliament and drawing four hundred a year of the people's money. If wehad to put our case to the people, we should soon have justice done tous. I have always believed in the people, and I do so still. But--" Sheshook her head and implied that she would give them one more chance, and if they didn't take advantage of that she couldn't answer for theconsequences. 

Mr. Clacton's attitude was more philosophical and better supported bystatistics. He came into the room after Mrs. Seal's outburst and pointedout, with historical illustrations, that such reverses had happened inevery political campaign of any importance. If anything, his spiritswere improved by the disaster. The enemy, he said, had taken theoffensive; and it was now up to the Society to outwit the enemy. He gaveMary to understand that he had taken the measure of their cunning, andhad already bent his mind to the task which, so far as she could makeout, depended solely upon him. It depended, so she came to think, when invited into his room for a private conference, upon a systematicrevision of the card-index, upon the issue of certain new lemon-coloredleaflets, in which the facts were marshaled once more in a very strikingway, and upon a large scale map of England dotted with little pinstufted with differently colored plumes of hair according to theirgeographical position. Each district, under the new system, had itsflag, its bottle of ink, its sheaf of documents tabulated and filedfor reference in a drawer, so that by looking under M or S, as thecase might be, you had all the facts with respect to the Suffrageorganizations of that county at your fingers' ends. This would require agreat deal of work, of course. 

"We must try to consider ourselves rather in the light of a telephoneexchange--for the exchange of ideas, Miss Datchet, " he said; and takingpleasure in his image, he continued it. "We should consider ourselvesthe center of an enormous system of wires, connecting us up with everydistrict of the country. We must have our fingers upon the pulse of thecommunity; we want to know what people all over England are thinking; wewant to put them in the way of thinking rightly. " The system, of course, was only roughly sketched so far--jotted down, in fact, during theChristmas holidays. 

"When you ought to have been taking a rest, Mr. Clacton, " said Marydutifully, but her tone was flat and tired. 

"We learn to do without holidays, Miss Datchet, " said Mr. Clacton, witha spark of satisfaction in his eye. 

He wished particularly to have her opinion of the lemon-colored leaflet. According to his plan, it was to be distributed in immense quantitiesimmediately, in order to stimulate and generate, "to generate andstimulate, " he repeated, "right thoughts in the country before themeeting of Parliament. "

"We have to take the enemy by surprise, " he said. "They don't let thegrass grow under their feet. Have you seen Bingham's address to hisconstituents? That's a hint of the sort of thing we've got to meet, MissDatchet. "

He handed her a great bundle of newspaper cuttings, and, begging her togive him her views upon the yellow leaflet before lunch-time, he turnedwith alacrity to his different sheets of paper and his different bottlesof ink. 

Mary shut the door, laid the documents upon her table, and sank herhead on her hands. Her brain was curiously empty of any thought. Shelistened, as if, perhaps, by listening she would become merged againin the atmosphere of the office. From the next room came the rapidspasmodic sounds of Mrs. Seal's erratic typewriting; she, doubtless, wasalready hard at work helping the people of England, as Mr. Clactonput it, to think rightly; "generating and stimulating, " those were hiswords. She was striking a blow against the enemy, no doubt, who didn'tlet the grass grow beneath their feet. Mr. Clacton's words repeatedthemselves accurately in her brain. She pushed the papers wearily overto the farther side of the table. It was no use, though; something orother had happened to her brain--a change of focus so that near thingswere indistinct again. The same thing had happened to her once before, she remembered, after she had met Ralph in the gardens of Lincoln's InnFields; she had spent the whole of a committee meeting in thinking aboutsparrows and colors, until, almost at the end of the meeting, her oldconvictions had all come back to her. But they had only come back, shethought with scorn at her feebleness, because she wanted to use them tofight against Ralph. They weren't, rightly speaking, convictions at all. She could not see the world divided into separate compartments of goodpeople and bad people, any more than she could believe so implicitly inthe rightness of her own thought as to wish to bring the populationof the British Isles into agreement with it. She looked at thelemon-colored leaflet, and thought almost enviously of the faith whichcould find comfort in the issue of such documents; for herself she wouldbe content to remain silent for ever if a share of personal happinesswere granted her. She read Mr. Clacton's statement with a curiousdivision of judgment, noting its weak and pompous verbosity on the onehand, and, at the same time, feeling that faith, faith in an illusion, perhaps, but, at any rate, faith in something, was of all gifts the mostto be envied. An illusion it was, no doubt. She looked curiously roundher at the furniture of the office, at the machinery in which shehad taken so much pride, and marveled to think that once thecopying-presses, the card-index, the files of documents, had all beenshrouded, wrapped in some mist which gave them a unity and a generaldignity and purpose independently of their separate significance. The ugly cumbersomeness of the furniture alone impressed her now. Herattitude had become very lax and despondent when the typewriter stoppedin the next room. Mary immediately drew up to the table, laid hands onan unopened envelope, and adopted an expression which might hide herstate of mind from Mrs. Seal. Some instinct of decency required that sheshould not allow Mrs. Seal to see her face. Shading her eyes with herfingers, she watched Mrs. Seal pull out one drawer after another in hersearch for some envelope or leaflet. She was tempted to drop her fingersand exclaim:

"Do sit down, Sally, and tell me how you manage it--how you manage, thatis, to bustle about with perfect confidence in the necessity of yourown activities, which to me seem as futile as the buzzing of a belatedblue-bottle. " She said nothing of the kind, however, and the presence ofindustry which she preserved so long as Mrs. Seal was in the room servedto set her brain in motion, so that she dispatched her morning's workmuch as usual. At one o'clock she was surprised to find how efficientlyshe had dealt with the morning. As she put her hat on she determinedto lunch at a shop in the Strand, so as to set that other piece ofmechanism, her body, into action. With a brain working and a bodyworking one could keep step with the crowd and never be found out forthe hollow machine, lacking the essential thing, that one was consciousof being. 

She considered her case as she walked down the Charing Cross Road. Sheput to herself a series of questions. Would she mind, for example, ifthe wheels of that motor-omnibus passed over her and crushed herto death? No, not in the least; or an adventure with thatdisagreeable-looking man hanging about the entrance of the Tube station?No; she could not conceive fear or excitement. Did suffering in any formappall her? No, suffering was neither good nor bad. And this essentialthing? In the eyes of every single person she detected a flame; as if aspark in the brain ignited spontaneously at contact with the thingsthey met and drove them on. The young women looking into the milliners'windows had that look in their eyes; and elderly men turning over booksin the second-hand book-shops, and eagerly waiting to hear what theprice was--the very lowest price--they had it, too. But she carednothing at all for clothes or for money either. Books she shrank from, for they were connected too closely with Ralph. She kept on her wayresolutely through the crowd of people, among whom she was so much of analien, feeling them cleave and give way before her. 

Strange thoughts are bred in passing through crowded streets should thepassenger, by chance, have no exact destination in front of him, muchas the mind shapes all kinds of forms, solutions, images when listeninginattentively to music. From an acute consciousness of herself as anindividual, Mary passed to a conception of the scheme of things inwhich, as a human being, she must have her share. She half held avision; the vision shaped and dwindled. She wished she had a pencil anda piece of paper to help her to give a form to this conception whichcomposed itself as she walked down the Charing Cross Road. But if shetalked to any one, the conception might escape her. Her vision seemed tolay out the lines of her life until death in a way which satisfiedher sense of harmony. It only needed a persistent effort of thought, stimulated in this strange way by the crowd and the noise, to climb thecrest of existence and see it all laid out once and for ever. Alreadyher suffering as an individual was left behind her. Of this process, which was to her so full of effort, which comprised infinitely swiftand full passages of thought, leading from one crest to another, as sheshaped her conception of life in this world, only two articulatewords escaped her, muttered beneath her breath--"Not happiness--nothappiness. "

She sat down on a seat opposite the statue of one of London's heroesupon the Embankment, and spoke the words aloud. To her they representedthe rare flower or splinter of rock brought down by a climber in proofthat he has stood for a moment, at least, upon the highest peak ofthe mountain. She had been up there and seen the world spread to thehorizon. It was now necessary to alter her course to some extent, according to her new resolve. Her post should be in one of those exposedand desolate stations which are shunned naturally by happy people. Shearranged the details of the new plan in her mind, not without a grimsatisfaction. 

"Now, " she said to herself, rising from her seat, "I'll think of Ralph. "

Where was he to be placed in the new scale of life? Her exalted moodseemed to make it safe to handle the question. But she was dismayed tofind how quickly her passions leapt forward the moment she sanctionedthis line of thought. Now she was identified with him and rethought histhoughts with complete self-surrender; now, with a sudden cleavage ofspirit, she turned upon him and denounced him for his cruelty. 

"But I refuse--I refuse to hate any one, " she said aloud; chose themoment to cross the road with circumspection, and ten minutes laterlunched in the Strand, cutting her meat firmly into small pieces, butgiving her fellow-diners no further cause to judge her eccentric. Hersoliloquy crystallized itself into little fragmentary phrases emergingsuddenly from the turbulence of her thought, particularly when shehad to exert herself in any way, either to move, to count money, orto choose a turning. "To know the truth--to accept withoutbitterness"--those, perhaps, were the most articulate of her utterances, for no one could have made head or tail of the queer gibberish murmuredin front of the statue of Francis, Duke of Bedford, save that the nameof Ralph occurred frequently in very strange connections, as if, havingspoken it, she wished, superstitiously, to cancel it by adding someother word that robbed the sentence with his name in it of any meaning. 

Those champions of the cause of women, Mr. Clacton and Mrs. Seal, didnot perceive anything strange in Mary's behavior, save that she wasalmost half an hour later than usual in coming back to the office. Happily, their own affairs kept them busy, and she was free from theirinspection. If they had surprised her they would have found her lost, apparently, in admiration of the large hotel across the square, for, after writing a few words, her pen rested upon the paper, and her mindpursued its own journey among the sun-blazoned windows and the drifts ofpurplish smoke which formed her view. And, indeed, this background wasby no means out of keeping with her thoughts. She saw to the remotespaces behind the strife of the foreground, enabled now to gaze there, since she had renounced her own demands, privileged to see the largerview, to share the vast desires and sufferings of the mass of mankind. She had been too lately and too roughly mastered by facts to take aneasy pleasure in the relief of renunciation; such satisfaction as shefelt came only from the discovery that, having renounced everythingthat made life happy, easy, splendid, individual, there remained a hardreality, unimpaired by one's personal adventures, remote as the stars, unquenchable as they are. 

While Mary Datchet was undergoing this curious transformation from theparticular to the universal, Mrs. Seal remembered her duties with regardto the kettle and the gas-fire. She was a little surprised to find thatMary had drawn her chair to the window, and, having lit the gas, sheraised herself from a stooping posture and looked at her. The mostobvious reason for such an attitude in a secretary was some kind ofindisposition. But Mary, rousing herself with an effort, denied that shewas indisposed. 

"I'm frightfully lazy this afternoon, " she added, with a glance at hertable. "You must really get another secretary, Sally. "

The words were meant to be taken lightly, but something in the toneof them roused a jealous fear which was always dormant in Mrs. Seal'sbreast. She was terribly afraid that one of these days Mary, the youngwoman who typified so many rather sentimental and enthusiastic ideas, who had some sort of visionary existence in white with a sheaf of liliesin her hand, would announce, in a jaunty way, that she was about to bemarried. 

"You don't mean that you're going to leave us?" she said. 

"I've not made up my mind about anything, " said Mary--a remark whichcould be taken as a generalization. 

Mrs. Seal got the teacups out of the cupboard and set them on the table. 

"You're not going to be married, are you?" she asked, pronouncing thewords with nervous speed. 

"Why are you asking such absurd questions this afternoon, Sally?" Maryasked, not very steadily. "Must we all get married?"

Mrs. Seal emitted a most peculiar chuckle. She seemed for one momentto acknowledge the terrible side of life which is concerned with theemotions, the private lives, of the sexes, and then to sheer off from itwith all possible speed into the shades of her own shivering virginity. She was made so uncomfortable by the turn the conversation had taken, that she plunged her head into the cupboard, and endeavored to abstractsome very obscure piece of china. 

"We have our work, " she said, withdrawing her head, displaying cheeksmore than usually crimson, and placing a jam-pot emphatically upon thetable. But, for the moment, she was unable to launch herself upon one ofthose enthusiastic, but inconsequent, tirades upon liberty, democracy, the rights of the people, and the iniquities of the Government, in whichshe delighted. Some memory from her own past or from the past of her sexrose to her mind and kept her abashed. She glanced furtively at Mary, who still sat by the window with her arm upon the sill. She noticed howyoung she was and full of the promise of womanhood. The sight made herso uneasy that she fidgeted the cups upon their saucers. 

"Yes--enough work to last a lifetime, " said Mary, as if concluding somepassage of thought. 

Mrs. Seal brightened at once. She lamented her lack of scientifictraining, and her deficiency in the processes of logic, but she sether mind to work at once to make the prospects of the cause appearas alluring and important as she could. She delivered herself of anharangue in which she asked a great many rhetorical questions andanswered them with a little bang of one fist upon another. 

"To last a lifetime? My dear child, it will last all our lifetimes. Asone falls another steps into the breach. My father, in his generation, apioneer--I, coming after him, do my little best. What, alas! can one domore? And now it's you young women--we look to you--the future looksto you. Ah, my dear, if I'd a thousand lives, I'd give them all to ourcause. The cause of women, d'you say? I say the cause of humanity. Andthere are some"--she glanced fiercely at the window--"who don't see it!There are some who are satisfied to go on, year after year, refusing toadmit the truth. And we who have the vision--the kettle boiling over?No, no, let me see to it--we who know the truth, " she continued, gesticulating with the kettle and the teapot. Owing to theseencumbrances, perhaps, she lost the thread of her discourse, andconcluded, rather wistfully, "It's all so SIMPLE. " She referred toa matter that was a perpetual source of bewilderment to her--theextraordinary incapacity of the human race, in a world where the goodis so unmistakably divided from the bad, of distinguishing one from theother, and embodying what ought to be done in a few large, simple Actsof Parliament, which would, in a very short time, completely change thelot of humanity. 

"One would have thought, " she said, "that men of University training, like Mr. Asquith--one would have thought that an appeal to reason wouldnot be unheard by them. But reason, " she reflected, "what is reasonwithout Reality?"

Doing homage to the phrase, she repeated it once more, and caught theear of Mr. Clacton, as he issued from his room; and he repeated it athird time, giving it, as he was in the habit of doing with Mrs. Seal'sphrases, a dryly humorous intonation. He was well pleased with theworld, however, and he remarked, in a flattering manner, that he wouldlike to see that phrase in large letters at the head of a leaflet. 

"But, Mrs. Seal, we have to aim at a judicious combination of the two, "he added in his magisterial way to check the unbalanced enthusiasm ofthe women. "Reality has to be voiced by reason before it can makeitself felt. The weak point of all these movements, Miss Datchet, " hecontinued, taking his place at the table and turning to Mary as usualwhen about to deliver his more profound cogitations, "is that theyare not based upon sufficiently intellectual grounds. A mistake, inmy opinion. The British public likes a pellet of reason in its jamof eloquence--a pill of reason in its pudding of sentiment, " he said, sharpening the phrase to a satisfactory degree of literary precision. 

His eyes rested, with something of the vanity of an author, upon theyellow leaflet which Mary held in her hand. She rose, took her seat atthe head of the table, poured out tea for her colleagues, and gaveher opinion upon the leaflet. So she had poured out tea, so she hadcriticized Mr. Clacton's leaflets a hundred times already; but nowit seemed to her that she was doing it in a different spirit; she hadenlisted in the army, and was a volunteer no longer. She had renouncedsomething and was now--how could she express it?--not quite "in therunning" for life. She had always known that Mr. Clacton and Mrs. Sealwere not in the running, and across the gulf that separated them shehad seen them in the guise of shadow people, flitting in and out of theranks of the living--eccentrics, undeveloped human beings, from whosesubstance some essential part had been cut away. All this had neverstruck her so clearly as it did this afternoon, when she felt thather lot was cast with them for ever. One view of the world plungedin darkness, so a more volatile temperament might have argued aftera season of despair, let the world turn again and show another, moresplendid, perhaps. No, Mary thought, with unflinching loyalty to whatappeared to her to be the true view, having lost what is best, I do notmean to pretend that any other view does instead. Whatever happens, I mean to have no presences in my life. Her very words had a sort ofdistinctness which is sometimes produced by sharp, bodily pain. To Mrs. Seal's secret jubilation the rule which forbade discussion of shop attea-time was overlooked. Mary and Mr. Clacton argued with a cogencyand a ferocity which made the little woman feel that something veryimportant--she hardly knew what--was taking place. She became muchexcited; one crucifix became entangled with another, and she dug aconsiderable hole in the table with the point of her pencil in orderto emphasize the most striking heads of the discourse; and how anycombination of Cabinet Ministers could resist such discourse she reallydid not know. 

She could hardly bring herself to remember her own private instrument ofjustice--the typewriter. The telephone-bell rang, and as she hurried offto answer a voice which always seemed a proof of importance by itself, she felt that it was at this exact spot on the surface of the globe thatall the subterranean wires of thought and progress came together. Whenshe returned, with a message from the printer, she found that Mary wasputting on her hat firmly; there was something imperious and dominatingin her attitude altogether. 

"Look, Sally, " she said, "these letters want copying. These I've notlooked at. The question of the new census will have to be gone intocarefully. But I'm going home now. Good night, Mr. Clacton; good night, Sally. "

"We are very fortunate in our secretary, Mr. Clacton, " said Mrs. Seal, pausing with her hand on the papers, as the door shut behind Mary. Mr. Clacton himself had been vaguely impressed by something in Mary'sbehavior towards him. He envisaged a time even when it would becomenecessary to tell her that there could not be two masters in oneoffice--but she was certainly able, very able, and in touch with a groupof very clever young men. No doubt they had suggested to her some of hernew ideas. 

He signified his assent to Mrs. Seal's remark, but observed, with aglance at the clock, which showed only half an hour past five:

"If she takes the work seriously, Mrs. Seal--but that's just what someof your clever young ladies don't do. " So saying he returned to hisroom, and Mrs. Seal, after a moment's hesitation, hurried back to herlabors. 

CHAPTER XXI

Mary walked to the nearest station and reached home in an incrediblyshort space of time, just so much, indeed, as was needed for theintelligent understanding of the news of the world as the "WestminsterGazette" reported it. Within a few minutes of opening her door, she wasin trim for a hard evening's work. She unlocked a drawer and took out amanuscript, which consisted of a very few pages, entitled, in a forciblehand, "Some Aspects of the Democratic State. " The aspects dwindled outin a cries-cross of blotted lines in the very middle of a sentence, and suggested that the author had been interrupted, or convinced of thefutility of proceeding, with her pen in the air.... Oh, yes, Ralph hadcome in at that point. She scored that sheet very effectively, and, choosing a fresh one, began at a great rate with a generalization uponthe structure of human society, which was a good deal bolder than hercustom. Ralph had told her once that she couldn't write English, whichaccounted for those frequent blots and insertions; but she put all thatbehind her, and drove ahead with such words as came her way, until shehad accomplished half a page of generalization and might legitimatelydraw breath. Directly her hand stopped her brain stopped too, and shebegan to listen. A paper-boy shouted down the street; an omnibus ceasedand lurched on again with the heave of duty once more shouldered; thedullness of the sounds suggested that a fog had risen since her return, if, indeed, a fog has power to deaden sound, of which fact, she couldnot be sure at the present moment. It was the sort of fact Ralph Denhamknew. At any rate, it was no concern of hers, and she was about to dipa pen when her ear was caught by the sound of a step upon the stonestaircase. She followed it past Mr. Chippen's chambers; past Mr. Gibson's; past Mr. Turner's; after which it became her sound. A postman, a washerwoman, a circular, a bill--she presented herself with each ofthese perfectly natural possibilities; but, to her surprise, her mindrejected each one of them impatiently, even apprehensively. The stepbecame slow, as it was apt to do at the end of the steep climb, andMary, listening for the regular sound, was filled with an intolerablenervousness. Leaning against the table, she felt the knock of her heartpush her body perceptibly backwards and forwards--a state of nervesastonishing and reprehensible in a stable woman. Grotesque fancies tookshape. Alone, at the top of the house, an unknown person approachingnearer and nearer--how could she escape? There was no way of escape. She did not even know whether that oblong mark on the ceiling was atrap-door to the roof or not. And if she got on to the roof--well, therewas a drop of sixty feet or so on to the pavement. But she sat perfectlystill, and when the knock sounded, she got up directly and opened thedoor without hesitation. She saw a tall figure outside, with somethingominous to her eyes in the look of it. 

"What do you want?" she said, not recognizing the face in the fitfullight of the staircase. 

"Mary? I'm Katharine Hilbery!"

Mary's self-possession returned almost excessively, and her welcome wasdecidedly cold, as if she must recoup herself for this ridiculouswaste of emotion. She moved her green-shaded lamp to another table, and covered "Some Aspects of the Democratic State" with a sheet ofblotting-paper. 

"Why can't they leave me alone?" she thought bitterly, connectingKatharine and Ralph in a conspiracy to take from her even this hour ofsolitary study, even this poor little defence against the world. And, asshe smoothed down the sheet of blotting-paper over the manuscript, she braced herself to resist Katharine, whose presence struck her, not merely by its force, as usual, but as something in the nature of amenace. 

"You're working?" said Katharine, with hesitation, perceiving that shewas not welcome. 

"Nothing that matters, " Mary replied, drawing forward the best of thechairs and poking the fire. 

"I didn't know you had to work after you had left the office, " saidKatharine, in a tone which gave the impression that she was thinking ofsomething else, as was, indeed, the case. 

She had been paying calls with her mother, and in between the calls Mrs. Hilbery had rushed into shops and bought pillow-cases and blotting-bookson no perceptible method for the furnishing of Katharine's house. Katharine had a sense of impedimenta accumulating on all sides of her. She had left her at length, and had come on to keep an engagement todine with Rodney at his rooms. But she did not mean to get to him beforeseven o'clock, and so had plenty of time to walk all the way from BondStreet to the Temple if she wished it. The flow of faces streamingon either side of her had hypnotized her into a mood of profounddespondency, to which her expectation of an evening alone with Rodneycontributed. They were very good friends again, better friends, theyboth said, than ever before. So far as she was concerned this was true. There were many more things in him than she had guessed until emotionbrought them forth--strength, affection, sympathy. And she thought ofthem and looked at the faces passing, and thought how much alike theywere, and how distant, nobody feeling anything as she felt nothing, anddistance, she thought, lay inevitably between the closest, and theirintimacy was the worst presence of all. For, "Oh dear, " she thought, looking into a tobacconist's window, "I don't care for any of them, andI don't care for William, and people say this is the thing that mattersmost, and I can't see what they mean by it. "

She looked desperately at the smooth-bowled pipes, and wondered--shouldshe walk on by the Strand or by the Embankment? It was not a simplequestion, for it concerned not different streets so much as differentstreams of thought. If she went by the Strand she would force herselfto think out the problem of the future, or some mathematical problem;if she went by the river she would certainly begin to think about thingsthat didn't exist--the forest, the ocean beach, the leafy solitudes, the magnanimous hero. No, no, no! A thousand times no!--it wouldn't do;there was something repulsive in such thoughts at present; she musttake something else; she was out of that mood at present. And then shethought of Mary; the thought gave her confidence, even pleasure of a sadsort, as if the triumph of Ralph and Mary proved that the fault of herfailure lay with herself and not with life. An indistinct idea that thesight of Mary might be of help, combined with her natural trust in her, suggested a visit; for, surely, her liking was of a kind that impliedliking upon Mary's side also. After a moment's hesitation she decided, although she seldom acted upon impulse, to act upon this one, and turneddown a side street and found Mary's door. But her reception was notencouraging; clearly Mary didn't want to see her, had no help to impart, and the half-formed desire to confide in her was quenched immediately. She was slightly amused at her own delusion, looked ratherabsent-minded, and swung her gloves to and fro, as if doling out the fewminutes accurately before she could say good-by. 

Those few minutes might very well be spent in asking for informationas to the exact position of the Suffrage Bill, or in expounding her ownvery sensible view of the situation. But there was a tone in her voice, or a shade in her opinions, or a swing of her gloves which served toirritate Mary Datchet, whose manner became increasingly direct, abrupt, and even antagonistic. She became conscious of a wish to make Katharinerealize the importance of this work, which she discussed so coolly, asthough she, too, had sacrificed what Mary herself had sacrificed. Theswinging of the gloves ceased, and Katharine, after ten minutes, beganto make movements preliminary to departure. At the sight of this, Marywas aware--she was abnormally aware of things to-night--of another verystrong desire; Katharine was not to be allowed to go, to disappear intothe free, happy world of irresponsible individuals. She must be made torealize--to feel. 

"I don't quite see, " she said, as if Katharine had challenged herexplicitly, "how, things being as they are, any one can help trying, atleast, to do something. "

"No. But how ARE things?"

Mary pressed her lips, and smiled ironically; she had Katharine at hermercy; she could, if she liked, discharge upon her head wagon-loadsof revolting proof of the state of things ignored by the casual, theamateur, the looker-on, the cynical observer of life at a distance. And yet she hesitated. As usual, when she found herself in talk withKatharine, she began to feel rapid alternations of opinion abouther, arrows of sensation striking strangely through the envelope ofpersonality, which shelters us so conveniently from our fellows. Whatan egoist, how aloof she was! And yet, not in her words, perhaps, butin her voice, in her face, in her attitude, there were signs of a softbrooding spirit, of a sensibility unblunted and profound, playingover her thoughts and deeds, and investing her manner with an habitualgentleness. The arguments and phrases of Mr. Clacton fell flat againstsuch armor. 

"You'll be married, and you'll have other things to think of, " she saidinconsequently, and with an accent of condescension. She was not goingto make Katharine understand in a second, as she would, all she herselfhad learnt at the cost of such pain. No. Katharine was to be happy;Katharine was to be ignorant; Mary was to keep this knowledge of theimpersonal life for herself. The thought of her morning's renunciationstung her conscience, and she tried to expand once more into thatimpersonal condition which was so lofty and so painless. She must checkthis desire to be an individual again, whose wishes were in conflictwith those of other people. She repented of her bitterness. 

Katharine now renewed her signs of leave-taking; she had drawn on one ofher gloves, and looked about her as if in search of some trivial sayingto end with. Wasn't there some picture, or clock, or chest of drawerswhich might be singled out for notice? something peaceable and friendlyto end the uncomfortable interview? The green-shaded lamp burnt inthe corner, and illumined books and pens and blotting-paper. The wholeaspect of the place started another train of thought and struck her asenviably free; in such a room one could work--one could have a life ofone's own. 

"I think you're very lucky, " she observed. "I envy you, living alone andhaving your own things"--and engaged in this exalted way, which had norecognition or engagement-ring, she added in her own mind. 

Mary's lips parted slightly. She could not conceive in what respectsKatharine, who spoke sincerely, could envy her. 

"I don't think you've got any reason to envy me, " she said. 

"Perhaps one always envies other people, " Katharine observed vaguely. 

"Well, but you've got everything that any one can want. "

Katharine remained silent. She gazed into the fire quietly, and withouta trace of self-consciousness. The hostility which she had divined inMary's tone had completely disappeared, and she forgot that she had beenupon the point of going. 

"Well, I suppose I have, " she said at length. "And yet I sometimesthink--" She paused; she did not know how to express what she meant. 

"It came over me in the Tube the other day, " she resumed, with a smile;"what is it that makes these people go one way rather than the other?It's not love; it's not reason; I think it must be some idea. Perhaps, Mary, our affections are the shadow of an idea. Perhaps there isn't anysuch thing as affection in itself.... " She spoke half-mockingly, askingher question, which she scarcely troubled to frame, not of Mary, or ofany one in particular. 

But the words seemed to Mary Datchet shallow, supercilious, cold-blooded, and cynical all in one. All her natural instincts wereroused in revolt against them. 

"I'm the opposite way of thinking, you see, " she said. 

"Yes; I know you are, " Katharine replied, looking at her as if now shewere about, perhaps, to explain something very important. 

Mary could not help feeling the simplicity and good faith that laybehind Katharine's words. 

"I think affection is the only reality, " she said. 

"Yes, " said Katharine, almost sadly. She understood that Mary wasthinking of Ralph, and she felt it impossible to press her to revealmore of this exalted condition; she could only respect the fact that, in some few cases, life arranged itself thus satisfactorily and pass on. She rose to her feet accordingly. But Mary exclaimed, with unmistakableearnestness, that she must not go; that they met so seldom; thatshe wanted to talk to her so much.... Katharine was surprised at theearnestness with which she spoke. It seemed to her that there could beno indiscretion in mentioning Ralph by name. 

Seating herself "for ten minutes, " she said: "By the way, Mr. Denhamtold me he was going to give up the Bar and live in the country. Has hegone? He was beginning to tell me about it, when we were interrupted. "

"He thinks of it, " said Mary briefly. The color at once came to herface. 

"It would be a very good plan, " said Katharine in her decided way. 

"You think so?"

"Yes, because he would do something worth while; he would write a book. My father always says that he's the most remarkable of the young men whowrite for him. "

Mary bent low over the fire and stirred the coal between the bars witha poker. Katharine's mention of Ralph had roused within her an almostirresistible desire to explain to her the true state of the casebetween herself and Ralph. She knew, from the tone of her voice, thatin speaking of Ralph she had no desire to probe Mary's secrets, or toinsinuate any of her own. Moreover, she liked Katharine; she trustedher; she felt a respect for her. The first step of confidence wascomparatively simple; but a further confidence had revealed itself, asKatharine spoke, which was not so simple, and yet it impressed itselfupon her as a necessity; she must tell Katharine what it was clear thatshe had no conception of--she must tell Katharine that Ralph was in lovewith her. 

"I don't know what he means to do, " she said hurriedly, seeking timeagainst the pressure of her own conviction. "I've not seen him sinceChristmas. "

Katharine reflected that this was odd; perhaps, after all, she hadmisunderstood the position. She was in the habit of assuming, however, that she was rather unobservant of the finer shades of feeling, and shenoted her present failure as another proof that she was a practical, abstract-minded person, better fitted to deal with figures than with thefeelings of men and women. Anyhow, William Rodney would say so. 

"And now--" she said. 

"Oh, please stay!" Mary exclaimed, putting out her hand to stop her. Directly Katharine moved she felt, inarticulately and violently, thatshe could not bear to let her go. If Katharine went, her only chanceof speaking was lost; her only chance of saying something tremendouslyimportant was lost. Half a dozen words were sufficient to wakeKatharine's attention, and put flight and further silence beyond herpower. But although the words came to her lips, her throat closed uponthem and drove them back. After all, she considered, why should shespeak? Because it is right, her instinct told her; right to exposeoneself without reservations to other human beings. She flinched fromthe thought. It asked too much of one already stripped bare. Somethingshe must keep of her own. But if she did keep something of her own?Immediately she figured an immured life, continuing for an immenseperiod, the same feelings living for ever, neither dwindling norchanging within the ring of a thick stone wall. The imagination of thisloneliness frightened her, and yet to speak--to lose her loneliness, forit had already become dear to her, was beyond her power. 

Her hand went down to the hem of Katharine's skirt, and, fingering aline of fur, she bent her head as if to examine it. 

"I like this fur, " she said, "I like your clothes. And you mustn'tthink that I'm going to marry Ralph, " she continued, in the same tone, "because he doesn't care for me at all. He cares for some one else. " Herhead remained bent, and her hand still rested upon the skirt. 

"It's a shabby old dress, " said Katharine, and the only sign that Mary'swords had reached her was that she spoke with a little jerk. 

"You don't mind my telling you that?" said Mary, raising herself. 

"No, no, " said Katharine; "but you're mistaken, aren't you?" She was, in truth, horribly uncomfortable, dismayed, indeed, disillusioned. Shedisliked the turn things had taken quite intensely. The indecency ofit afflicted her. The suffering implied by the tone appalled her. Shelooked at Mary furtively, with eyes that were full of apprehension. But if she had hoped to find that these words had been spoken withoutunderstanding of their meaning, she was at once disappointed. Mary layback in her chair, frowning slightly, and looking, Katharine thought, asif she had lived fifteen years or so in the space of a few minutes. 

"There are some things, don't you think, that one can't be mistakenabout?" Mary said, quietly and almost coldly. "That is what puzzles meabout this question of being in love. I've always prided myself uponbeing reasonable, " she added. "I didn't think I could have felt this--Imean if the other person didn't. I was foolish. I let myself pretend. "Here she paused. "For, you see, Katharine, " she proceeded, rousingherself and speaking with greater energy, "I AM in love. There's nodoubt about that.... I'm tremendously in love... With Ralph. " The littleforward shake of her head, which shook a lock of hair, together with herbrighter color, gave her an appearance at once proud and defiant. 

Katharine thought to herself, "That's how it feels then. " She hesitated, with a feeling that it was not for her to speak; and then said, in a lowtone, "You've got that. "

"Yes, " said Mary; "I've got that. One wouldn't NOT be in love.... ButI didn't mean to talk about that; I only wanted you to know. There'sanother thing I want to tell you... " She paused. "I haven't anyauthority from Ralph to say it; but I'm sure of this--he's in love withyou. "

Katharine looked at her again, as if her first glance must have beendeluded, for, surely, there must be some outward sign that Mary wastalking in an excited, or bewildered, or fantastic manner. No; she stillfrowned, as if she sought her way through the clauses of a difficultargument, but she still looked more like one who reasons than one whofeels. 

"That proves that you're mistaken--utterly mistaken, " said Katharine, speaking reasonably, too. She had no need to verify the mistake by aglance at her own recollections, when the fact was so clearly stampedupon her mind that if Ralph had any feeling towards her it was one ofcritical hostility. She did not give the matter another thought, andMary, now that she had stated the fact, did not seek to prove it, buttried to explain to herself, rather than to Katharine, her motives inmaking the statement. 

She had nerved herself to do what some large and imperious instinctdemanded her doing; she had been swept on the breast of a wave beyondher reckoning. 

"I've told you, " she said, "because I want you to help me. I don't wantto be jealous of you. And I am--I'm fearfully jealous. The only way, Ithought, was to tell you. "

She hesitated, and groped in her endeavor to make her feelings clear toherself. 

"If I tell you, then we can talk; and when I'm jealous, I can tell you. And if I'm tempted to do something frightfully mean, I can tell you;you could make me tell you. I find talking so difficult; but lonelinessfrightens me. I should shut it up in my mind. Yes, that's what I'mafraid of. Going about with something in my mind all my life that neverchanges. I find it so difficult to change. When I think a thing's wrongI never stop thinking it wrong, and Ralph was quite right, I see, whenhe said that there's no such thing as right and wrong; no such thing, Imean, as judging people--"

"Ralph Denham said that?" said Katharine, with considerable indignation. In order to have produced such suffering in Mary, it seemed to her thathe must have behaved with extreme callousness. It seemed to her that hehad discarded the friendship, when it suited his convenience to do so, with some falsely philosophical theory which made his conduct all theworse. She was going on to express herself thus, had not Mary at onceinterrupted her. 

"No, no, " she said; "you don't understand. If there's any fault it'smine entirely; after all, if one chooses to run risks--"

Her voice faltered into silence. It was borne in upon her how completelyin running her risk she had lost her prize, lost it so entirely thatshe had no longer the right, in talking of Ralph, to presume thather knowledge of him supplanted all other knowledge. She no longercompletely possessed her love, since his share in it was doubtful; andnow, to make things yet more bitter, her clear vision of the way to facelife was rendered tremulous and uncertain, because another was witnessof it. Feeling her desire for the old unshared intimacy too great to beborne without tears, she rose, walked to the farther end of the room, held the curtains apart, and stood there mastered for a moment. Thegrief itself was not ignoble; the sting of it lay in the fact that shehad been led to this act of treachery against herself. Trapped, cheated, robbed, first by Ralph and then by Katharine, she seemed all dissolvedin humiliation, and bereft of anything she could call her own. Tears ofweakness welled up and rolled down her cheeks. But tears, at least, shecould control, and would this instant, and then, turning, she would faceKatharine, and retrieve what could be retrieved of the collapse of hercourage. 

She turned. Katharine had not moved; she was leaning a little forward inher chair and looking into the fire. Something in the attitude remindedMary of Ralph. So he would sit, leaning forward, looking rather fixedlyin front of him, while his mind went far away, exploring, speculating, until he broke off with his, "Well, Mary?"--and the silence, that hadbeen so full of romance to her, gave way to the most delightful talkthat she had ever known. 

Something unfamiliar in the pose of the silent figure, something still, solemn, significant about it, made her hold her breath. She paused. Herthoughts were without bitterness. She was surprised by her own quietand confidence. She came back silently, and sat once more by Katharine'sside. Mary had no wish to speak. In the silence she seemed to have losther isolation; she was at once the sufferer and the pitiful spectator ofsuffering; she was happier than she had ever been; she was more bereft;she was rejected, and she was immensely beloved. Attempt to expressthese sensations was vain, and, moreover, she could not help believingthat, without any words on her side, they were shared. Thus for sometime longer they sat silent, side by side, while Mary fingered the furon the skirt of the old dress. 

CHAPTER XXII

The fact that she would be late in keeping her engagement with Williamwas not the only reason which sent Katharine almost at racing speedalong the Strand in the direction of his rooms. Punctuality might havebeen achieved by taking a cab, had she not wished the open air tofan into flame the glow kindled by Mary's words. For among all theimpressions of the evening's talk one was of the nature of a revelationand subdued the rest to insignificance. Thus one looked; thus one spoke;such was love. 

"She sat up straight and looked at me, and then she said, 'I'm inlove, '" Katharine mused, trying to set the whole scene in motion. Itwas a scene to dwell on with so much wonder that not a grain of pityoccurred to her; it was a flame blazing suddenly in the dark; byits light Katharine perceived far too vividly for her comfort themediocrity, indeed the entirely fictitious character of her own feelingsso far as they pretended to correspond with Mary's feelings. She made upher mind to act instantly upon the knowledge thus gained, and casther mind in amazement back to the scene upon the heath, when she hadyielded, heaven knows why, for reasons which seemed now imperceptible. So in broad daylight one might revisit the place where one has gropedand turned and succumbed to utter bewilderment in a fog. 

"It's all so simple, " she said to herself. "There can't be any doubt. I've only got to speak now. I've only got to speak, " she went on saying, in time to her own footsteps, and completely forgot Mary Datchet. 

William Rodney, having come back earlier from the office than heexpected, sat down to pick out the melodies in "The Magic Flute" uponthe piano. Katharine was late, but that was nothing new, and, as she hadno particular liking for music, and he felt in the mood for it, perhapsit was as well. This defect in Katharine was the more strange, Williamreflected, because, as a rule, the women of her family were unusuallymusical. Her cousin, Cassandra Otway, for example, had a very fine tastein music, and he had charming recollections of her in a light fantasticattitude, playing the flute in the morning-room at Stogdon House. Herecalled with pleasure the amusing way in which her nose, long like allthe Otway noses, seemed to extend itself into the flute, as if she weresome inimitably graceful species of musical mole. The little picturesuggested very happily her melodious and whimsical temperament. Theenthusiasms of a young girl of distinguished upbringing appealed toWilliam, and suggested a thousand ways in which, with his training andaccomplishments, he could be of service to her. She ought to be giventhe chance of hearing good music, as it is played by those who haveinherited the great tradition. Moreover, from one or two remarks letfall in the course of conversation, he thought it possible that shehad what Katharine professed to lack, a passionate, if untaught, appreciation of literature. He had lent her his play. Meanwhile, asKatharine was certain to be late, and "The Magic Flute" is nothingwithout a voice, he felt inclined to spend the time of waiting inwriting a letter to Cassandra, exhorting her to read Pope in preferenceto Dostoevsky, until her feeling for form was more highly developed. Heset himself down to compose this piece of advice in a shape which waslight and playful, and yet did no injury to a cause which he had nearat heart, when he heard Katharine upon the stairs. A moment later it wasplain that he had been mistaken, it was not Katharine; but he could notsettle himself to his letter. His temper had changed from one of urbanecontentment--indeed of delicious expansion--to one of uneasiness andexpectation. The dinner was brought in, and had to be set by the fire tokeep hot. It was now a quarter of an hour beyond the specified time. Hebethought him of a piece of news which had depressed him in the earlierpart of the day. Owing to the illness of one of his fellow-clerks, itwas likely that he would get no holiday until later in the year, whichwould mean the postponement of their marriage. But this possibility, after all, was not so disagreeable as the probability which forceditself upon him with every tick of the clock that Katharine hadcompletely forgotten her engagement. Such things had happened lessfrequently since Christmas, but what if they were going to begin tohappen again? What if their marriage should turn out, as she had said, afarce? He acquitted her of any wish to hurt him wantonly, but therewas something in her character which made it impossible for her to helphurting people. Was she cold? Was she self-absorbed? He tried to fit herwith each of these descriptions, but he had to own that she puzzled him. 

"There are so many things that she doesn't understand, " he reflected, glancing at the letter to Cassandra which he had begun and laid aside. What prevented him from finishing the letter which he had so muchenjoyed beginning? The reason was that Katharine might, at any moment, enter the room. The thought, implying his bondage to her, irritated himacutely. It occurred to him that he would leave the letter lying openfor her to see, and he would take the opportunity of telling her that hehad sent his play to Cassandra for her to criticize. Possibly, but notby any means certainly, this would annoy her--and as he reached thedoubtful comfort of this conclusion, there was a knock on the door andKatharine came in. They kissed each other coldly and she made no apologyfor being late. Nevertheless, her mere presence moved him strangely;but he was determined that this should not weaken his resolution to makesome kind of stand against her; to get at the truth about her. He lether make her own disposition of clothes and busied himself with theplates. 

"I've got a piece of news for you, Katharine, " he said directly they satdown to table; "I shan't get my holiday in April. We shall have to putoff our marriage. "

He rapped the words out with a certain degree of briskness. Katharinestarted a little, as if the announcement disturbed her thoughts. 

"That won't make any difference, will it? I mean the lease isn'tsigned, " she replied. "But why? What has happened?"

He told her, in an off-hand way, how one of his fellow-clerks had brokendown, and might have to be away for months, six months even, in whichcase they would have to think over their position. He said it in a waywhich struck her, at last, as oddly casual. She looked at him. There wasno outward sign that he was annoyed with her. Was she well dressed? Shethought sufficiently so. Perhaps she was late? She looked for a clock. 

"It's a good thing we didn't take the house then, " she repeatedthoughtfully. 

"It'll mean, too, I'm afraid, that I shan't be as free for aconsiderable time as I have been, " he continued. She had time toreflect that she gained something by all this, though it was too soon todetermine what. But the light which had been burning with such intensityas she came along was suddenly overclouded, as much by his manner as byhis news. She had been prepared to meet opposition, which is simple toencounter compared with--she did not know what it was that she hadto encounter. The meal passed in quiet, well-controlled talk aboutindifferent things. Music was not a subject about which she knewanything, but she liked him to tell her things; and could, she mused, ashe talked, fancy the evenings of married life spent thus, over the fire;spent thus, or with a book, perhaps, for then she would have time toread her books, and to grasp firmly with every muscle of her unused mindwhat she longed to know. The atmosphere was very free. Suddenly Williambroke off. She looked up apprehensively, brushing aside these thoughtswith annoyance. 

"Where should I address a letter to Cassandra?" he asked her. It wasobvious again that William had some meaning or other to-night, or was insome mood. "We've struck up a friendship, " he added. 

"She's at home, I think, " Katharine replied. 

"They keep her too much at home, " said William. "Why don't you ask herto stay with you, and let her hear a little good music? I'll just finishwhat I was saying, if you don't mind, because I'm particularly anxiousthat she should hear to-morrow. "

Katharine sank back in her chair, and Rodney took the paper on hisknees, and went on with his sentence. "Style, you know, is what we tendto neglect--"; but he was far more conscious of Katharine's eye upon himthan of what he was saying about style. He knew that she was looking athim, but whether with irritation or indifference he could not guess. 

In truth, she had fallen sufficiently into his trap to feeluncomfortably roused and disturbed and unable to proceed on the lineslaid down for herself. This indifferent, if not hostile, attitudeon William's part made it impossible to break off without animosity, largely and completely. Infinitely preferable was Mary's state, shethought, where there was a simple thing to do and one did it. In fact, she could not help supposing that some littleness of nature had a partin all the refinements, reserves, and subtleties of feeling for whichher friends and family were so distinguished. For example, although sheliked Cassandra well enough, her fantastic method of life struck her aspurely frivolous; now it was socialism, now it was silkworms, now itwas music--which last she supposed was the cause of William's suddeninterest in her. Never before had William wasted the minutes of herpresence in writing his letters. With a curious sense of light openingwhere all, hitherto, had been opaque, it dawned upon her that, afterall, possibly, yes, probably, nay, certainly, the devotion which she hadalmost wearily taken for granted existed in a much slighter degree thanshe had suspected, or existed no longer. She looked at him attentivelyas if this discovery of hers must show traces in his face. Never had sheseen so much to respect in his appearance, so much that attracted her byits sensitiveness and intelligence, although she saw these qualities asif they were those one responds to, dumbly, in the face of a stranger. The head bent over the paper, thoughtful as usual, had now a composurewhich seemed somehow to place it at a distance, like a face seen talkingto some one else behind glass. 

He wrote on, without raising his eyes. She would have spoken, but couldnot bring herself to ask him for signs of affection which she had noright to claim. The conviction that he was thus strange to her filledher with despondency, and illustrated quite beyond doubt the infiniteloneliness of human beings. She had never felt the truth of this sostrongly before. She looked away into the fire; it seemed to her thateven physically they were now scarcely within speaking distance; andspiritually there was certainly no human being with whom she couldclaim comradeship; no dream that satisfied her as she was used to besatisfied; nothing remained in whose reality she could believe, savethose abstract ideas--figures, laws, stars, facts, which she couldhardly hold to for lack of knowledge and a kind of shame. 

When Rodney owned to himself the folly of this prolonged silence, andthe meanness of such devices, and looked up ready to seek some excusefor a good laugh, or opening for a confession, he was disconcerted bywhat he saw. Katharine seemed equally oblivious of what was bad orof what was good in him. Her expression suggested concentration uponsomething entirely remote from her surroundings. The carelessness of herattitude seemed to him rather masculine than feminine. His impulse tobreak up the constraint was chilled, and once more the exasperatingsense of his own impotency returned to him. He could not helpcontrasting Katharine with his vision of the engaging, whimsicalCassandra; Katharine undemonstrative, inconsiderate, silent, and yet sonotable that he could never do without her good opinion. 

She veered round upon him a moment later, as if, when her train ofthought was ended, she became aware of his presence. 

"Have you finished your letter?" she asked. He thought he heard faintamusement in her tone, but not a trace of jealousy. 

"No, I'm not going to write any more to-night, " he said. "I'm not in themood for it for some reason. I can't say what I want to say. "

"Cassandra won't know if it's well written or badly written, " Katharineremarked. 

"I'm not so sure about that. I should say she has a good deal ofliterary feeling. "

"Perhaps, " said Katharine indifferently. "You've been neglecting myeducation lately, by the way. I wish you'd read something. Let me choosea book. " So speaking, she went across to his bookshelves and beganlooking in a desultory way among his books. Anything, she thought, wasbetter than bickering or the strange silence which drove home to her thedistance between them. As she pulled one book forward and then anothershe thought ironically of her own certainty not an hour ago; how it hadvanished in a moment, how she was merely marking time as best she could, not knowing in the least where they stood, what they felt, or whetherWilliam loved her or not. More and more the condition of Mary's mindseemed to her wonderful and enviable--if, indeed, it could be quiteas she figured it--if, indeed, simplicity existed for any one of thedaughters of women. 

"Swift, " she said, at last, taking out a volume at haphazard to settlethis question at least. "Let us have some Swift. "

Rodney took the book, held it in front of him, inserted one fingerbetween the pages, but said nothing. His face wore a queer expression ofdeliberation, as if he were weighing one thing with another, and wouldnot say anything until his mind were made up. 

Katharine, taking her chair beside him, noted his silence and looked athim with sudden apprehension. What she hoped or feared, she could nothave said; a most irrational and indefensible desire for some assuranceof his affection was, perhaps, uppermost in her mind. Peevishness, complaints, exacting cross-examination she was used to, but thisattitude of composed quiet, which seemed to come from the consciousnessof power within, puzzled her. She did not know what was going to happennext. 

At last William spoke. 

"I think it's a little odd, don't you?" he said, in a voice of detachedreflection. "Most people, I mean, would be seriously upset if theirmarriage was put off for six months or so. But we aren't; now how do youaccount for that?"

She looked at him and observed his judicial attitude as of one holdingfar aloof from emotion. 

"I attribute it, " he went on, without waiting for her to answer, "to thefact that neither of us is in the least romantic about the other. Thatmay be partly, no doubt, because we've known each other so long; butI'm inclined to think there's more in it than that. There's somethingtemperamental. I think you're a trifle cold, and I suspect I'm a trifleself-absorbed. If that were so it goes a long way to explaining ourodd lack of illusion about each other. I'm not saying that the mostsatisfactory marriages aren't founded upon this sort of understanding. But certainly it struck me as odd this morning, when Wilson told me, how little upset I felt. By the way, you're sure we haven't committedourselves to that house?"

"I've kept the letters, and I'll go through them to-morrow; but I'mcertain we're on the safe side. "

"Thanks. As to the psychological problem, " he continued, as if thequestion interested him in a detached way, "there's no doubt, I think, that either of us is capable of feeling what, for reasons of simplicity, I call romance for a third person--at least, I've little doubt in my owncase. "

It was, perhaps, the first time in all her knowledge of him thatKatharine had known William enter thus deliberately and without sign ofemotion upon a statement of his own feelings. He was wont to discouragesuch intimate discussions by a little laugh or turn of the conversation, as much as to say that men, or men of the world, find such topicsa little silly, or in doubtful taste. His obvious wish to explainsomething puzzled her, interested her, and neutralized the wound to hervanity. For some reason, too, she felt more at ease with him than usual;or her ease was more the ease of equality--she could not stop to thinkof that at the moment though. His remarks interested her too much forthe light that they threw upon certain problems of her own. 

"What is this romance?" she mused. 

"Ah, that's the question. I've never come across a definition thatsatisfied me, though there are some very good ones"--he glanced in thedirection of his books. 

"It's not altogether knowing the other person, perhaps--it's ignorance, "she hazarded. 

"Some authorities say it's a question of distance--romance inliterature, that is--"

"Possibly, in the case of art. But in the case of people it may be--"she hesitated. 

"Have you no personal experience of it?" he asked, letting his eyes restupon her swiftly for a moment. 

"I believe it's influenced me enormously, " she said, in the tone of oneabsorbed by the possibilities of some view just presented to them; "butin my life there's so little scope for it, " she added. She reviewed herdaily task, the perpetual demands upon her for good sense, self-control, and accuracy in a house containing a romantic mother. Ah, but herromance wasn't THAT romance. It was a desire, an echo, a sound; shecould drape it in color, see it in form, hear it in music, but not inwords; no, never in words. She sighed, teased by desires so incoherent, so incommunicable. 

"But isn't it curious, " William resumed, "that you should neither feelit for me, nor I for you?"

Katharine agreed that it was curious--very; but even more curious toher was the fact that she was discussing the question with William. Itrevealed possibilities which opened a prospect of a new relationshipaltogether. Somehow it seemed to her that he was helping her tounderstand what she had never understood; and in her gratitude she wasconscious of a most sisterly desire to help him, too--sisterly, save forone pang, not quite to be subdued, that for him she was without romance. 

"I think you might be very happy with some one you loved in that way, "she said. 

"You assume that romance survives a closer knowledge of the person oneloves?"

He asked the question formally, to protect himself from the sort ofpersonality which he dreaded. The whole situation needed the mostcareful management lest it should degenerate into some degrading anddisturbing exhibition such as the scene, which he could never thinkof without shame, upon the heath among the dead leaves. And yet eachsentence brought him relief. He was coming to understand something orother about his own desires hitherto undefined by him, the source of hisdifficulty with Katharine. The wish to hurt her, which had urged him tobegin, had completely left him, and he felt that it was only Katharinenow who could help him to be sure. He must take his time. There were somany things that he could not say without the greatest difficulty--thatname, for example, Cassandra. Nor could he move his eyes from a certainspot, a fiery glen surrounded by high mountains, in the heart of thecoals. He waited in suspense for Katharine to continue. She had saidthat he might be very happy with some one he loved in that way. 

"I don't see why it shouldn't last with you, " she resumed. "I canimagine a certain sort of person--" she paused; she was aware that hewas listening with the greatest intentness, and that his formality wasmerely the cover for an extreme anxiety of some sort. There was someperson then--some woman--who could it be? Cassandra? Ah, possibly--

"A person, " she added, speaking in the most matter-of-fact tone shecould command, "like Cassandra Otway, for instance. Cassandra is themost interesting of the Otways--with the exception of Henry. Even so, I like Cassandra better. She has more than mere cleverness. She is acharacter--a person by herself. "

"Those dreadful insects!" burst from William, with a nervous laugh, anda little spasm went through him as Katharine noticed. It WAS Cassandrathen. Automatically and dully she replied, "You could insist that sheconfined herself to--to--something else.... But she cares for music;I believe she writes poetry; and there can be no doubt that she has apeculiar charm--"

She ceased, as if defining to herself this peculiar charm. After amoment's silence William jerked out:

"I thought her affectionate?"

"Extremely affectionate. She worships Henry. When you think what a housethat is--Uncle Francis always in one mood or another--"

"Dear, dear, dear, " William muttered. 

"And you have so much in common. "

"My dear Katharine!" William exclaimed, flinging himself back in hischair, and uprooting his eyes from the spot in the fire. "I really don'tknow what we're talking about.... I assure you.... "

He was covered with an extreme confusion. 

He withdrew the finger that was still thrust between the pages ofGulliver, opened the book, and ran his eye down the list of chapters, asthough he were about to select the one most suitable for reading aloud. As Katharine watched him, she was seized with preliminary symptoms ofhis own panic. At the same time she was convinced that, should he findthe right page, take out his spectacles, clear his throat, and open hislips, a chance that would never come again in all their lives would belost to them both. 

"We're talking about things that interest us both very much, " she said. "Shan't we go on talking, and leave Swift for another time? I don't feelin the mood for Swift, and it's a pity to read any one when that's thecase--particularly Swift. "

The presence of wise literary speculation, as she calculated, restoredWilliam's confidence in his security, and he replaced the book inthe bookcase, keeping his back turned to her as he did so, and takingadvantage of this circumstance to summon his thoughts together. 

But a second of introspection had the alarming result of showing himthat his mind, when looked at from within, was no longer familiarground. He felt, that is to say, what he had never consciously feltbefore; he was revealed to himself as other than he was wont to thinkhim; he was afloat upon a sea of unknown and tumultuous possibilities. He paced once up and down the room, and then flung himself impetuouslyinto the chair by Katharine's side. He had never felt anything likethis before; he put himself entirely into her hands; he cast off allresponsibility. He very nearly exclaimed aloud:

"You've stirred up all these odious and violent emotions, and now youmust do the best you can with them. "

Her near presence, however, had a calming and reassuring effect upon hisagitation, and he was conscious only of an implicit trust that, somehow, he was safe with her, that she would see him through, find out what itwas that he wanted, and procure it for him. 

"I wish to do whatever you tell me to do, " he said. "I put myselfentirely in your hands, Katharine. "

"You must try to tell me what you feel, " she said. 

"My dear, I feel a thousand things every second. I don't know, I'm sure, what I feel. That afternoon on the heath--it was then--then--" He brokeoff; he did not tell her what had happened then. "Your ghastly goodsense, as usual, has convinced me--for the moment--but what the truthis, Heaven only knows!" he exclaimed. 

"Isn't it the truth that you are, or might be, in love with Cassandra?"she said gently. 

William bowed his head. After a moment's silence he murmured:

"I believe you're right, Katharine. "

She sighed, involuntarily. She had been hoping all this time, with anintensity that increased second by second against the current of herwords, that it would not in the end come to this. After a moment ofsurprising anguish, she summoned her courage to tell him how she wishedonly that she might help him, and had framed the first words ofher speech when a knock, terrific and startling to people in theiroverwrought condition, sounded upon the door. 

"Katharine, I worship you, " he urged, half in a whisper. 

"Yes, " she replied, withdrawing with a little shiver, "but you must openthe door. "

CHAPTER XXIII

When Ralph Denham entered the room and saw Katharine seated with herback to him, he was conscious of a change in the grade of the atmospheresuch as a traveler meets with sometimes upon the roads, particularlyafter sunset, when, without warning, he runs from clammy chill to ahoard of unspent warmth in which the sweetness of hay and beanfieldis cherished, as if the sun still shone although the moon is up. Hehesitated; he shuddered; he walked elaborately to the window and laidaside his coat. He balanced his stick most carefully against the foldsof the curtain. Thus occupied with his own sensations and preparations, he had little time to observe what either of the other two was feeling. Such symptoms of agitation as he might perceive (and they had left theirtokens in brightness of eye and pallor of cheeks) seemed to him wellbefitting the actors in so great a drama as that of Katharine Hilbery'sdaily life. Beauty and passion were the breath of her being, he thought. 

She scarcely noticed his presence, or only as it forced her to adopt amanner of composure, which she was certainly far from feeling. William, however, was even more agitated than she was, and her first instalmentof promised help took the form of some commonplace upon the age of thebuilding or the architect's name, which gave him an excuse to fumble ina drawer for certain designs, which he laid upon the table between thethree of them. 

Which of the three followed the designs most carefully it would bedifficult to tell, but it is certain that not one of the three found forthe moment anything to say. Years of training in a drawing-room came atlength to Katharine's help, and she said something suitable, at the samemoment withdrawing her hand from the table because she perceived that ittrembled. William agreed effusively; Denham corroborated him, speakingin rather high-pitched tones; they thrust aside the plans, and drewnearer to the fireplace. 

"I'd rather live here than anywhere in the whole of London, " saidDenham. 

("And I've got nowhere to live") Katharine thought, as she agreed aloud. 

"You could get rooms here, no doubt, if you wanted to, " Rodney replied. 

"But I'm just leaving London for good--I've taken that cottage I wastelling you about. " The announcement seemed to convey very little toeither of his hearers. 

"Indeed?--that's sad.... You must give me your address. But you won'tcut yourself off altogether, surely--"

"You'll be moving, too, I suppose, " Denham remarked. 

William showed such visible signs of floundering that Katharinecollected herself and asked:

"Where is the cottage you've taken?"

In answering her, Denham turned and looked at her. As their eyes met, she realized for the first time that she was talking to Ralph Denham, and she remembered, without recalling any details, that she had beenspeaking of him quite lately, and that she had reason to think ill ofhim. What Mary had said she could not remember, but she felt thatthere was a mass of knowledge in her mind which she had not had timeto examine--knowledge now lying on the far side of a gulf. But heragitation flashed the queerest lights upon her past. She must getthrough the matter in hand, and then think it out in quiet. She benther mind to follow what Ralph was saying. He was telling her that he hadtaken a cottage in Norfolk, and she was saying that she knew, or did notknow, that particular neighborhood. But after a moment's attention hermind flew to Rodney, and she had an unusual, indeed unprecedented, sensethat they were in touch and shared each other's thoughts. If onlyRalph were not there, she would at once give way to her desire to takeWilliam's hand, then to bend his head upon her shoulder, for this waswhat she wanted to do more than anything at the moment, unless, indeed, she wished more than anything to be alone--yes, that was what shewanted. She was sick to death of these discussions; she shivered at theeffort to reveal her feelings. She had forgotten to answer. William wasspeaking now. 

"But what will you find to do in the country?" she asked at random, striking into a conversation which she had only half heard, in sucha way as to make both Rodney and Denham look at her with a littlesurprise. But directly she took up the conversation, it was William'sturn to fall silent. He at once forgot to listen to what they weresaying, although he interposed nervously at intervals, "Yes, yes, yes. "As the minutes passed, Ralph's presence became more and more intolerableto him, since there was so much that he must say to Katharine; themoment he could not talk to her, terrible doubts, unanswerable questionsaccumulated, which he must lay before Katharine, for she alone couldhelp him now. Unless he could see her alone, it would be impossible forhim ever to sleep, or to know what he had said in a moment of madness, which was not altogether mad, or was it mad? He nodded his head, andsaid, nervously, "Yes, yes, " and looked at Katharine, and thought howbeautiful she looked; there was no one in the world that he admiredmore. There was an emotion in her face which lent it an expression hehad never seen there. Then, as he was turning over means by which hecould speak to her alone, she rose, and he was taken by surprise, for hehad counted on the fact that she would outstay Denham. His only chance, then, of saying something to her in private, was to take her downstairsand walk with her to the street. While he hesitated, however, overcomewith the difficulty of putting one simple thought into words whenall his thoughts were scattered about, and all were too strong forutterance, he was struck silent by something that was still moreunexpected. Denham got up from his chair, looked at Katharine, and said:

"I'm going, too. Shall we go together?"

And before William could see any way of detaining him--or would itbe better to detain Katharine?--he had taken his hat, stick, and washolding the door open for Katharine to pass out. The most that Williamcould do was to stand at the head of the stairs and say good-night. Hecould not offer to go with them. He could not insist that she shouldstay. He watched her descend, rather slowly, owing to the dusk of thestaircase, and he had a last sight of Denham's head and of Katharine'shead near together, against the panels, when suddenly a pang of acutejealousy overcame him, and had he not remained conscious of the slippersupon his feet, he would have run after them or cried out. As it was hecould not move from the spot. At the turn of the staircase Katharineturned to look back, trusting to this last glance to seal their compactof good friendship. Instead of returning her silent greeting, Williamgrinned back at her a cold stare of sarcasm or of rage. 

She stopped dead for a moment, and then descended slowly into the court. She looked to the right and to the left, and once up into the sky. Shewas only conscious of Denham as a block upon her thoughts. She measuredthe distance that must be traversed before she would be alone. But whenthey came to the Strand no cabs were to be seen, and Denham broke thesilence by saying:

"There seem to be no cabs. Shall we walk on a little?"

"Very well, " she agreed, paying no attention to him. 

Aware of her preoccupation, or absorbed in his own thoughts, Ralph saidnothing further; and in silence they walked some distance along theStrand. Ralph was doing his best to put his thoughts into such orderthat one came before the rest, and the determination that when he spokehe should speak worthily, made him put off the moment of speaking tillhe had found the exact words and even the place that best suited him. The Strand was too busy. There was too much risk, also, of finding anempty cab. Without a word of explanation he turned to the left, down oneof the side streets leading to the river. On no account must they partuntil something of the very greatest importance had happened. He knewperfectly well what he wished to say, and had arranged not only thesubstance, but the order in which he was to say it. Now, however, thathe was alone with her, not only did he find the difficulty of speakingalmost insurmountable, but he was aware that he was angry with her forthus disturbing him, and casting, as it was so easy for a person of heradvantages to do, these phantoms and pitfalls across his path. He wasdetermined that he would question her as severely as he would questionhimself; and make them both, once and for all, either justify herdominance or renounce it. But the longer they walked thus alone, themore he was disturbed by the sense of her actual presence. Her skirtblew; the feathers in her hat waved; sometimes he saw her a step or twoahead of him, or had to wait for her to catch him up. 

The silence was prolonged, and at length drew her attention to him. First she was annoyed that there was no cab to free her from hiscompany; then she recalled vaguely something that Mary had said to makeher think ill of him; she could not remember what, but the recollection, combined with his masterful ways--why did he walk so fast down this sidestreet?--made her more and more conscious of a person of marked, thoughdisagreeable, force by her side. She stopped and, looking round herfor a cab, sighted one in the distance. He was thus precipitated intospeech. 

"Should you mind if we walked a little farther?" he asked. "There'ssomething I want to say to you. "

"Very well, " she replied, guessing that his request had something to dowith Mary Datchet. 

"It's quieter by the river, " he said, and instantly he crossed over. "Iwant to ask you merely this, " he began. But he paused so long that shecould see his head against the sky; the slope of his thin cheek andhis large, strong nose were clearly marked against it. While he paused, words that were quite different from those he intended to use presentedthemselves. 

"I've made you my standard ever since I saw you. I've dreamt about you;I've thought of nothing but you; you represent to me the only reality inthe world. "

His words, and the queer strained voice in which he spoke them, made itappear as if he addressed some person who was not the woman beside him, but some one far away. 

"And now things have come to such a pass that, unless I can speak to youopenly, I believe I shall go mad. I think of you as the most beautiful, the truest thing in the world, " he continued, filled with a sense ofexaltation, and feeling that he had no need now to choose his words withpedantic accuracy, for what he wanted to say was suddenly become plainto him. 

"I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river; to me you'reeverything that exists; the reality of everything. Life, I tell you, would be impossible without you. And now I want--"

She had heard him so far with a feeling that she had dropped somematerial word which made sense of the rest. She could hear no more ofthis unintelligible rambling without checking him. She felt that she wasoverhearing what was meant for another. 

"I don't understand, " she said. "You're saying things that you don'tmean. "

"I mean every word I say, " he replied, emphatically. He turned his headtowards her. She recovered the words she was searching for while hespoke. "Ralph Denham is in love with you. " They came back to her in MaryDatchet's voice. Her anger blazed up in her. 

"I saw Mary Datchet this afternoon, " she exclaimed. 

He made a movement as if he were surprised or taken aback, but answeredin a moment:

"She told you that I had asked her to marry me, I suppose?"

"No!" Katharine exclaimed, in surprise. 

"I did though. It was the day I saw you at Lincoln, " he continued. "Ihad meant to ask her to marry me, and then I looked out of the windowand saw you. After that I didn't want to ask any one to marry me. ButI did it; and she knew I was lying, and refused me. I thought then, andstill think, that she cares for me. I behaved very badly. I don't defendmyself. "

"No, " said Katharine, "I should hope not. There's no defence that I canthink of. If any conduct is wrong, that is. " She spoke with an energythat was directed even more against herself than against him. "It seemsto me, " she continued, with the same energy, "that people are boundto be honest. There's no excuse for such behavior. " She could now seeplainly before her eyes the expression on Mary Datchet's face. 

After a short pause, he said:

"I am not telling you that I am in love with you. I am not in love withyou. "

"I didn't think that, " she replied, conscious of some bewilderment. 

"I have not spoken a word to you that I do not mean, " he added. 

"Tell me then what it is that you mean, " she said at length. 

As if obeying a common instinct, they both stopped and, bending slightlyover the balustrade of the river, looked into the flowing water. 

"You say that we've got to be honest, " Ralph began. "Very well. I willtry to tell you the facts; but I warn you, you'll think me mad. It's afact, though, that since I first saw you four or five months ago Ihave made you, in an utterly absurd way, I expect, my ideal. I'm almostashamed to tell you what lengths I've gone to. It's become the thingthat matters most in my life. " He checked himself. "Without knowing you, except that you're beautiful, and all that, I've come to believe thatwe're in some sort of agreement; that we're after something together;that we see something.... I've got into the habit of imagining you; I'malways thinking what you'd say or do; I walk along the street talkingto you; I dream of you. It's merely a bad habit, a schoolboy habit, day-dreaming; it's a common experience; half one's friends do the same;well, those are the facts. "

Simultaneously, they both walked on very slowly. 

"If you were to know me you would feel none of this, " she said. "Wedon't know each other--we've always been--interrupted.... Were you goingto tell me this that day my aunts came?" she asked, recollecting thewhole scene. 

He bowed his head. 

"The day you told me of your engagement, " he said. 

She thought, with a start, that she was no longer engaged. 

"I deny that I should cease to feel this if I knew you, " he went on. "Ishould feel it more reasonably--that's all. I shouldn't talk the kindof nonsense I've talked to-night.... But it wasn't nonsense. It was thetruth, " he said doggedly. "It's the important thing. You can force meto talk as if this feeling for you were an hallucination, but all ourfeelings are that. The best of them are half illusions. Still, " headded, as if arguing to himself, "if it weren't as real a feeling as I'mcapable of, I shouldn't be changing my life on your account. "

"What do you mean?" she inquired. 

"I told you. I'm taking a cottage. I'm giving up my profession. "

"On my account?" she asked, in amazement. 

"Yes, on your account, " he replied. He explained his meaning no further. 

"But I don't know you or your circumstances, " she said at last, as heremained silent. 

"You have no opinion about me one way or the other?"

"Yes, I suppose I have an opinion--" she hesitated. 

He controlled his wish to ask her to explain herself, and much to hispleasure she went on, appearing to search her mind. 

"I thought that you criticized me--perhaps disliked me. I thought of youas a person who judges--"

"No; I'm a person who feels, " he said, in a low voice. 

"Tell me, then, what has made you do this?" she asked, after a break. 

He told her in an orderly way, betokening careful preparation, all thathe had meant to say at first; how he stood with regard to his brothersand sisters; what his mother had said, and his sister Joan had refrainedfrom saying; exactly how many pounds stood in his name at the bank; whatprospect his brother had of earning a livelihood in America; how much oftheir income went on rent, and other details known to him by heart. Shelistened to all this, so that she could have passed an examination init by the time Waterloo Bridge was in sight; and yet she was no morelistening to it than she was counting the paving-stones at her feet. Shewas feeling happier than she had felt in her life. If Denham could haveseen how visibly books of algebraic symbols, pages all speckled withdots and dashes and twisted bars, came before her eyes as they trod theEmbankment, his secret joy in her attention might have been dispersed. She went on, saying, "Yes, I see.... But how would that help you?... Your brother has passed his examination?" so sensibly, that he hadconstantly to keep his brain in check; and all the time she was in fancylooking up through a telescope at white shadow-cleft disks which wereother worlds, until she felt herself possessed of two bodies, onewalking by the river with Denham, the other concentrated to a silverglobe aloft in the fine blue space above the scum of vapors that wascovering the visible world. She looked at the sky once, and saw that nostar was keen enough to pierce the flight of watery clouds now coursingrapidly before the west wind. She looked down hurriedly again. There wasno reason, she assured herself, for this feeling of happiness; she wasnot free; she was not alone; she was still bound to earth by a millionfibres; every step took her nearer home. Nevertheless, she exultedas she had never exulted before. The air was fresher, the lights moredistinct, the cold stone of the balustrade colder and harder, whenby chance or purpose she struck her hand against it. No feeling ofannoyance with Denham remained; he certainly did not hinder any flightshe might choose to make, whether in the direction of the sky or of herhome; but that her condition was due to him, or to anything that he hadsaid, she had no consciousness at all. 

They were now within sight of the stream of cabs and omnibuses crossingto and from the Surrey side of the river; the sound of the traffic, thehooting of motor-horns, and the light chime of tram-bells sounded moreand more distinctly, and, with the increase of noise, they both becamesilent. With a common instinct they slackened their pace, as if tolengthen the time of semi-privacy allowed them. To Ralph, the pleasureof these last yards of the walk with Katharine was so great that hecould not look beyond the present moment to the time when she shouldhave left him. He had no wish to use the last moments of theircompanionship in adding fresh words to what he had already said. Sincethey had stopped talking, she had become to him not so much a realperson, as the very woman he dreamt of; but his solitary dreams hadnever produced any such keenness of sensation as that which he feltin her presence. He himself was also strangely transfigured. He hadcomplete mastery of all his faculties. For the first time he was inpossession of his full powers. The vistas which opened before him seemedto have no perceptible end. But the mood had none of the restlessness orfeverish desire to add one delight to another which had hitherto marked, and somewhat spoilt, the most rapturous of his imaginings. It was a moodthat took such clear-eyed account of the conditions of human life thathe was not disturbed in the least by the gliding presence of a taxicab, and without agitation he perceived that Katharine was conscious ofit also, and turned her head in that direction. Their halting stepsacknowledged the desirability of engaging the cab; and they stoppedsimultaneously, and signed to it. 

"Then you will let me know your decision as soon as you can?" he asked, with his hand on the door. 

She hesitated for a moment. She could not immediately recall what thequestion was that she had to decide. 

"I will write, " she said vaguely. "No, " she added, in a second, bethinking her of the difficulties of writing anything decided upon aquestion to which she had paid no attention, "I don't see how to manageit. "

She stood looking at Denham, considering and hesitating, with her footupon the step. He guessed her difficulties; he knew in a second that shehad heard nothing; he knew everything that she felt. 

"There's only one place to discuss things satisfactorily that I knowof, " he said quickly; "that's Kew. "

"Kew?"

"Kew, " he repeated, with immense decision. He shut the door and gave heraddress to the driver. She instantly was conveyed away from him, and hercab joined the knotted stream of vehicles, each marked by a light, andindistinguishable one from the other. He stood watching for a moment, and then, as if swept by some fierce impulse, from the spot where theyhad stood, he turned, crossed the road at a rapid pace, and disappeared. 

He walked on upon the impetus of this last mood of almost supernaturalexaltation until he reached a narrow street, at this hour empty oftraffic and passengers. Here, whether it was the shops with theirshuttered windows, the smooth and silvered curve of the wood pavement, or a natural ebb of feeling, his exaltation slowly oozed and desertedhim. He was now conscious of the loss that follows any revelation; hehad lost something in speaking to Katharine, for, after all, wasthe Katharine whom he loved the same as the real Katharine? She hadtranscended her entirely at moments; her skirt had blown, her featherwaved, her voice spoken; yes, but how terrible sometimes the pausebetween the voice of one's dreams and the voice that comes from theobject of one's dreams! He felt a mixture of disgust and pity at thefigure cut by human beings when they try to carry out, in practice, whatthey have the power to conceive. How small both he and Katharine hadappeared when they issued from the cloud of thought that enveloped them!He recalled the small, inexpressive, commonplace words in which they hadtried to communicate with each other; he repeated them over to himself. By repeating Katharine's words, he came in a few moments to such asense of her presence that he worshipped her more than ever. But she wasengaged to be married, he remembered with a start. The strength of hisfeeling was revealed to him instantly, and he gave himself up to anirresistible rage and sense of frustration. The image of Rodney camebefore him with every circumstance of folly and indignity. That littlepink-cheeked dancing-master to marry Katharine? that gibbering ass withthe face of a monkey on an organ? that posing, vain, fantastical fop?with his tragedies and his comedies, his innumerable spites and pridesand pettinesses? Lord! marry Rodney! She must be as great a fool as hewas. His bitterness took possession of him, and as he sat in thecorner of the underground carriage, he looked as stark an image ofunapproachable severity as could be imagined. Directly he reached homehe sat down at his table, and began to write Katharine a long, wild, madletter, begging her for both their sakes to break with Rodney, imploringher not to do what would destroy for ever the one beauty, the one truth, the one hope; not to be a traitor, not to be a deserter, for if shewere--and he wound up with a quiet and brief assertion that, whatevershe did or left undone, he would believe to be the best, and accept fromher with gratitude. He covered sheet after sheet, and heard the earlycarts starting for London before he went to bed. 

CHAPTER XXIV

The first signs of spring, even such as make themselves felt towards themiddle of February, not only produce little white and violet flowersin the more sheltered corners of woods and gardens, but bring to birththoughts and desires comparable to those faintly colored and sweetlyscented petals in the minds of men and women. Lives frozen by age, so far as the present is concerned, to a hard surface, which neitherreflects nor yields, at this season become soft and fluid, reflectingthe shapes and colors of the present, as well as the shapes and colorsof the past. In the case of Mrs. Hilbery, these early spring days werechiefly upsetting inasmuch as they caused a general quickening of heremotional powers, which, as far as the past was concerned, had neversuffered much diminution. But in the spring her desire for expressioninvariably increased. She was haunted by the ghosts of phrases. She gaveherself up to a sensual delight in the combinations of words. She soughtthem in the pages of her favorite authors. She made them for herselfon scraps of paper, and rolled them on her tongue when there seemed nooccasion for such eloquence. She was upheld in these excursions by thecertainty that no language could outdo the splendor of her father'smemory, and although her efforts did not notably further the end of hisbiography, she was under the impression of living more in his shade atsuch times than at others. No one can escape the power of language, letalone those of English birth brought up from childhood, as Mrs. Hilberyhad been, to disport themselves now in the Saxon plainness, now in theLatin splendor of the tongue, and stored with memories, as she was, ofold poets exuberating in an infinity of vocables. Even Katharinewas slightly affected against her better judgment by her mother'senthusiasm. Not that her judgment could altogether acquiesce in thenecessity for a study of Shakespeare's sonnets as a preliminary to thefifth chapter of her grandfather's biography. Beginning with a perfectlyfrivolous jest, Mrs. Hilbery had evolved a theory that Anne Hathaway hada way, among other things, of writing Shakespeare's sonnets; the idea, struck out to enliven a party of professors, who forwarded a number ofprivately printed manuals within the next few days for her instruction, had submerged her in a flood of Elizabethan literature; she had comehalf to believe in her joke, which was, she said, at least as good asother people's facts, and all her fancy for the time being centeredupon Stratford-on-Avon. She had a plan, she told Katharine, when, ratherlater than usual, Katharine came into the room the morning after herwalk by the river, for visiting Shakespeare's tomb. Any fact about thepoet had become, for the moment, of far greater interest to her than theimmediate present, and the certainty that there was existing in Englanda spot of ground where Shakespeare had undoubtedly stood, where his verybones lay directly beneath one's feet, was so absorbing to her on thisparticular occasion that she greeted her daughter with the exclamation:

"D'you think he ever passed this house?"

The question, for the moment, seemed to Katharine to have reference toRalph Denham. 

"On his way to Blackfriars, I mean, " Mrs. Hilbery continued, "for youknow the latest discovery is that he owned a house there. "

Katharine still looked about her in perplexity, and Mrs. Hilbery added:

"Which is a proof that he wasn't as poor as they've sometimes said. Ishould like to think that he had enough, though I don't in the leastwant him to be rich. "

Then, perceiving her daughter's expression of perplexity, Mrs. Hilberyburst out laughing. 

"My dear, I'm not talking about YOUR William, though that's anotherreason for liking him. I'm talking, I'm thinking, I'm dreaming of MYWilliam--William Shakespeare, of course. Isn't it odd, " she mused, standing at the window and tapping gently upon the pane, "that for allone can see, that dear old thing in the blue bonnet, crossing theroad with her basket on her arm, has never heard that there was sucha person? Yet it all goes on: lawyers hurrying to their work, cabmensquabbling for their fares, little boys rolling their hoops, littlegirls throwing bread to the gulls, as if there weren't a Shakespeare inthe world. I should like to stand at that crossing all day long and say:'People, read Shakespeare!'"

Katharine sat down at her table and opened a long dusty envelope. AsShelley was mentioned in the course of the letter as if he were alive, it had, of course, considerable value. Her immediate task was to decidewhether the whole letter should be printed, or only the paragraph whichmentioned Shelley's name, and she reached out for a pen and held it inreadiness to do justice upon the sheet. Her pen, however, remained inthe air. Almost surreptitiously she slipped a clean sheet in front ofher, and her hand, descending, began drawing square boxes halved andquartered by straight lines, and then circles which underwent the sameprocess of dissection. 

"Katharine! I've hit upon a brilliant idea!" Mrs. Hilbery exclaimed--"tolay out, say, a hundred pounds or so on copies of Shakespeare, and givethem to working men. Some of your clever friends who get up meetingsmight help us, Katharine. And that might lead to a playhouse, where wecould all take parts. You'd be Rosalind--but you've a dash of the oldnurse in you. Your father's Hamlet, come to years of discretion; andI'm--well, I'm a bit of them all; I'm quite a large bit of the fool, but the fools in Shakespeare say all the clever things. Now who shallWilliam be? A hero? Hotspur? Henry the Fifth? No, William's got a touchof Hamlet in him, too. I can fancy that William talks to himself whenhe's alone. Ah, Katharine, you must say very beautiful things whenyou're together!" she added wistfully, with a glance at her daughter, who had told her nothing about the dinner the night before. 

"Oh, we talk a lot of nonsense, " said Katharine, hiding her slip ofpaper as her mother stood by her, and spreading the old letter aboutShelley in front of her. 

"It won't seem to you nonsense in ten years' time, " said Mrs. Hilbery. "Believe me, Katharine, you'll look back on these days afterwards;you'll remember all the silly things you've said; and you'll find thatyour life has been built on them. The best of life is built on what wesay when we're in love. It isn't nonsense, Katharine, " she urged, "it'sthe truth, it's the only truth. "

Katharine was on the point of interrupting her mother, and then she wason the point of confiding in her. They came strangely close togethersometimes. But, while she hesitated and sought for words not too direct, her mother had recourse to Shakespeare, and turned page after page, set upon finding some quotation which said all this about love far, farbetter than she could. Accordingly, Katharine did nothing but scrub oneof her circles an intense black with her pencil, in the midst of whichprocess the telephone-bell rang, and she left the room to answer it. 

When she returned, Mrs. Hilbery had found not the passage she wanted, but another of exquisite beauty as she justly observed, looking up for asecond to ask Katharine who that was?

"Mary Datchet, " Katharine replied briefly. 

"Ah--I half wish I'd called you Mary, but it wouldn't have gone withHilbery, and it wouldn't have gone with Rodney. Now this isn't thepassage I wanted. (I never can find what I want. ) But it's spring; it'sthe daffodils; it's the green fields; it's the birds. "

She was cut short in her quotation by another imperative telephone-bell. Once more Katharine left the room. 

"My dear child, how odious the triumphs of science are!" Mrs. Hilberyexclaimed on her return. "They'll be linking us with the moon next--butwho was that?"

"William, " Katharine replied yet more briefly. 

"I'll forgive William anything, for I'm certain that there aren't anyWilliams in the moon. I hope he's coming to luncheon?"

"He's coming to tea. "

"Well, that's better than nothing, and I promise to leave you alone. "

"There's no need for you to do that, " said Katharine. 

She swept her hand over the faded sheet, and drew herself up squarelyto the table as if she refused to waste time any longer. The gesture wasnot lost upon her mother. It hinted at the existence of something sternand unapproachable in her daughter's character, which struck chill uponher, as the sight of poverty, or drunkenness, or the logic with whichMr. Hilbery sometimes thought good to demolish her certainty of anapproaching millennium struck chill upon her. She went back to her owntable, and putting on her spectacles with a curious expression of quiethumility, addressed herself for the first time that morning to the taskbefore her. The shock with an unsympathetic world had a sobering effecton her. For once, her industry surpassed her daughter's. Katharine couldnot reduce the world to that particular perspective in which HarrietMartineau, for instance, was a figure of solid importance, and possessedof a genuine relationship to this figure or to that date. Singularlyenough, the sharp call of the telephone-bell still echoed in her ear, and her body and mind were in a state of tension, as if, at any moment, she might hear another summons of greater interest to her than the wholeof the nineteenth century. She did not clearly realize what this callwas to be; but when the ears have got into the habit of listening, theygo on listening involuntarily, and thus Katharine spent the greater partof the morning in listening to a variety of sounds in the back streetsof Chelsea. For the first time in her life, probably, she wished thatMrs. Hilbery would not keep so closely to her work. A quotation fromShakespeare would not have come amiss. Now and again she heard a sighfrom her mother's table, but that was the only proof she gave of herexistence, and Katharine did not think of connecting it with the squareaspect of her own position at the table, or, perhaps, she would havethrown her pen down and told her mother the reason of her restlessness. The only writing she managed to accomplish in the course of the morningwas one letter, addressed to her cousin, Cassandra Otway--a ramblingletter, long, affectionate, playful and commanding all at once. She badeCassandra put her creatures in the charge of a groom, and come tothem for a week or so. They would go and hear some music together. Cassandra's dislike of rational society, she said, was an affectationfast hardening into a prejudice, which would, in the long run, isolateher from all interesting people and pursuits. She was finishing thesheet when the sound she was anticipating all the time actually struckupon her ears. She jumped up hastily, and slammed the door with asharpness which made Mrs. Hilbery start. Where was Katharine off to? Inher preoccupied state she had not heard the bell. 

The alcove on the stairs, in which the telephone was placed, wasscreened for privacy by a curtain of purple velvet. It was a pocket forsuperfluous possessions, such as exist in most houses which harbor thewreckage of three generations. Prints of great-uncles, famed for theirprowess in the East, hung above Chinese teapots, whose sides wereriveted by little gold stitches, and the precious teapots, again, stoodupon bookcases containing the complete works of William Cowper andSir Walter Scott. The thread of sound, issuing from the telephone, wasalways colored by the surroundings which received it, so it seemed toKatharine. Whose voice was now going to combine with them, or to strikea discord?

"Whose voice?" she asked herself, hearing a man inquire, with greatdetermination, for her number. The unfamiliar voice now asked for MissHilbery. Out of all the welter of voices which crowd round the far endof the telephone, out of the enormous range of possibilities, whosevoice, what possibility, was this? A pause gave her time to ask herselfthis question. It was solved next moment. 

"I've looked out the train.... Early on Saturday afternoon would suit mebest.... I'm Ralph Denham.... But I'll write it down.... "

With more than the usual sense of being impinged upon the point of abayonet, Katharine replied:

"I think I could come. I'll look at my engagements.... Hold on. "

She dropped the machine, and looked fixedly at the print of thegreat-uncle who had not ceased to gaze, with an air of amiableauthority, into a world which, as yet, beheld no symptoms of the IndianMutiny. And yet, gently swinging against the wall, within the blacktube, was a voice which recked nothing of Uncle James, of China teapots, or of red velvet curtains. She watched the oscillation of the tube, andat the same moment became conscious of the individuality of the house inwhich she stood; she heard the soft domestic sounds of regular existenceupon staircases and floors above her head, and movements through thewall in the house next door. She had no very clear vision of Denhamhimself, when she lifted the telephone to her lips and replied thatshe thought Saturday would suit her. She hoped that he would not saygood-bye at once, although she felt no particular anxiety to attend towhat he was saying, and began, even while he spoke, to think of her ownupper room, with its books, its papers pressed between the leaves ofdictionaries, and the table that could be cleared for work. She replacedthe instrument, thoughtfully; her restlessness was assuaged; shefinished her letter to Cassandra without difficulty, addressed theenvelope, and fixed the stamp with her usual quick decision. 

A bunch of anemones caught Mrs. Hilbery's eye when they had finishedluncheon. The blue and purple and white of the bowl, standing in a poolof variegated light on a polished Chippendale table in the drawing-roomwindow, made her stop dead with an exclamation of pleasure. 

"Who is lying ill in bed, Katharine?" she demanded. "Which of ourfriends wants cheering up? Who feels that they've been forgotten andpassed over, and that nobody wants them? Whose water rates are overdue, and the cook leaving in a temper without waiting for her wages? Therewas somebody I know--" she concluded, but for the moment the name ofthis desirable acquaintance escaped her. The best representative of theforlorn company whose day would be brightened by a bunch of anemoneswas, in Katharine's opinion, the widow of a general living in theCromwell Road. In default of the actually destitute and starving, whomshe would much have preferred, Mrs. Hilbery was forced to acknowledgeher claims, for though in comfortable circumstances, she was extremelydull, unattractive, connected in some oblique fashion with literature, and had been touched to the verge of tears, on one occasion, by anafternoon call. 

It happened that Mrs. Hilbery had an engagement elsewhere, so that thetask of taking the flowers to the Cromwell Road fell upon Katharine. Shetook her letter to Cassandra with her, meaning to post it in the firstpillar-box she came to. When, however, she was fairly out of doors, andconstantly invited by pillar-boxes and post-offices to slip her envelopedown their scarlet throats, she forbore. She made absurd excuses, asthat she did not wish to cross the road, or that she was certain to passanother post-office in a more central position a little farther on. Thelonger she held the letter in her hand, however, the more persistentlycertain questions pressed upon her, as if from a collection of voicesin the air. These invisible people wished to be informed whether shewas engaged to William Rodney, or was the engagement broken off? Wasit right, they asked, to invite Cassandra for a visit, and was WilliamRodney in love with her, or likely to fall in love? Then the questionerspaused for a moment, and resumed as if another side of the problem hadjust come to their notice. What did Ralph Denham mean by what he said toyou last night? Do you consider that he is in love with you? Is it rightto consent to a solitary walk with him, and what advice are you goingto give him about his future? Has William Rodney cause to be jealous ofyour conduct, and what do you propose to do about Mary Datchet? What areyou going to do? What does honor require you to do? they repeated. 

"Good Heavens!" Katharine exclaimed, after listening to all theseremarks, "I suppose I ought to make up my mind. "

But the debate was a formal skirmishing, a pastime to gainbreathing-space. Like all people brought up in a tradition, Katharinewas able, within ten minutes or so, to reduce any moral difficulty toits traditional shape and solve it by the traditional answers. The bookof wisdom lay open, if not upon her mother's knee, upon the knees ofmany uncles and aunts. She had only to consult them, and they would atonce turn to the right page and read out an answer exactly suited toone in her position. The rules which should govern the behavior of anunmarried woman are written in red ink, graved upon marble, if, by somefreak of nature, it should fall out that the unmarried woman has not thesame writing scored upon her heart. She was ready to believe that somepeople are fortunate enough to reject, accept, resign, or lay down theirlives at the bidding of traditional authority; she could envy them; butin her case the questions became phantoms directly she tried seriouslyto find an answer, which proved that the traditional answer would beof no use to her individually. Yet it had served so many people, shethought, glancing at the rows of houses on either side of her, wherefamilies, whose incomes must be between a thousand and fifteen-hundred ayear lived, and kept, perhaps, three servants, and draped their windowswith curtains which were always thick and generally dirty, and must, she thought, since you could only see a looking-glass gleaming above asideboard on which a dish of apples was set, keep the room inside verydark. But she turned her head away, observing that this was not a methodof thinking the matter out. 

The only truth which she could discover was the truth of what sheherself felt--a frail beam when compared with the broad illuminationshed by the eyes of all the people who are in agreement to see together;but having rejected the visionary voices, she had no choice but to makethis her guide through the dark masses which confronted her. She triedto follow her beam, with an expression upon her face which would havemade any passer-by think her reprehensibly and almost ridiculouslydetached from the surrounding scene. One would have felt alarmed lestthis young and striking woman were about to do something eccentric. Buther beauty saved her from the worst fate that can befall a pedestrian;people looked at her, but they did not laugh. To seek a true feelingamong the chaos of the unfeelings or half-feelings of life, to recognizeit when found, and to accept the consequences of the discovery, drawslines upon the smoothest brow, while it quickens the light of theeyes; it is a pursuit which is alternately bewildering, debasing, andexalting, and, as Katharine speedily found, her discoveries gave herequal cause for surprise, shame, and intense anxiety. Much depended, as usual, upon the interpretation of the word love; which word came upagain and again, whether she considered Rodney, Denham, Mary Datchet, or herself; and in each case it seemed to stand for something different, and yet for something unmistakable and something not to be passed by. For the more she looked into the confusion of lives which, insteadof running parallel, had suddenly intersected each other, the moredistinctly she seemed to convince herself that there was no other lighton them than was shed by this strange illumination, and no other pathsave the one upon which it threw its beams. Her blindness in the caseof Rodney, her attempt to match his true feeling with her false feeling, was a failure never to be sufficiently condemned; indeed, she could onlypay it the tribute of leaving it a black and naked landmark unburied byattempt at oblivion or excuse. 

With this to humiliate there was much to exalt. She thought of threedifferent scenes; she thought of Mary sitting upright and saying, "I'm in love--I'm in love"; she thought of Rodney losing hisself-consciousness among the dead leaves, and speaking with theabandonment of a child; she thought of Denham leaning upon the stoneparapet and talking to the distant sky, so that she thought him mad. Hermind, passing from Mary to Denham, from William to Cassandra, and fromDenham to herself--if, as she rather doubted, Denham's state of mindwas connected with herself--seemed to be tracing out the lines of somesymmetrical pattern, some arrangement of life, which invested, if notherself, at least the others, not only with interest, but with a kindof tragic beauty. She had a fantastic picture of them upholding splendidpalaces upon their bent backs. They were the lantern-bearers, whoselights, scattered among the crowd, wove a pattern, dissolving, joining, meeting again in combination. Half forming such conceptions as thesein her rapid walk along the dreary streets of South Kensington, shedetermined that, whatever else might be obscure, she must furtherthe objects of Mary, Denham, William, and Cassandra. The way was notapparent. No course of action seemed to her indubitably right. All sheachieved by her thinking was the conviction that, in such a cause, norisk was too great; and that, far from making any rules for herself orothers, she would let difficulties accumulate unsolved, situations widentheir jaws unsatiated, while she maintained a position of absolute andfearless independence. So she could best serve the people who loved. 

Read in the light of this exaltation, there was a new meaning in thewords which her mother had penciled upon the card attached to the bunchof anemones. The door of the house in the Cromwell Road opened; gloomyvistas of passage and staircase were revealed; such light as there wasseemed to be concentrated upon a silver salver of visiting-cards, whoseblack borders suggested that the widow's friends had all suffered thesame bereavement. The parlor-maid could hardly be expected to fathom themeaning of the grave tone in which the young lady proffered the flowers, with Mrs. Hilbery's love; and the door shut upon the offering. 

The sight of a face, the slam of a door, are both rather destructiveof exaltation in the abstract; and, as she walked back to Chelsea, Katharine had her doubts whether anything would come of her resolves. If you cannot make sure of people, however, you can hold fairly fast tofigures, and in some way or other her thought about such problems as shewas wont to consider worked in happily with her mood as to her friends'lives. She reached home rather late for tea. 

On the ancient Dutch chest in the hall she perceived one or two hats, coats, and walking-sticks, and the sound of voices reached her as shestood outside the drawing-room door. Her mother gave a little cry as shecame in; a cry which conveyed to Katharine the fact that she was late, that the teacups and milk-jugs were in a conspiracy of disobedience, andthat she must immediately take her place at the head of the table andpour out tea for the guests. Augustus Pelham, the diarist, liked a calmatmosphere in which to tell his stories; he liked attention; he liked toelicit little facts, little stories, about the past and the great dead, from such distinguished characters as Mrs. Hilbery for the nourishmentof his diary, for whose sake he frequented tea-tables and ate yearly anenormous quantity of buttered toast. He, therefore, welcomed Katharinewith relief, and she had merely to shake hands with Rodney and to greetthe American lady who had come to be shown the relics, before the talkstarted again on the broad lines of reminiscence and discussion whichwere familiar to her. 

Yet, even with this thick veil between them, she could not help lookingat Rodney, as if she could detect what had happened to him since theymet. It was in vain. His clothes, even the white slip, the pearl in histie, seemed to intercept her quick glance, and to proclaim the futilityof such inquiries of a discreet, urbane gentleman, who balanced his cupof tea and poised a slice of bread and butter on the edge of the saucer. He would not meet her eye, but that could be accounted for by hisactivity in serving and helping, and the polite alacrity with which hewas answering the questions of the American visitor. 

It was certainly a sight to daunt any one coming in with a head fullof theories about love. The voices of the invisible questioners werereinforced by the scene round the table, and sounded with a tremendousself-confidence, as if they had behind them the common sense of twentygenerations, together with the immediate approval of Mr. AugustusPelham, Mrs. Vermont Bankes, William Rodney, and, possibly, Mrs. Hilberyherself. Katharine set her teeth, not entirely in the metaphoricalsense, for her hand, obeying the impulse towards definite action, laidfirmly upon the table beside her an envelope which she had been graspingall this time in complete forgetfulness. The address was uppermost, anda moment later she saw William's eye rest upon it as he rose to fulfilsome duty with a plate. His expression instantly changed. He did whathe was on the point of doing, and then looked at Katharine with a lookwhich revealed enough of his confusion to show her that he was notentirely represented by his appearance. In a minute or two he provedhimself at a loss with Mrs. Vermont Bankes, and Mrs. Hilbery, aware ofthe silence with her usual quickness, suggested that, perhaps, it wasnow time that Mrs. Bankes should be shown "our things. "

Katharine accordingly rose, and led the way to the little inner roomwith the pictures and the books. Mrs. Bankes and Rodney followed her. 

She turned on the lights, and began directly in her low, pleasant voice:"This table is my grandfather's writing-table. Most of the later poemswere written at it. And this is his pen--the last pen he ever used. " Shetook it in her hand and paused for the right number of seconds. "Here, "she continued, "is the original manuscript of the 'Ode to Winter. ' Theearly manuscripts are far less corrected than the later ones, as youwill see directly.... Oh, do take it yourself, " she added, as Mrs. Bankes asked, in an awestruck tone of voice, for that privilege, andbegan a preliminary unbuttoning of her white kid gloves. 

"You are wonderfully like your grandfather, Miss Hilbery, " the Americanlady observed, gazing from Katharine to the portrait, "especially aboutthe eyes. Come, now, I expect she writes poetry herself, doesn't she?"she asked in a jocular tone, turning to William. "Quite one's ideal ofa poet, is it not, Mr. Rodney? I cannot tell you what a privilege I feelit to be standing just here with the poet's granddaughter. You must knowwe think a great deal of your grandfather in America, Miss Hilbery. We have societies for reading him aloud. What! His very own slippers!"Laying aside the manuscript, she hastily grasped the old shoes, andremained for a moment dumb in contemplation of them. 

While Katharine went on steadily with her duties as show-woman, Rodneyexamined intently a row of little drawings which he knew by heartalready. His disordered state of mind made it necessary for him to takeadvantage of these little respites, as if he had been out in a high windand must straighten his dress in the first shelter he reached. His calmwas only superficial, as he knew too well; it did not exist much belowthe surface of tie, waistcoat, and white slip. 

On getting out of bed that morning he had fully made up his mind toignore what had been said the night before; he had been convinced, bythe sight of Denham, that his love for Katharine was passionate, andwhen he addressed her early that morning on the telephone, he had meanthis cheerful but authoritative tones to convey to her the fact that, after a night of madness, they were as indissolubly engaged as ever. Butwhen he reached his office his torments began. He found a letter fromCassandra waiting for him. She had read his play, and had taken thevery first opportunity to write and tell him what she thought of it. Sheknew, she wrote, that her praise meant absolutely nothing; but still, she had sat up all night; she thought this, that, and the other; she wasfull of enthusiasm most elaborately scratched out in places, but enoughwas written plain to gratify William's vanity exceedingly. She was quiteintelligent enough to say the right things, or, even more charmingly, to hint at them. In other ways, too, it was a very charming letter. Shetold him about her music, and about a Suffrage meeting to which Henryhad taken her, and she asserted, half seriously, that she had learnt theGreek alphabet, and found it "fascinating. " The word was underlined. Hadshe laughed when she drew that line? Was she ever serious? Didn't theletter show the most engaging compound of enthusiasm and spirit andwhimsicality, all tapering into a flame of girlish freakishness, whichflitted, for the rest of the morning, as a will-o'-the-wisp, acrossRodney's landscape. He could not resist beginning an answer to her thereand then. He found it particularly delightful to shape a style whichshould express the bowing and curtsying, advancing and retreating, whichare characteristic of one of the many million partnerships of men andwomen. Katharine never trod that particular measure, he could not helpreflecting; Katharine--Cassandra; Cassandra--Katharine--they alternatedin his consciousness all day long. It was all very well to dress oneselfcarefully, compose one's face, and start off punctually at half-pastfour to a tea-party in Cheyne Walk, but Heaven only knew what wouldcome of it all, and when Katharine, after sitting silent with her usualimmobility, wantonly drew from her pocket and slapped down on the tablebeneath his eyes a letter addressed to Cassandra herself, his composuredeserted him. What did she mean by her behavior?

He looked up sharply from his row of little pictures. Katharine wasdisposing of the American lady in far too arbitrary a fashion. Surelythe victim herself must see how foolish her enthusiasms appeared in theeyes of the poet's granddaughter. Katharine never made any attempt tospare people's feelings, he reflected; and, being himself very sensitiveto all shades of comfort and discomfort, he cut short the auctioneer'scatalog, which Katharine was reeling off more and more absent-mindedly, and took Mrs. Vermont Bankes, with a queer sense of fellowship insuffering, under his own protection. 

But within a few minutes the American lady had completed her inspection, and inclining her head in a little nod of reverential farewell to thepoet and his shoes, she was escorted downstairs by Rodney. Katharinestayed by herself in the little room. The ceremony of ancestor-worshiphad been more than usually oppressive to her. Moreover, the room wasbecoming crowded beyond the bounds of order. Only that morning a heavilyinsured proof-sheet had reached them from a collector in Australia, which recorded a change of the poet's mind about a very famous phrase, and, therefore, had claims to the honor of glazing and framing. Butwas there room for it? Must it be hung on the staircase, or should someother relic give place to do it honor? Feeling unable to decide thequestion, Katharine glanced at the portrait of her grandfather, as if toask his opinion. The artist who had painted it was now out of fashion, and by dint of showing it to visitors, Katharine had almost ceasedto see anything but a glow of faintly pleasing pink and brown tints, enclosed within a circular scroll of gilt laurel-leaves. The young manwho was her grandfather looked vaguely over her head. The sensual lipswere slightly parted, and gave the face an expression of beholdingsomething lovely or miraculous vanishing or just rising upon the rim ofthe distance. The expression repeated itself curiously upon Katharine'sface as she gazed up into his. They were the same age, or very nearlyso. She wondered what he was looking for; were there waves beatingupon a shore for him, too, she wondered, and heroes riding through theleaf-hung forests? For perhaps the first time in her life she thought ofhim as a man, young, unhappy, tempestuous, full of desires and faults;for the first time she realized him for herself, and not from hermother's memory. He might have been her brother, she thought. It seemedto her that they were akin, with the mysterious kinship of blood whichmakes it seem possible to interpret the sights which the eyes of thedead behold so intently, or even to believe that they look with us uponour present joys and sorrows. He would have understood, she thought, suddenly; and instead of laying her withered flowers upon his shrine, she brought him her own perplexities--perhaps a gift of greater value, should the dead be conscious of gifts, than flowers and incense andadoration. Doubts, questionings, and despondencies she felt, as shelooked up, would be more welcome to him than homage, and he would holdthem but a very small burden if she gave him, also, some share in whatshe suffered and achieved. The depth of her own pride and love were notmore apparent to her than the sense that the dead asked neither flowersnor regrets, but a share in the life which they had given her, the lifewhich they had lived. 

Rodney found her a moment later sitting beneath her grandfather'sportrait. She laid her hand on the seat next her in a friendly way, andsaid:

"Come and sit down, William. How glad I was you were here! I felt myselfgetting ruder and ruder. "

"You are not good at hiding your feelings, " he returned dryly. 

"Oh, don't scold me--I've had a horrid afternoon. " She told him howshe had taken the flowers to Mrs. McCormick, and how South Kensingtonimpressed her as the preserve of officers' widows. She described howthe door had opened, and what gloomy avenues of busts and palm-trees andumbrellas had been revealed to her. She spoke lightly, and succeeded inputting him at his ease. Indeed, he rapidly became too much at his easeto persist in a condition of cheerful neutrality. He felt his composureslipping from him. Katharine made it seem so natural to ask her to helphim, or advise him, to say straight out what he had in his mind. Theletter from Cassandra was heavy in his pocket. There was also the letterto Cassandra lying on the table in the next room. The atmosphere seemedcharged with Cassandra. But, unless Katharine began the subject of herown accord, he could not even hint--he must ignore the whole affair; itwas the part of a gentleman to preserve a bearing that was, as far ashe could make it, the bearing of an undoubting lover. At intervalshe sighed deeply. He talked rather more quickly than usual about thepossibility that some of the operas of Mozart would be played in thesummer. He had received a notice, he said, and at once produced apocket-book stuffed with papers, and began shuffling them in search. He held a thick envelope between his finger and thumb, as if the noticefrom the opera company had become in some way inseparably attached toit. 

"A letter from Cassandra?" said Katharine, in the easiest voice in theworld, looking over his shoulder. "I've just written to ask her to comehere, only I forgot to post it. "

He handed her the envelope in silence. She took it, extracted thesheets, and read the letter through. 

The reading seemed to Rodney to take an intolerably long time. 

"Yes, " she observed at length, "a very charming letter. "

Rodney's face was half turned away, as if in bashfulness. Her view ofhis profile almost moved her to laughter. She glanced through the pagesonce more. 

"I see no harm, " William blurted out, "in helping her--with Greek, forexample--if she really cares for that sort of thing. "

"There's no reason why she shouldn't care, " said Katharine, consultingthe pages once more. "In fact--ah, here it is--'The Greek alphabet isabsolutely FASCINATING. ' Obviously she does care. "

"Well, Greek may be rather a large order. I was thinking chieflyof English. Her criticisms of my play, though they're too generous, evidently immature--she can't be more than twenty-two, I suppose?--theycertainly show the sort of thing one wants: real feeling for poetry, understanding, not formed, of course, but it's at the root of everythingafter all. There'd be no harm in lending her books?"

"No. Certainly not. "

"But if it--hum--led to a correspondence? I mean, Katharine, I take it, without going into matters which seem to me a little morbid, I mean, "he floundered, "you, from your point of view, feel that there's nothingdisagreeable to you in the notion? If so, you've only to speak, and Inever think of it again. "

She was surprised by the violence of her desire that he never shouldthink of it again. For an instant it seemed to her impossible tosurrender an intimacy, which might not be the intimacy of love, but wascertainly the intimacy of true friendship, to any woman in the world. Cassandra would never understand him--she was not good enough for him. The letter seemed to her a letter of flattery--a letter addressed to hisweakness, which it made her angry to think was known to another. For hewas not weak; he had the rare strength of doing what he promised--shehad only to speak, and he would never think of Cassandra again. 

She paused. Rodney guessed the reason. He was amazed. 

"She loves me, " he thought. The woman he admired more than any one inthe world, loved him, as he had given up hope that she would everlove him. And now that for the first time he was sure of her love, heresented it. He felt it as a fetter, an encumbrance, something whichmade them both, but him in particular, ridiculous. He was in her powercompletely, but his eyes were open and he was no longer her slave or herdupe. He would be her master in future. The instant prolonged itself asKatharine realized the strength of her desire to speak the words thatshould keep William for ever, and the baseness of the temptation whichassailed her to make the movement, or speak the word, which he had oftenbegged her for, which she was now near enough to feeling. She held theletter in her hand. She sat silent. 

At this moment there was a stir in the other room; the voice ofMrs. Hilbery was heard talking of proof-sheets rescued by miraculousprovidence from butcher's ledgers in Australia; the curtain separatingone room from the other was drawn apart, and Mrs. Hilbery and AugustusPelham stood in the doorway. Mrs. Hilbery stopped short. She lookedat her daughter, and at the man her daughter was to marry, with herpeculiar smile that always seemed to tremble on the brink of satire. 

"The best of all my treasures, Mr. Pelham!" she exclaimed. "Don't move, Katharine. Sit still, William. Mr. Pelham will come another day. "

Mr. Pelham looked, smiled, bowed, and, as his hostess had moved on, followed her without a word. The curtain was drawn again either by himor by Mrs. Hilbery. 

But her mother had settled the question somehow. Katharine doubted nolonger. 

"As I told you last night, " she said, "I think it's your duty, ifthere's a chance that you care for Cassandra, to discover what yourfeeling is for her now. It's your duty to her, as well as to me. But wemust tell my mother. We can't go on pretending. "

"That is entirely in your hands, of course, " said Rodney, with animmediate return to the manner of a formal man of honor. 

"Very well, " said Katharine. 

Directly he left her she would go to her mother, and explain that theengagement was at an end--or it might be better that they should gotogether?

"But, Katharine, " Rodney began, nervously attempting to stuffCassandra's sheets back into their envelope; "if Cassandra--shouldCassandra--you've asked Cassandra to stay with you. "

"Yes; but I've not posted the letter. "

He crossed his knees in a discomfited silence. By all his codes itwas impossible to ask a woman with whom he had just broken off hisengagement to help him to become acquainted with another woman with aview to his falling in love with her. If it was announced that theirengagement was over, a long and complete separation would inevitablyfollow; in those circumstances, letters and gifts were returned; afteryears of distance the severed couple met, perhaps at an evening party, and touched hands uncomfortably with an indifferent word or two. He would be cast off completely; he would have to trust to his ownresources. He could never mention Cassandra to Katharine again; formonths, and doubtless years, he would never see Katharine again;anything might happen to her in his absence. 

Katharine was almost as well aware of his perplexities as he was. She knew in what direction complete generosity pointed the way; butpride--for to remain engaged to Rodney and to cover his experiments hurtwhat was nobler in her than mere vanity--fought for its life. 

"I'm to give up my freedom for an indefinite time, " she thought, "inorder that William may see Cassandra here at his ease. He's not thecourage to manage it without my help--he's too much of a coward to tellme openly what he wants. He hates the notion of a public breach. Hewants to keep us both. "

When she reached this point, Rodney pocketed the letter and elaboratelylooked at his watch. Although the action meant that he resignedCassandra, for he knew his own incompetence and distrusted himselfentirely, and lost Katharine, for whom his feeling was profound thoughunsatisfactory, still it appeared to him that there was nothing elseleft for him to do. He was forced to go, leaving Katharine free, as hehad said, to tell her mother that the engagement was at an end. But todo what plain duty required of an honorable man, cost an effort whichonly a day or two ago would have been inconceivable to him. That arelationship such as he had glanced at with desire could be possiblebetween him and Katharine, he would have been the first, two days ago, to deny with indignation. But now his life had changed; his attitudehad changed; his feelings were different; new aims and possibilitieshad been shown him, and they had an almost irresistible fascinationand force. The training of a life of thirty-five years had not left himdefenceless; he was still master of his dignity; he rose, with a mindmade up to an irrevocable farewell. 

"I leave you, then, " he said, standing up and holding out his hand withan effort that left him pale, but lent him dignity, "to tell your motherthat our engagement is ended by your desire. "

She took his hand and held it. 

"You don't trust me?" she said. 

"I do, absolutely, " he replied. 

"No. You don't trust me to help you.... I could help you?"

"I'm hopeless without your help!" he exclaimed passionately, butwithdrew his hand and turned his back. When he faced her, she thoughtthat she saw him for the first time without disguise. 

"It's useless to pretend that I don't understand what you're offering, Katharine. I admit what you say. Speaking to you perfectly frankly, Ibelieve at this moment that I do love your cousin; there is a chancethat, with your help, I might--but no, " he broke off, "it's impossible, it's wrong--I'm infinitely to blame for having allowed this situation toarise. "

"Sit beside me. Let's consider sensibly--"

"Your sense has been our undoing--" he groaned. 

"I accept the responsibility. "

"Ah, but can I allow that?" he exclaimed. "It would mean--for we mustface it, Katharine--that we let our engagement stand for the timenominally; in fact, of course, your freedom would be absolute. "

"And yours too. "

"Yes, we should both be free. Let us say that I saw Cassandra once, twice, perhaps, under these conditions; and then if, as I think certain, the whole thing proves a dream, we tell your mother instantly. Why nottell her now, indeed, under pledge of secrecy?"

"Why not? It would be over London in ten minutes, besides, she wouldnever even remotely understand. "

"Your father, then? This secrecy is detestable--it's dishonorable. "

"My father would understand even less than my mother. "

"Ah, who could be expected to understand?" Rodney groaned; "but it'sfrom your point of view that we must look at it. It's not only askingtoo much, it's putting you into a position--a position in which I couldnot endure to see my own sister. "

"We're not brothers and sisters, " she said impatiently, "and if we can'tdecide, who can? I'm not talking nonsense, " she proceeded. "I've donemy best to think this out from every point of view, and I've come to theconclusion that there are risks which have to be taken, --though I don'tdeny that they hurt horribly. "

"Katharine, you mind? You'll mind too much. "

"No I shan't, " she said stoutly. "I shall mind a good deal, but I'mprepared for that; I shall get through it, because you will help me. You'll both help me. In fact, we'll help each other. That's a Christiandoctrine, isn't it?"

"It sounds more like Paganism to me, " Rodney groaned, as he reviewed thesituation into which her Christian doctrine was plunging them. 

And yet he could not deny that a divine relief possessed him, and thatthe future, instead of wearing a lead-colored mask, now blossomed witha thousand varied gaieties and excitements. He was actually to seeCassandra within a week or perhaps less, and he was more anxious to knowthe date of her arrival than he could own even to himself. It seemedbase to be so anxious to pluck this fruit of Katharine's unexampledgenerosity and of his own contemptible baseness. And yet, though he usedthese words automatically, they had now no meaning. He was not debasedin his own eyes by what he had done, and as for praising Katharine, were they not partners, conspirators, people bent upon the same questtogether, so that to praise the pursuit of a common end as an act ofgenerosity was meaningless. He took her hand and pressed it, not inthanks so much as in an ecstasy of comradeship. 

"We will help each other, " he said, repeating her words, seeking hereyes in an enthusiasm of friendship. 

Her eyes were grave but dark with sadness as they rested on him. "He'salready gone, " she thought, "far away--he thinks of me no more. " Andthe fancy came to her that, as they sat side by side, hand in hand, shecould hear the earth pouring from above to make a barrier betweenthem, so that, as they sat, they were separated second by second byan impenetrable wall. The process, which affected her as that of beingsealed away and for ever from all companionship with the person shecared for most, came to an end at last, and by common consent theyunclasped their fingers, Rodney touching hers with his lips, as thecurtain parted, and Mrs. Hilbery peered through the opening with herbenevolent and sarcastic expression to ask whether Katharine couldremember was it Tuesday or Wednesday, and did she dine in Westminster?

"Dearest William, " she said, pausing, as if she could not resist thepleasure of encroaching for a second upon this wonderful world of loveand confidence and romance. "Dearest children, " she added, disappearingwith an impulsive gesture, as if she forced herself to draw the curtainupon a scene which she refused all temptation to interrupt. 

CHAPTER XXV

At a quarter-past three in the afternoon of the following SaturdayRalph Denham sat on the bank of the lake in Kew Gardens, dividing thedial-plate of his watch into sections with his forefinger. The just andinexorable nature of time itself was reflected in his face. He mighthave been composing a hymn to the unhasting and unresting march of thatdivinity. He seemed to greet the lapse of minute after minute with sternacquiescence in the inevitable order. His expression was so severe, soserene, so immobile, that it seemed obvious that for him at least therewas a grandeur in the departing hour which no petty irritation on hispart was to mar, although the wasting time wasted also high privatehopes of his own. 

His face was no bad index to what went on within him. He was in acondition of mind rather too exalted for the trivialities of daily life. He could not accept the fact that a lady was fifteen minutes late inkeeping her appointment without seeing in that accident the frustrationof his entire life. Looking at his watch, he seemed to look deep intothe springs of human existence, and by the light of what he saw therealtered his course towards the north and the midnight.... Yes, one'svoyage must be made absolutely without companions through ice and blackwater--towards what goal? Here he laid his finger upon the half-hour, and decided that when the minute-hand reached that point he would go, atthe same time answering the question put by another of the many voicesof consciousness with the reply that there was undoubtedly a goal, butthat it would need the most relentless energy to keep anywhere in itsdirection. Still, still, one goes on, the ticking seconds seemed toassure him, with dignity, with open eyes, with determination not toaccept the second-rate, not to be tempted by the unworthy, not to yield, not to compromise. Twenty-five minutes past three were now marked uponthe face of the watch. The world, he assured himself, since KatharineHilbery was now half an hour behind her time, offers no happiness, norest from struggle, no certainty. In a scheme of things utterly bad fromthe start the only unpardonable folly is that of hope. Raising hiseyes for a moment from the face of his watch, he rested them upon theopposite bank, reflectively and not without a certain wistfulness, asif the sternness of their gaze were still capable of mitigation. Soon alook of the deepest satisfaction filled them, though, for a moment, hedid not move. He watched a lady who came rapidly, and yet with a traceof hesitation, down the broad grass-walk towards him. She did not seehim. Distance lent her figure an indescribable height, and romanceseemed to surround her from the floating of a purple veil which thelight air filled and curved from her shoulders. 

"Here she comes, like a ship in full sail, " he said to himself, halfremembering some line from a play or poem where the heroine bore downthus with feathers flying and airs saluting her. The greenery and thehigh presences of the trees surrounded her as if they stood forth at hercoming. He rose, and she saw him; her little exclamation proved that shewas glad to find him, and then that she blamed herself for being late. 

"Why did you never tell me? I didn't know there was this, " she remarked, alluding to the lake, the broad green space, the vista of trees, withthe ruffled gold of the Thames in the distance and the Ducal castlestanding in its meadows. She paid the rigid tail of the Ducal lion thetribute of incredulous laughter. 

"You've never been to Kew?" Denham remarked. 

But it appeared that she had come once as a small child, when thegeography of the place was entirely different, and the fauna includedcertainly flamingoes and, possibly, camels. They strolled on, refashioning these legendary gardens. She was, as he felt, glad merelyto stroll and loiter and let her fancy touch upon anything her eyesencountered--a bush, a park-keeper, a decorated goose--as if therelaxation soothed her. The warmth of the afternoon, the first ofspring, tempted them to sit upon a seat in a glade of beech-trees, withforest drives striking green paths this way and that around them. Shesighed deeply. 

"It's so peaceful, " she said, as if in explanation of her sigh. Not asingle person was in sight, and the stir of the wind in the branches, that sound so seldom heard by Londoners, seemed to her as if wafted fromfathomless oceans of sweet air in the distance. 

While she breathed and looked, Denham was engaged in uncovering with thepoint of his stick a group of green spikes half smothered by the deadleaves. He did this with the peculiar touch of the botanist. In namingthe little green plant to her he used the Latin name, thus disguisingsome flower familiar even to Chelsea, and making her exclaim, half inamusement, at his knowledge. Her own ignorance was vast, she confessed. What did one call that tree opposite, for instance, supposing onecondescended to call it by its English name? Beech or elm or sycamore?It chanced, by the testimony of a dead leaf, to be oak; and a littleattention to a diagram which Denham proceeded to draw upon an envelopesoon put Katharine in possession of some of the fundamental distinctionsbetween our British trees. She then asked him to inform her aboutflowers. To her they were variously shaped and colored petals, poised, at different seasons of the year, upon very similar green stalks; but tohim they were, in the first instance, bulbs or seeds, and later, livingthings endowed with sex, and pores, and susceptibilities which adaptedthemselves by all manner of ingenious devices to live and beget life, and could be fashioned squat or tapering, flame-colored or pale, pure orspotted, by processes which might reveal the secrets of human existence. Denham spoke with increasing ardor of a hobby which had long been his insecret. No discourse could have worn a more welcome sound in Katharine'sears. For weeks she had heard nothing that made such pleasant music inher mind. It wakened echoes in all those remote fastnesses of her beingwhere loneliness had brooded so long undisturbed. 

She wished he would go on for ever talking of plants, and showing herhow science felt not quite blindly for the law that ruled their endlessvariations. A law that might be inscrutable but was certainly omnipotentappealed to her at the moment, because she could find nothing like itin possession of human lives. Circumstances had long forced her, asthey force most women in the flower of youth, to consider, painfully andminutely, all that part of life which is conspicuously withoutorder; she had had to consider moods and wishes, degrees of liking ordisliking, and their effect upon the destiny of people dear to her; shehad been forced to deny herself any contemplation of that other part oflife where thought constructs a destiny which is independent of humanbeings. As Denham spoke, she followed his words and considered theirbearing with an easy vigor which spoke of a capacity long hoarded andunspent. The very trees and the green merging into the blue distancebecame symbols of the vast external world which recks so little of thehappiness, of the marriages or deaths of individuals. In order to giveher examples of what he was saying, Denham led the way, first to theRock Garden, and then to the Orchid House. 

For him there was safety in the direction which the talk had taken. His emphasis might come from feelings more personal than those scienceroused in him, but it was disguised, and naturally he found it easyto expound and explain. Nevertheless, when he saw Katharine among theorchids, her beauty strangely emphasized by the fantastic plants, whichseemed to peer and gape at her from striped hoods and fleshy throats, his ardor for botany waned, and a more complex feeling replaced it. Shefell silent. The orchids seemed to suggest absorbing reflections. Indefiance of the rules she stretched her ungloved hand and touched one. The sight of the rubies upon her finger affected him so disagreeablythat he started and turned away. But next moment he controlled himself;he looked at her taking in one strange shape after another with thecontemplative, considering gaze of a person who sees not exactly what isbefore him, but gropes in regions that lie beyond it. The far-awaylook entirely lacked self-consciousness. Denham doubted whether sheremembered his presence. He could recall himself, of course, by a wordor a movement--but why? She was happier thus. She needed nothing thathe could give her. And for him, too, perhaps, it was best to keep aloof, only to know that she existed, to preserve what he already had--perfect, remote, and unbroken. Further, her still look, standing among theorchids in that hot atmosphere, strangely illustrated some scene thathe had imagined in his room at home. The sight, mingling with hisrecollection, kept him silent when the door was shut and they werewalking on again. 

But though she did not speak, Katharine had an uneasy sense that silenceon her part was selfishness. It was selfish of her to continue, as shewished to do, a discussion of subjects not remotely connected with anyhuman beings. She roused herself to consider their exact position uponthe turbulent map of the emotions. Oh yes--it was a question whetherRalph Denham should live in the country and write a book; it was gettinglate; they must waste no more time; Cassandra arrived to-night fordinner; she flinched and roused herself, and discovered that she oughtto be holding something in her hands. But they were empty. She held themout with an exclamation. 

"I've left my bag somewhere--where?" The gardens had no points of thecompass, so far as she was concerned. She had been walking for the mostpart on grass--that was all she knew. Even the road to the Orchid Househad now split itself into three. But there was no bag in the OrchidHouse. It must, therefore, have been left upon the seat. They retracedtheir steps in the preoccupied manner of people who have to thinkabout something that is lost. What did this bag look like? What did itcontain?

"A purse--a ticket--some letters, papers, " Katharine counted, becomingmore agitated as she recalled the list. Denham went on quickly inadvance of her, and she heard him shout that he had found it before shereached the seat. In order to make sure that all was safe she spread thecontents on her knee. It was a queer collection, Denham thought, gazingwith the deepest interest. Loose gold coins were tangled in a narrowstrip of lace; there were letters which somehow suggested the extreme ofintimacy; there were two or three keys, and lists of commissions againstwhich crosses were set at intervals. But she did not seem satisfieduntil she had made sure of a certain paper so folded that Denham couldnot judge what it contained. In her relief and gratitude she began atonce to say that she had been thinking over what Denham had told her ofhis plans. 

He cut her short. "Don't let's discuss that dreary business. "

"But I thought--"

"It's a dreary business. I ought never to have bothered you--"

"Have you decided, then?"

He made an impatient sound. "It's not a thing that matters. "

She could only say rather flatly, "Oh!"

"I mean it matters to me, but it matters to no one else. Anyhow, " hecontinued, more amiably, "I see no reason why you should be botheredwith other people's nuisances. "

She supposed that she had let him see too clearly her weariness of thisside of life. 

"I'm afraid I've been absent-minded, " she began, remembering how oftenWilliam had brought this charge against her. 

"You have a good deal to make you absent-minded, " he replied. 

"Yes, " she replied, flushing. "No, " she contradicted herself. "Nothingparticular, I mean. But I was thinking about plants. I was enjoyingmyself. In fact, I've seldom enjoyed an afternoon more. But I want tohear what you've settled, if you don't mind telling me. "

"Oh, it's all settled, " he replied. "I'm going to this infernal cottageto write a worthless book. "

"How I envy you, " she replied, with the utmost sincerity. 

"Well, cottages are to be had for fifteen shillings a week. "

"Cottages are to be had--yes, " she replied. "The question is--" Shechecked herself. "Two rooms are all I should want, " she continued, witha curious sigh; "one for eating, one for sleeping. Oh, but I should likeanother, a large one at the top, and a little garden where one couldgrow flowers. A path--so--down to a river, or up to a wood, and the seanot very far off, so that one could hear the waves at night. Ships justvanishing on the horizon--" She broke off. "Shall you be near the sea?"

"My notion of perfect happiness, " he began, not replying to herquestion, "is to live as you've said. "

"Well, now you can. You will work, I suppose, " she continued; "you'llwork all the morning and again after tea and perhaps at night. You won'thave people always coming about you to interrupt. "

"How far can one live alone?" he asked. "Have you tried ever?"

"Once for three weeks, " she replied. "My father and mother were inItaly, and something happened so that I couldn't join them. For threeweeks I lived entirely by myself, and the only person I spoke to was astranger in a shop where I lunched--a man with a beard. Then I went backto my room by myself and--well, I did what I liked. It doesn't make meout an amiable character, I'm afraid, " she added, "but I can't endureliving with other people. An occasional man with a beard is interesting;he's detached; he lets me go my way, and we know we shall never meetagain. Therefore, we are perfectly sincere--a thing not possible withone's friends. "

"Nonsense, " Denham replied abruptly. 

"Why 'nonsense'?" she inquired. 

"Because you don't mean what you say, " he expostulated. 

"You're very positive, " she said, laughing and looking at him. Howarbitrary, hot-tempered, and imperious he was! He had asked her to cometo Kew to advise him; he then told her that he had settled the questionalready; he then proceeded to find fault with her. He was the veryopposite of William Rodney, she thought; he was shabby, his clotheswere badly made, he was ill versed in the amenities of life; he wastongue-tied and awkward to the verge of obliterating his real character. He was awkwardly silent; he was awkwardly emphatic. And yet she likedhim. 

"I don't mean what I say, " she repeated good-humoredly. "Well--?"

"I doubt whether you make absolute sincerity your standard in life, " heanswered significantly. 

She flushed. He had penetrated at once to the weak spot--her engagement, and had reason for what he said. He was not altogether justified now, atany rate, she was glad to remember; but she could not enlighten himand must bear his insinuations, though from the lips of a man whohad behaved as he had behaved their force should not have been sharp. Nevertheless, what he said had its force, she mused; partly because heseemed unconscious of his own lapse in the case of Mary Datchet, andthus baffled her insight; partly because he always spoke with force, forwhat reason she did not yet feel certain. 

"Absolute sincerity is rather difficult, don't you think?" she inquired, with a touch of irony. 

"There are people one credits even with that, " he replied a littlevaguely. He was ashamed of his savage wish to hurt her, and yet it wasnot for the sake of hurting her, who was beyond his shafts, but in orderto mortify his own incredibly reckless impulse of abandonment to thespirit which seemed, at moments, about to rush him to the uttermost endsof the earth. She affected him beyond the scope of his wildest dreams. He seemed to see that beneath the quiet surface of her manner, which wasalmost pathetically at hand and within reach for all the trivial demandsof daily life, there was a spirit which she reserved or repressed forsome reason either of loneliness or--could it be possible--of love. Wasit given to Rodney to see her unmasked, unrestrained, unconscious of herduties? a creature of uncalculating passion and instinctive freedom? No;he refused to believe it. It was in her loneliness that Katharine wasunreserved. "I went back to my room by myself and I did--what I liked. "She had said that to him, and in saying it had given him a glimpse ofpossibilities, even of confidences, as if he might be the one to shareher loneliness, the mere hint of which made his heart beat faster andhis brain spin. He checked himself as brutally as he could. He saw herredden, and in the irony of her reply he heard her resentment. 

He began slipping his smooth, silver watch in his pocket, in the hopethat somehow he might help himself back to that calm and fatalistic moodwhich had been his when he looked at its face upon the bank of the lake, for that mood must, at whatever cost, be the mood of his intercoursewith Katharine. He had spoken of gratitude and acquiescence in theletter which he had never sent, and now all the force of his charactermust make good those vows in her presence. 

She, thus challenged, tried meanwhile to define her points. She wishedto make Denham understand. 

"Don't you see that if you have no relations with people it's easier tobe honest with them?" she inquired. "That is what I meant. One needn'tcajole them; one's under no obligation to them. Surely you must havefound with your own family that it's impossible to discuss what mattersto you most because you're all herded together, because you're in aconspiracy, because the position is false--" Her reasoning suspendeditself a little inconclusively, for the subject was complex, and shefound herself in ignorance whether Denham had a family or not. Denhamwas agreed with her as to the destructiveness of the family system, buthe did not wish to discuss the problem at that moment. 

He turned to a problem which was of greater interest to him. 

"I'm convinced, " he said, "that there are cases in which perfectsincerity is possible--cases where there's no relationship, though thepeople live together, if you like, where each is free, where there's noobligation upon either side. "

"For a time perhaps, " she agreed, a little despondently. "Butobligations always grow up. There are feelings to be considered. Peoplearen't simple, and though they may mean to be reasonable, theyend"--in the condition in which she found herself, she meant, but addedlamely--"in a muddle. "

"Because, " Denham instantly intervened, "they don't make themselvesunderstood at the beginning. I could undertake, at this instant, " hecontinued, with a reasonable intonation which did much credit to hisself-control, "to lay down terms for a friendship which should beperfectly sincere and perfectly straightforward. "

She was curious to hear them, but, besides feeling that the topicconcealed dangers better known to her than to him, she was remindedby his tone of his curious abstract declaration upon the Embankment. Anything that hinted at love for the moment alarmed her; it was as muchan infliction to her as the rubbing of a skinless wound. 

But he went on, without waiting for her invitation. 

"In the first place, such a friendship must be unemotional, " he laid itdown emphatically. "At least, on both sides it must be understood thatif either chooses to fall in love, he or she does so entirely at hisown risk. Neither is under any obligation to the other. They must beat liberty to break or to alter at any moment. They must be able to saywhatever they wish to say. All this must be understood. "

"And they gain something worth having?" she asked. 

"It's a risk--of course it's a risk, " he replied. The word

was one that she had been using frequently in her arguments with herselfof late. 

"But it's the only way--if you think friendship worth having, " heconcluded. 

"Perhaps under those conditions it might be, " she said reflectively. 

"Well, " he said, "those are the terms of the friendship I wish to offeryou. " She had known that this was coming, but, none the less, felt alittle shock, half of pleasure, half of reluctance, when she heard theformal statement. 

"I should like it, " she began, "but--"

"Would Rodney mind?"

"Oh no, " she replied quickly. 

"No, no, it isn't that, " she went on, and again came to an end. She hadbeen touched by the unreserved and yet ceremonious way in which he hadmade what he called his offer of terms, but if he was generous it wasthe more necessary for her to be cautious. They would find themselvesin difficulties, she speculated; but, at this point, which was not veryfar, after all, upon the road of caution, her foresight deserted her. She sought for some definite catastrophe into which they must inevitablyplunge. But she could think of none. It seemed to her that thesecatastrophes were fictitious; life went on and on--life was differentaltogether from what people said. And not only was she at an end of herstock of caution, but it seemed suddenly altogether superfluous. Surelyif any one could take care of himself, Ralph Denham could; he had toldher that he did not love her. And, further, she meditated, walking onbeneath the beech-trees and swinging her umbrella, as in her thought shewas accustomed to complete freedom, why should she perpetually apply sodifferent a standard to her behavior in practice? Why, she reflected, should there be this perpetual disparity between the thought and theaction, between the life of solitude and the life of society, thisastonishing precipice on one side of which the soul was active and inbroad daylight, on the other side of which it was contemplative and darkas night? Was it not possible to step from one to the other, erect, andwithout essential change? Was this not the chance he offered her--therare and wonderful chance of friendship? At any rate, she told Denham, with a sigh in which he heard both impatience and relief, that sheagreed; she thought him right; she would accept his terms of friendship. 

"Now, " she said, "let's go and have tea. "

In fact, these principles having been laid down, a great lightness ofspirit showed itself in both of them. They were both convinced thatsomething of profound importance had been settled, and could now givetheir attention to their tea and the Gardens. They wandered in and outof glass-houses, saw lilies swimming in tanks, breathed in the scentof thousands of carnations, and compared their respective tastes in thematter of trees and lakes. While talking exclusively of what they saw, so that any one might have overheard them, they felt that the compactbetween them was made firmer and deeper by the number of people whopassed them and suspected nothing of the kind. The question of Ralph'scottage and future was not mentioned again. 

CHAPTER XXVI

Although the old coaches, with their gay panels and the guard's horn, and the humors of the box and the vicissitudes of the road, have longmoldered into dust so far as they were matter, and are preserved in theprinted pages of our novelists so far as they partook of the spirit, a journey to London by express train can still be a very pleasant andromantic adventure. Cassandra Otway, at the age of twenty-two, couldimagine few things more pleasant. Satiated with months of green fieldsas she was, the first row of artisans' villas on the outskirts of Londonseemed to have something serious about it, which positively increasedthe importance of every person in the railway carriage, and even, to herimpressionable mind, quickened the speed of the train and gave a note ofstern authority to the shriek of the engine-whistle. They were bound forLondon; they must have precedence of all traffic not similarly destined. A different demeanor was necessary directly one stepped out uponLiverpool Street platform, and became one of those preoccupied and hastycitizens for whose needs innumerable taxi-cabs, motor-omnibuses, andunderground railways were in waiting. She did her best to lookdignified and preoccupied too, but as the cab carried her away, witha determination which alarmed her a little, she became more and moreforgetful of her station as a citizen of London, and turned her headfrom one window to another, picking up eagerly a building on this sideor a street scene on that to feed her intense curiosity. And yet, whilethe drive lasted no one was real, nothing was ordinary; the crowds, theGovernment buildings, the tide of men and women washing the base of thegreat glass windows, were all generalized, and affected her as if shesaw them on the stage. 

All these feelings were sustained and partly inspired by the fact thather journey took her straight to the center of her most romantic world. A thousand times in the midst of her pastoral landscape her thoughtstook this precise road, were admitted to the house in Chelsea, and wentdirectly upstairs to Katharine's room, where, invisible themselves, they had the better chance of feasting upon the privacy of the room'sadorable and mysterious mistress. Cassandra adored her cousin; theadoration might have been foolish, but was saved from that excessand lent an engaging charm by the volatile nature of Cassandra'stemperament. She had adored a great many things and people in thecourse of twenty-two years; she had been alternately the pride and thedesperation of her teachers. She had worshipped architecture and music, natural history and humanity, literature and art, but always at theheight of her enthusiasm, which was accompanied by a brilliant degreeof accomplishment, she changed her mind and bought, surreptitiously, another grammar. The terrible results which governesses had predictedfrom such mental dissipation were certainly apparent now that Cassandrawas twenty-two, and had never passed an examination, and dailyshowed herself less and less capable of passing one. The more seriousprediction that she could never possibly earn her living was alsoverified. But from all these short strands of different accomplishmentsCassandra wove for herself an attitude, a cast of mind, which, ifuseless, was found by some people to have the not despicable virtuesof vivacity and freshness. Katharine, for example, thought her a mostcharming companion. The cousins seemed to assemble between them a greatrange of qualities which are never found united in one person andseldom in half a dozen people. Where Katharine was simple, Cassandra wascomplex; where Katharine was solid and direct, Cassandra was vague andevasive. In short, they represented very well the manly and the womanlysides of the feminine nature, and, for foundation, there was theprofound unity of common blood between them. If Cassandra adoredKatharine she was incapable of adoring any one without refreshing herspirit with frequent draughts of raillery and criticism, and Katharineenjoyed her laughter at least as much as her respect. 

Respect was certainly uppermost in Cassandra's mind at the presentmoment. Katharine's engagement had appealed to her imagination as thefirst engagement in a circle of contemporaries is apt to appeal to theimaginations of the others; it was solemn, beautiful, and mysterious;it gave both parties the important air of those who have been initiatedinto some rite which is still concealed from the rest of the group. For Katharine's sake Cassandra thought William a most distinguished andinteresting character, and welcomed first his conversation and then hismanuscript as the marks of a friendship which it flattered and delightedher to inspire. 

Katharine was still out when she arrived at Cheyne Walk. After greetingher uncle and aunt and receiving, as usual, a present of two sovereignsfor "cab fares and dissipation" from Uncle Trevor, whose favorite nieceshe was, she changed her dress and wandered into Katharine's room toawait her. What a great looking-glass Katharine had, she thought, andhow mature all the arrangements upon the dressing-table were compared towhat she was used to at home. Glancing round, she thought that the billsstuck upon a skewer and stood for ornament upon the mantelpiece wereastonishingly like Katharine, There wasn't a photograph of Williamanywhere to be seen. The room, with its combination of luxury andbareness, its silk dressing-gowns and crimson slippers, its shabbycarpet and bare walls, had a powerful air of Katharine herself; shestood in the middle of the room and enjoyed the sensation; and then, with a desire to finger what her cousin was in the habit of fingering, Cassandra began to take down the books which stood in a row upon theshelf above the bed. In most houses this shelf is the ledge upon whichthe last relics of religious belief lodge themselves as if, late atnight, in the heart of privacy, people, skeptical by day, find solace insipping one draught of the old charm for such sorrows or perplexitiesas may steal from their hiding-places in the dark. But there was nohymn-book here. By their battered covers and enigmatical contents, Cassandra judged them to be old school-books belonging to Uncle Trevor, and piously, though eccentrically, preserved by his daughter. There wasno end, she thought, to the unexpectedness of Katharine. She had oncehad a passion for geometry herself, and, curled upon Katharine's quilt, she became absorbed in trying to remember how far she had forgotten whatshe once knew. Katharine, coming in a little later, found her deep inthis characteristic pursuit. 

"My dear, " Cassandra exclaimed, shaking the book at her cousin, "mywhole life's changed from this moment! I must write the man's name downat once, or I shall forget--"

Whose name, what book, which life was changed Katharine proceeded toascertain. She began to lay aside her clothes hurriedly, for she wasvery late. 

"May I sit and watch you?" Cassandra asked, shutting up her book. "I gotready on purpose. "

"Oh, you're ready, are you?" said Katharine, half turning in the midstof her operations, and looking at Cassandra, who sat, clasping herknees, on the edge of the bed. 

"There are people dining here, " she said, taking in the effect ofCassandra from a new point of view. After an interval, the distinction, the irregular charm, of the small face with its long tapering noseand its bright oval eyes were very notable. The hair rose up offthe forehead rather stiffly, and, given a more careful treatment byhairdressers and dressmakers, the light angular figure might possess alikeness to a French lady of distinction in the eighteenth century. 

"Who's coming to dinner?" Cassandra asked, anticipating furtherpossibilities of rapture. 

"There's William, and, I believe, Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Aubrey. "

"I'm so glad William is coming. Did he tell you that he sent me hismanuscript? I think it's wonderful--I think he's almost good enough foryou, Katharine. "

"You shall sit next to him and tell him what you think of him. "

"I shan't dare do that, " Cassandra asserted. 

"Why? You're not afraid of him, are you?"

"A little--because he's connected with you. "

Katharine smiled. 

"But then, with your well-known fidelity, considering that you'restaying here at least a fortnight, you won't have any illusions leftabout me by the time you go. I give you a week, Cassandra. I shall seemy power fading day by day. Now it's at the climax; but to-morrow it'llhave begun to fade. What am I to wear, I wonder? Find me a blue dress, Cassandra, over there in the long wardrobe. "

She spoke disconnectedly, handling brush and comb, and pulling out thelittle drawers in her dressing-table and leaving them open. Cassandra, sitting on the bed behind her, saw the reflection of her cousin's facein the looking-glass. The face in the looking-glass was serious andintent, apparently occupied with other things besides the straightnessof the parting which, however, was being driven as straight as a Romanroad through the dark hair. Cassandra was impressed again by Katharine'smaturity; and, as she enveloped herself in the blue dress which filledalmost the whole of the long looking-glass with blue light and made itthe frame of a picture, holding not only the slightly moving effigy ofthe beautiful woman, but shapes and colors of objects reflected fromthe background, Cassandra thought that no sight had ever been quite soromantic. It was all in keeping with the room and the house, and thecity round them; for her ears had not yet ceased to notice the hum ofdistant wheels. 

They went downstairs rather late, in spite of Katharine's extreme speedin getting ready. To Cassandra's ears the buzz of voices inside thedrawing-room was like the tuning up of the instruments of the orchestra. It seemed to her that there were numbers of people in the room, and thatthey were strangers, and that they were beautiful and dressed with thegreatest distinction, although they proved to be mostly her relations, and the distinction of their clothing was confined, in the eyes of animpartial observer, to the white waistcoat which Rodney wore. But theyall rose simultaneously, which was by itself impressive, and they allexclaimed, and shook hands, and she was introduced to Mr. Peyton, andthe door sprang open, and dinner was announced, and they filed off, William Rodney offering her his slightly bent black arm, as she hadsecretly hoped he would. In short, had the scene been looked atonly through her eyes, it must have been described as one of magicalbrilliancy. The pattern of the soup-plates, the stiff folds of thenapkins, which rose by the side of each plate in the shape of arumlilies, the long sticks of bread tied with pink ribbon, the silverdishes and the sea-colored champagne glasses, with the flakes of goldcongealed in their stems--all these details, together with a curiouslypervasive smell of kid gloves, contributed to her exhilaration, whichmust be repressed, however, because she was grown up, and the world heldno more for her to marvel at. 

The world held no more for her to marvel at, it is true; but it heldother people; and each other person possessed in Cassandra's mind somefragment of what privately she called "reality. " It was a gift that theywould impart if you asked them for it, and thus no dinner-party couldpossibly be dull, and little Mr. Peyton on her right and William Rodneyon her left were in equal measure endowed with the quality which seemedto her so unmistakable and so precious that the way people neglected todemand it was a constant source of surprise to her. She scarcely knew, indeed, whether she was talking to Mr. Peyton or to William Rodney. But to one who, by degrees, assumed the shape of an elderly man witha mustache, she described how she had arrived in London that veryafternoon, and how she had taken a cab and driven through the streets. Mr. Peyton, an editor of fifty years, bowed his bald head repeatedly, with apparent understanding. At least, he understood that she was veryyoung and pretty, and saw that she was excited, though he could notgather at once from her words or remember from his own experience whatthere was to be excited about. "Were there any buds on the trees?" heasked. "Which line did she travel by?"

He was cut short in these amiable inquiries by her desire to knowwhether he was one of those who read, or one of those who look out ofthe window? Mr. Peyton was by no means sure which he did. He ratherthought he did both. He was told that he had made a most dangerousconfession. She could deduce his entire history from that one fact. Hechallenged her to proceed; and she proclaimed him a Liberal Member ofParliament. 

William, nominally engaged in a desultory conversation with AuntEleanor, heard every word, and taking advantage of the fact that elderlyladies have little continuity of conversation, at least with those whomthey esteem for their youth and their sex, he asserted his presence by avery nervous laugh. 

Cassandra turned to him directly. She was enchanted to find that, instantly and with such ease, another of these fascinating beings wasoffering untold wealth for her extraction. 

"There's no doubt what YOU do in a railway carriage, William, " she said, making use in her pleasure of his first name. "You never ONCE look outof the window; you read ALL the time. "

"And what facts do you deduce from that?" Mr. Peyton asked. 

"Oh, that he's a poet, of course, " said Cassandra. "But I must confessthat I knew that before, so it isn't fair. I've got your manuscript withme, " she went on, disregarding Mr. Peyton in a shameless way. "I've gotall sorts of things I want to ask you about it. "

William inclined his head and tried to conceal the pleasure that herremark gave him. But the pleasure was not unalloyed. However susceptibleto flattery William might be, he would never tolerate it from people whoshowed a gross or emotional taste in literature, and if Cassandra erredeven slightly from what he considered essential in this respect hewould express his discomfort by flinging out his hands and wrinkling hisforehead; he would find no pleasure in her flattery after that. 

"First of all, " she proceeded, "I want to know why you chose to write aplay?"

"Ah! You mean it's not dramatic?"

"I mean that I don't see what it would gain by being acted. But thendoes Shakespeare gain? Henry and I are always arguing about Shakespeare. I'm certain he's wrong, but I can't prove it because I've only seenShakespeare acted once in Lincoln. But I'm quite positive, " sheinsisted, "that Shakespeare wrote for the stage. "

"You're perfectly right, " Rodney exclaimed. "I was hoping you were onthat side. Henry's wrong--entirely wrong. Of course, I've failed, as allthe moderns fail. Dear, dear, I wish I'd consulted you before. "

From this point they proceeded to go over, as far as memory served them, the different aspects of Rodney's drama. She said nothing that jarredupon him, and untrained daring had the power to stimulate experienceto such an extent that Rodney was frequently seen to hold his forksuspended before him, while he debated the first principles of the art. Mrs. Hilbery thought to herself that she had never seen him to suchadvantage; yes, he was somehow different; he reminded her of some onewho was dead, some one who was distinguished--she had forgotten hisname. 

Cassandra's voice rose high in its excitement. 

"You've not read 'The Idiot'!" she exclaimed. 

"I've read 'War and Peace', " William replied, a little testily. 

"'WAR AND PEACE'!" she echoed, in a tone of derision. 

"I confess I don't understand the Russians. "

"Shake hands! Shake hands!" boomed Uncle Aubrey from across the table. "Neither do I. And I hazard the opinion that they don't themselves. "

The old gentleman had ruled a large part of the Indian Empire, but hewas in the habit of saying that he had rather have written the works ofDickens. The table now took possession of a subject much to its liking. Aunt Eleanor showed premonitory signs of pronouncing an opinion. Although she had blunted her taste upon some form of philanthropy fortwenty-five years, she had a fine natural instinct for an upstart or apretender, and knew to a hairbreadth what literature should be and whatit should not be. She was born to the knowledge, and scarcely thought ita matter to be proud of. 

"Insanity is not a fit subject for fiction, " she announced positively. 

"There's the well-known case of Hamlet, " Mr. Hilbery interposed, in hisleisurely, half-humorous tones. 

"Ah, but poetry's different, Trevor, " said Aunt Eleanor, as if she hadspecial authority from Shakespeare to say so. "Different altogether. And I've never thought, for my part, that Hamlet was as mad as they makeout. What is your opinion, Mr. Peyton?" For, as there was a minister ofliterature present in the person of the editor of an esteemed review, she deferred to him. 

Mr. Peyton leant a little back in his chair, and, putting his headrather on one side, observed that that was a question that he had neverbeen able to answer entirely to his satisfaction. There was much to besaid on both sides, but as he considered upon which side he should sayit, Mrs. Hilbery broke in upon his judicious meditations. 

"Lovely, lovely Ophelia!" she exclaimed. "What a wonderful power itis--poetry! I wake up in the morning all bedraggled; there's a yellowfog outside; little Emily turns on the electric light when she bringsme my tea, and says, 'Oh, ma'am, the water's frozen in the cistern, andcook's cut her finger to the bone. ' And then I open a little green book, and the birds are singing, the stars shining, the flowers twinkling--"She looked about her as if these presences had suddenly manifestedthemselves round her dining-room table. 

"Has the cook cut her finger badly?" Aunt Eleanor demanded, addressingherself naturally to Katharine. 

"Oh, the cook's finger is only my way of putting it, " said Mrs. Hilbery. "But if she had cut her arm off, Katharine would have sewn it on again, "she remarked, with an affectionate glance at her daughter, who looked, she thought, a little sad. "But what horrid, horrid thoughts, " she woundup, laying down her napkin and pushing her chair back. "Come, let usfind something more cheerful to talk about upstairs. "

Upstairs in the drawing-room Cassandra found fresh sources of pleasure, first in the distinguished and expectant look of the room, and then inthe chance of exercising her divining-rod upon a new assortment of humanbeings. But the low tones of the women, their meditative silences, thebeauty which, to her at least, shone even from black satin and the knobsof amber which encircled elderly necks, changed her wish to chatter toa more subdued desire merely to watch and to whisper. She enteredwith delight into an atmosphere in which private matters were beinginterchanged freely, almost in monosyllables, by the older women who nowaccepted her as one of themselves. Her expression became very gentle andsympathetic, as if she, too, were full of solicitude for the world whichwas somehow being cared for, managed and deprecated by Aunt Maggie andAunt Eleanor. After a time she perceived that Katharine was outside thecommunity in some way, and, suddenly, she threw aside her wisdom andgentleness and concern and began to laugh. 

"What are you laughing at?" Katharine asked. 

A joke so foolish and unfilial wasn't worth explaining. 

"It was nothing--ridiculous--in the worst of taste, but still, if youhalf shut your eyes and looked--" Katharine half shut her eyes andlooked, but she looked in the wrong direction, and Cassandra laughedmore than ever, and was still laughing and doing her best to explain ina whisper that Aunt Eleanor, through half-shut eyes, was like the parrotin the cage at Stogdon House, when the gentlemen came in and Rodneywalked straight up to them and wanted to know what they were laughingat. 

"I utterly refuse to tell you!" Cassandra replied, standing up straight, clasping her hands in front of her, and facing him. Her mockery wasdelicious to him. He had not even for a second the fear that she hadbeen laughing at him. She was laughing because life was so adorable, soenchanting. 

"Ah, but you're cruel to make me feel the barbarity of my sex, " hereplied, drawing his feet together and pressing his finger-tips upon animaginary opera-hat or malacca cane. "We've been discussing all sortsof dull things, and now I shall never know what I want to know more thananything in the world. "

"You don't deceive us for a minute!" she cried. "Not for a second. We both know that you've been enjoying yourself immensely. Hasn't he, Katharine?"

"No, " she replied, "I think he's speaking the truth. He doesn't caremuch for politics. "

Her words, though spoken simply, produced a curious change in the light, sparkling atmosphere. William at once lost his look of animation andsaid seriously:

"I detest politics. "

"I don't think any man has the right to say that, " said Cassandra, almost severely. 

"I agree. I mean that I detest politicians, " he corrected himselfquickly. 

"You see, I believe Cassandra is what they call a Feminist, " Katharinewent on. "Or rather, she was a Feminist six months ago, but it's no goodsupposing that she is now what she was then. That is one of her greatestcharms in my eyes. One never can tell. " She smiled at her as an eldersister might smile. 

"Katharine, you make one feel so horribly small!" Cassandra exclaimed. 

"No, no, that's not what she means, " Rodney interposed. "I quite agreethat women have an immense advantage over us there. One misses a lot byattempting to know things thoroughly. "

"He knows Greek thoroughly, " said Katharine. "But then he also knows agood deal about painting, and a certain amount about music. He's verycultivated--perhaps the most cultivated person I know. "

"And poetry, " Cassandra added. 

"Yes, I was forgetting his play, " Katharine remarked, and turning herhead as though she saw something that needed her attention in a farcorner of the room, she left them. 

For a moment they stood silent, after what seemed a deliberateintroduction to each other, and Cassandra watched her crossing the room. 

"Henry, " she said next moment, "would say that a stage ought to be nobigger than this drawing-room. He wants there to be singing and dancingas well as acting--only all the opposite of Wagner--you understand?"

They sat down, and Katharine, turning when she reached the window, sawWilliam with his hand raised in gesticulation and his mouth open, as ifready to speak the moment Cassandra ceased. 

Katharine's duty, whether it was to pull a curtain or move a chair, waseither forgotten or discharged, but she continued to stand by the windowwithout doing anything. The elderly people were all grouped togetherround the fire. They seemed an independent, middle-aged community busywith its own concerns. They were telling stories very well and listeningto them very graciously. But for her there was no obvious employment. 

"If anybody says anything, I shall say that I'm looking at the river, "she thought, for in her slavery to her family traditions, she was readyto pay for her transgression with some plausible falsehood. She pushedaside the blind and looked at the river. But it was a dark night and thewater was barely visible. Cabs were passing, and couples were loiteringslowly along the road, keeping as close to the railings as possible, though the trees had as yet no leaves to cast shadow upon theirembraces. Katharine, thus withdrawn, felt her loneliness. The eveninghad been one of pain, offering her, minute after minute, plainer proofthat things would fall out as she had foreseen. She had faced tones, gestures, glances; she knew, with her back to them, that William, evennow, was plunging deeper and deeper into the delight of unexpectedunderstanding with Cassandra. He had almost told her that he was findingit infinitely better than he could have believed. She looked out ofthe window, sternly determined to forget private misfortunes, to forgetherself, to forget individual lives. With her eyes upon the dark sky, voices reached her from the room in which she was standing. She heardthem as if they came from people in another world, a world antecedent toher world, a world that was the prelude, the antechamber to reality; itwas as if, lately dead, she heard the living talking. The dream natureof our life had never been more apparent to her, never had life beenmore certainly an affair of four walls, whose objects existed onlywithin the range of lights and fires, beyond which lay nothing, ornothing more than darkness. She seemed physically to have stepped beyondthe region where the light of illusion still makes it desirable topossess, to love, to struggle. And yet her melancholy brought her noserenity. She still heard the voices within the room. She was stilltormented by desires. She wished to be beyond their range. She wishedinconsistently enough that she could find herself driving rapidlythrough the streets; she was even anxious to be with some one who, aftera moment's groping, took a definite shape and solidified into the personof Mary Datchet. She drew the curtains so that the draperies met in deepfolds in the middle of the window. 

"Ah, there she is, " said Mr. Hilbery, who was standing swaying affablyfrom side to side, with his back to the fire. "Come here, Katharine. I couldn't see where you'd got to--our children, " he observedparenthetically, "have their uses--I want you to go to my study, Katharine; go to the third shelf on the right-hand side of the door;take down 'Trelawny's Recollections of Shelley'; bring it to me. Then, Peyton, you will have to admit to the assembled company that you havebeen mistaken. "

"'Trelawny's Recollections of Shelley. ' The third shelf on the right ofthe door, " Katharine repeated. After all, one does not check children intheir play, or rouse sleepers from their dreams. She passed William andCassandra on her way to the door. 

"Stop, Katharine, " said William, speaking almost as if he were consciousof her against his will. "Let me go. " He rose, after a second'shesitation, and she understood that it cost him an effort. She kneltone knee upon the sofa where Cassandra sat, looking down at her cousin'sface, which still moved with the speed of what she had been saying. 

"Are you--happy?" she asked. 

"Oh, my dear!" Cassandra exclaimed, as if no further words wereneeded. "Of course, we disagree about every subject under the sun, " sheexclaimed, "but I think he's the cleverest man I've ever met--and you'rethe most beautiful woman, " she added, looking at Katharine, and asshe looked her face lost its animation and became almost melancholy insympathy with Katharine's melancholy, which seemed to Cassandra the lastrefinement of her distinction. 

"Ah, but it's only ten o'clock, " said Katharine darkly. 

"As late as that! Well--?" She did not understand. 

"At twelve my horses turn into rats and off I go. The illusion fades. But I accept my fate. I make hay while the sun shines. " Cassandra lookedat her with a puzzled expression. 

"Here's Katharine talking about rats, and hay, and all sorts of oddthings, " she said, as William returned to them. He had been quick. "Canyou make her out?"

Katharine perceived from his little frown and hesitation that he did notfind that particular problem to his taste at present. She stood uprightat once and said in a different tone:

"I really am off, though. I wish you'd explain if they say anything, William. I shan't be late, but I've got to see some one. "

"At this time of night?" Cassandra exclaimed. 

"Whom have you got to see?" William demanded. 

"A friend, " she remarked, half turning her head towards him. Sheknew that he wished her to stay, not, indeed, with them, but in theirneighborhood, in case of need. 

"Katharine has a great many friends, " said William rather lamely, sitting down once more, as Katharine left the room. 

She was soon driving quickly, as she had wished to drive, through thelamp-lit streets. She liked both light and speed, and the sense of beingout of doors alone, and the knowledge that she would reach Mary in herhigh, lonely room at the end of the drive. She climbed the stone stepsquickly, remarking the queer look of her blue silk skirt and blue shoesupon the stone, dusty with the boots of the day, under the light of anoccasional jet of flickering gas. 

The door was opened in a second by Mary herself, whose face showednot only surprise at the sight of her visitor, but some degree ofembarrassment. She greeted her cordially, and, as there was no time forexplanations, Katharine walked straight into the sitting-room, and foundherself in the presence of a young man who was lying back in a chair andholding a sheet of paper in his hand, at which he was looking as if heexpected to go on immediately with what he was in the middle of sayingto Mary Datchet. The apparition of an unknown lady in full evening dressseemed to disturb him. He took his pipe from his mouth, rose stiffly, and sat down again with a jerk. 

"Have you been dining out?" Mary asked. 

"Are you working?" Katharine inquired simultaneously. 

The young man shook his head, as if he disowned his share in thequestion with some irritation. 

"Well, not exactly, " Mary replied. "Mr. Basnett had brought some papersto show me. We were going through them, but we'd almost done.... Tell usabout your party. "

Mary had a ruffled appearance, as if she had been running her fingersthrough her hair in the course of her conversation; she was dressed moreor less like a Russian peasant girl. She sat down again in a chair whichlooked as if it had been her seat for some hours; the saucer which stoodupon the arm contained the ashes of many cigarettes. Mr. Basnett, a veryyoung man with a fresh complexion and a high forehead from which thehair was combed straight back, was one of that group of "very able youngmen" suspected by Mr. Clacton, justly as it turned out, of an influenceupon Mary Datchet. He had come down from one of the Universities notlong ago, and was now charged with the reformation of society. Inconnection with the rest of the group of very able young men he haddrawn up a scheme for the education of labor, for the amalgamation ofthe middle class and the working class, and for a joint assault of thetwo bodies, combined in the Society for the Education of Democracy, upon Capital. The scheme had already reached the stage in which it waspermissible to hire an office and engage a secretary, and he had beendeputed to expound the scheme to Mary, and make her an offer of theSecretaryship, to which, as a matter of principle, a small salary wasattached. Since seven o'clock that evening he had been reading out loudthe document in which the faith of the new reformers was expounded, butthe reading was so frequently interrupted by discussion, and it was sooften necessary to inform Mary "in strictest confidence" of the privatecharacters and evil designs of certain individuals and societies thatthey were still only half-way through the manuscript. Neither ofthem realized that the talk had already lasted three hours. In theirabsorption they had forgotten even to feed the fire, and yet both Mr. Basnett in his exposition, and Mary in her interrogation, carefullypreserved a kind of formality calculated to check the desire of thehuman mind for irrelevant discussion. Her questions frequently began, "Am I to understand--" and his replies invariably represented the viewsof some one called "we. "

By this time Mary was almost persuaded that she, too, was included inthe "we, " and agreed with Mr. Basnett in believing that "our" views, "our" society, "our" policy, stood for something quite definitelysegregated from the main body of society in a circle of superiorillumination. 

The appearance of Katharine in this atmosphere was extremelyincongruous, and had the effect of making Mary remember all sorts ofthings that she had been glad to forget. 

"You've been dining out?" she asked again, looking, with a little smile, at the blue silk and the pearl-sewn shoes. 

"No, at home. Are you starting something new?" Katharine hazarded, rather hesitatingly, looking at the papers. 

"We are, " Mr. Basnett replied. He said no more. 

"I'm thinking of leaving our friends in Russell Square, " Mary explained. 

"I see. And then you will do something else. "

"Well, I'm afraid I like working, " said Mary. 

"Afraid, " said Mr. Basnett, conveying the impression that, in hisopinion, no sensible person could be afraid of liking to work. 

"Yes, " said Katharine, as if he had stated this opinion aloud. "I shouldlike to start something--something off one's own bat--that's what Ishould like. "

"Yes, that's the fun, " said Mr. Basnett, looking at her for the firsttime rather keenly, and refilling his pipe. 

"But you can't limit work--that's what I mean, " said Mary. "I mean thereare other sorts of work. No one works harder than a woman with littlechildren. "

"Quite so, " said Mr. Basnett. "It's precisely the women with babieswe want to get hold of. " He glanced at his document, rolled it into acylinder between his fingers, and gazed into the fire. Katharine feltthat in this company anything that one said would be judged upon itsmerits; one had only to say what one thought, rather barely and tersely, with a curious assumption that the number of things that could properlybe thought about was strictly limited. And Mr. Basnett was only stiffupon the surface; there was an intelligence in his face which attractedher intelligence. 

"When will the public know?" she asked. 

"What d'you mean--about us?" Mr. Basnett asked, with a little smile. 

"That depends upon many things, " said Mary. The conspirators lookedpleased, as if Katharine's question, with the belief in their existencewhich it implied, had a warming effect upon them. 

"In starting a society such as we wish to start (we can't say any moreat present), " Mr. Basnett began, with a little jerk of his head, "thereare two things to remember--the Press and the public. Other societies, which shall be nameless, have gone under because they've appealed onlyto cranks. If you don't want a mutual admiration society, which dies assoon as you've all discovered each other's faults, you must nobble thePress. You must appeal to the public. "

"That's the difficulty, " said Mary thoughtfully. 

"That's where she comes in, " said Mr. Basnett, jerking his head inMary's direction. "She's the only one of us who's a capitalist. She canmake a whole-time job of it. I'm tied to an office; I can only give myspare time. Are you, by any chance, on the look-out for a job?" he askedKatharine, with a queer mixture of distrust and deference. 

"Marriage is her job at present, " Mary replied for her. 

"Oh, I see, " said Mr. Basnett. He made allowances for that; he andhis friends had faced the question of sex, along with all others, andassigned it an honorable place in their scheme of life. Katharine feltthis beneath the roughness of his manner; and a world entrusted to theguardianship of Mary Datchet and Mr. Basnett seemed to her a good world, although not a romantic or beautiful place or, to put it figuratively, a place where any line of blue mist softly linked tree to tree upon thehorizon. For a moment she thought she saw in his face, bent now over thefire, the features of that original man whom we still recall everynow and then, although we know only the clerk, barrister, Governmentalofficial, or workingman variety of him. Not that Mr. Basnett, giving hisdays to commerce and his spare time to social reform, would long carryabout him any trace of his possibilities of completeness; but, for themoment, in his youth and ardor, still speculative, still uncramped, onemight imagine him the citizen of a nobler state than ours. Katharineturned over her small stock of information, and wondered what theirsociety might be going to attempt. Then she remembered that she washindering their business, and rose, still thinking of this society, andthus thinking, she said to Mr. Basnett:

"Well, you'll ask me to join when the time comes, I hope. "

He nodded, and took his pipe from his mouth, but, being unable to thinkof anything to say, he put it back again, although he would have beenglad if she had stayed. 

Against her wish, Mary insisted upon taking her downstairs, and then, asthere was no cab to be seen, they stood in the street together, lookingabout them. 

"Go back, " Katharine urged her, thinking of Mr. Basnett with his papersin his hand. 

"You can't wander about the streets alone in those clothes, " said Mary, but the desire to find a cab was not her true reason for standing besideKatharine for a minute or two. Unfortunately for her composure, Mr. Basnett and his papers seemed to her an incidental diversion of life'sserious purpose compared with some tremendous fact which manifesteditself as she stood alone with Katharine. It may have been their commonwomanhood. 

"Have you seen Ralph?" she asked suddenly, without preface. 

"Yes, " said Katharine directly, but she did not remember when or whereshe had seen him. It took her a moment or two to remember why Maryshould ask her if she had seen Ralph. 

"I believe I'm jealous, " said Mary. 

"Nonsense, Mary, " said Katharine, rather distractedly, taking her armand beginning to walk up the street in the direction of the main road. "Let me see; we went to Kew, and we agreed to be friends. Yes, that'swhat happened. " Mary was silent, in the hope that Katharine would tellher more. But Katharine said nothing. 

"It's not a question of friendship, " Mary exclaimed, her anger rising, to her own surprise. "You know it's not. How can it be? I've no rightto interfere--" She stopped. "Only I'd rather Ralph wasn't hurt, " sheconcluded. 

"I think he seems able to take care of himself, " Katharine observed. Without either of them wishing it, a feeling of hostility had risenbetween them. 

"Do you really think it's worth it?" said Mary, after a pause. 

"How can one tell?" Katharine asked. 

"Have you ever cared for any one?" Mary demanded rashly and foolishly. 

"I can't wander about London discussing my feelings--Here's a cab--no, there's some one in it. "

"We don't want to quarrel, " said Mary. 

"Ought I to have told him that I wouldn't be his friend?" Katharineasked. "Shall I tell him that? If so, what reason shall I give him?"

"Of course you can't tell him that, " said Mary, controlling herself. 

"I believe I shall, though, " said Katharine suddenly. 

"I lost my temper, Katharine; I shouldn't have said what I did. "

"The whole thing's foolish, " said Katharine, peremptorily. "That's whatI say. It's not worth it. " She spoke with unnecessary vehemence, but itwas not directed against Mary Datchet. Their animosity had completelydisappeared, and upon both of them a cloud of difficulty and darknessrested, obscuring the future, in which they had both to find a way. 

"No, no, it's not worth it, " Katharine repeated. "Suppose, as you say, it's out of the question--this friendship; he falls in love with me. Idon't want that. Still, " she added, "I believe you exaggerate; love'snot everything; marriage itself is only one of the things--" They hadreached the main thoroughfare, and stood looking at the omnibuses andpassers-by, who seemed, for the moment, to illustrate what Katharine hadsaid of the diversity of human interests. For both of them it had becomeone of those moments of extreme detachment, when it seems unnecessaryever again to shoulder the burden of happiness and self-assertiveexistence. Their neighbors were welcome to their possessions. 

"I don't lay down any rules, "' said Mary, recovering herself first, asthey turned after a long pause of this description. "All I say is thatyou should know what you're about--for certain; but, " she added, "Iexpect you do. "

At the same time she was profoundly perplexed, not only by what sheknew of the arrangements for Katharine's marriage, but by the impressionwhich she had of her, there on her arm, dark and inscrutable. 

They walked back again and reached the steps which led up to Mary'sflat. Here they stopped and paused for a moment, saying nothing. 

"You must go in, " said Katharine, rousing herself. "He's waiting allthis time to go on with his reading. " She glanced up at the lightedwindow near the top of the house, and they both looked at it and waitedfor a moment. A flight of semicircular steps ran up to the hall, andMary slowly mounted the first two or three, and paused, looking downupon Katharine. 

"I think you underrate the value of that emotion, " she said slowly, anda little awkwardly. She climbed another step and looked down once moreupon the figure that was only partly lit up, standing in the street witha colorless face turned upwards. As Mary hesitated, a cab came by andKatharine turned and stopped it, saying as she opened the door:

"Remember, I want to belong to your society--remember, " she added, having to raise her voice a little, and shutting the door upon the restof her words. 

Mary mounted the stairs step by step, as if she had to lift her body upan extremely steep ascent. She had had to wrench herself forciblyaway from Katharine, and every step vanquished her desire. She heldon grimly, encouraging herself as though she were actually making somegreat physical effort in climbing a height. She was conscious that Mr. Basnett, sitting at the top of the stairs with his documents, offeredher solid footing if she were capable of reaching it. The knowledge gaveher a faint sense of exaltation. 

Mr. Basnett raised his eyes as she opened the door. 

"I'll go on where I left off, " he said. "Stop me if you want anythingexplained. "

He had been re-reading the document, and making pencil notes in themargin while he waited, and he went on again as if there had beenno interruption. Mary sat down among the flat cushions, lit anothercigarette, and listened with a frown upon her face. 

Katharine leant back in the corner of the cab that carried her toChelsea, conscious of fatigue, and conscious, too, of the sober andsatisfactory nature of such industry as she had just witnessed. Thethought of it composed and calmed her. When she reached home she letherself in as quietly as she could, in the hope that the household wasalready gone to bed. But her excursion had occupied less time than shethought, and she heard sounds of unmistakable liveliness upstairs. Adoor opened, and she drew herself into a ground-floor room in case thesound meant that Mr. Peyton were taking his leave. From where she stoodshe could see the stairs, though she was herself invisible. Some one wascoming down the stairs, and now she saw that it was William Rodney. Helooked a little strange, as if he were walking in his sleep; his lipsmoved as if he were acting some part to himself. He came down veryslowly, step by step, with one hand upon the banisters to guide himself. She thought he looked as if he were in some mood of high exaltation, which it made her uncomfortable to witness any longer unseen. Shestepped into the hall. He gave a great start upon seeing her andstopped. 

"Katharine!" he exclaimed. "You've been out?" he asked. 

"Yes.... Are they still up?"

He did not answer, and walked into the ground-floor room through thedoor which stood open. 

"It's been more wonderful than I can tell you, " he said, "I'm incrediblyhappy--"

He was scarcely addressing her, and she said nothing. For a moment theystood at opposite sides of a table saying nothing. Then he asked herquickly, "But tell me, how did it seem to you? What did you think, Katharine? Is there a chance that she likes me? Tell me, Katharine!"

Before she could answer a door opened on the landing above and disturbedthem. It disturbed William excessively. He started back, walked rapidlyinto the hall, and said in a loud and ostentatiously ordinary tone:

"Good night, Katharine. Go to bed now. I shall see you soon. I hope Ishall be able to come to-morrow. "

Next moment he was gone. She went upstairs and found Cassandra on thelanding. She held two or three books in her hand, and she was stoopingto look at others in a little bookcase. She said that she could nevertell which book she wanted to read in bed, poetry, biography, ormetaphysics. 

"What do you read in bed, Katharine?" she asked, as they walked upstairsside by side. 

"Sometimes one thing--sometimes another, " said Katharine vaguely. Cassandra looked at her. 

"D'you know, you're extraordinarily queer, " she said. "Every one seemsto me a little queer. Perhaps it's the effect of London. "

"Is William queer, too?" Katharine asked. 

"Well, I think he is a little, " Cassandra replied. "Queer, but veryfascinating. I shall read Milton to-night. It's been one of the happiestnights of my life, Katharine, " she added, looking with shy devotion ather cousin's beautiful face. 

CHAPTER XXVII

London, in the first days of spring, has buds that open and flowers thatsuddenly shake their petals--white, purple, or crimson--in competitionwith the display in the garden beds, although these city flowers aremerely so many doors flung wide in Bond Street and the neighborhood, inviting you to look at a picture, or hear a symphony, or merely crowdand crush yourself among all sorts of vocal, excitable, brightly coloredhuman beings. But, all the same, it is no mean rival to the quieterprocess of vegetable florescence. Whether or not there is a generousmotive at the root, a desire to share and impart, or whether theanimation is purely that of insensate fervor and friction, the effect, while it lasts, certainly encourages those who are young, and thosewho are ignorant, to think the world one great bazaar, with bannersfluttering and divans heaped with spoils from every quarter of the globefor their delight. 

As Cassandra Otway went about London provided with shillings thatopened turnstiles, or more often with large white cards that disregardedturnstiles, the city seemed to her the most lavish and hospitableof hosts. After visiting the National Gallery, or Hertford House, orhearing Brahms or Beethoven at the Bechstein Hall, she would come backto find a new person awaiting her, in whose soul were imbedded somegrains of the invaluable substance which she still called reality, andstill believed that she could find. The Hilberys, as the saying is, "knew every one, " and that arrogant claim was certainly upheld by thenumber of houses which, within a certain area, lit their lamps at night, opened their doors after 3 p. M. , and admitted the Hilberys to theirdining-rooms, say, once a month. An indefinable freedom and authority ofmanner, shared by most of the people who lived in these houses, seemedto indicate that whether it was a question of art, music, or government, they were well within the gates, and could smile indulgently at thevast mass of humanity which is forced to wait and struggle, and pay forentrance with common coin at the door. The gates opened instantly toadmit Cassandra. She was naturally critical of what went on inside, andinclined to quote what Henry would have said; but she often succeeded incontradicting Henry, in his absence, and invariably paid her partnerat dinner, or the kind old lady who remembered her grandmother, thecompliment of believing that there was meaning in what they said. Forthe sake of the light in her eager eyes, much crudity of expression andsome untidiness of person were forgiven her. It was generally felt that, given a year or two of experience, introduced to good dressmakers, and preserved from bad influences, she would be an acquisition. Thoseelderly ladies, who sit on the edge of ballrooms sampling the stuffof humanity between finger and thumb and breathing so evenly that thenecklaces, which rise and fall upon their breasts, seem to representsome elemental force, such as the waves upon the ocean of humanity, concluded, a little smilingly, that she would do. They meant thatshe would in all probability marry some young man whose mother theyrespected. 

William Rodney was fertile in suggestions. He knew of little galleries, and select concerts, and private performances, and somehow made time tomeet Katharine and Cassandra, and to give them tea or dinner or supperin his rooms afterwards. Each one of her fourteen days thus promised tobear some bright illumination in its sober text. But Sunday approached. The day is usually dedicated to Nature. The weather was almost kindlyenough for an expedition. But Cassandra rejected Hampton Court, Greenwich, Richmond, and Kew in favor of the Zoological Gardens. She hadonce trifled with the psychology of animals, and still knew somethingabout inherited characteristics. On Sunday afternoon, therefore, Katharine, Cassandra, and William Rodney drove off to the Zoo. As theircab approached the entrance, Katharine bent forward and waved her handto a young man who was walking rapidly in the same direction. 

"There's Ralph Denham!" she exclaimed. "I told him to meet us here, "she added. She had even come provided with a ticket for him. William'sobjection that he would not be admitted was, therefore, silenceddirectly. But the way in which the two men greeted each other wassignificant of what was going to happen. As soon as they had admired thelittle birds in the large cage William and Cassandra lagged behind, andRalph and Katharine pressed on rather in advance. It was an arrangementin which William took his part, and one that suited his convenience, buthe was annoyed all the same. He thought that Katharine should have toldhim that she had invited Denham to meet them. 

"One of Katharine's friends, " he said rather sharply. It was clearthat he was irritated, and Cassandra felt for his annoyance. They werestanding by the pen of some Oriental hog, and she was prodding thebrute gently with the point of her umbrella, when a thousand littleobservations seemed, in some way, to collect in one center. The centerwas one of intense and curious emotion. Were they happy? She dismissedthe question as she asked it, scorning herself for applying such simplemeasures to the rare and splendid emotions of so unique a couple. Nevertheless, her manner became immediately different, as if, forthe first time, she felt consciously womanly, and as if William mightconceivably wish later on to confide in her. She forgot all about thepsychology of animals, and the recurrence of blue eyes and brown, and became instantly engrossed in her feelings as a woman who couldadminister consolation, and she hoped that Katharine would keep aheadwith Mr. Denham, as a child who plays at being grown-up hopes that hermother won't come in just yet, and spoil the game. Or was it not ratherthat she had ceased to play at being grown-up, and was conscious, suddenly, that she was alarmingly mature and in earnest?

There was still unbroken silence between Katharine and Ralph Denham, butthe occupants of the different cages served instead of speech. 

"What have you been doing since we met?" Ralph asked at length. 

"Doing?" she pondered. "Walking in and out of other people's houses. Iwonder if these animals are happy?" she speculated, stopping before agray bear, who was philosophically playing with a tassel which once, perhaps, formed part of a lady's parasol. 

"I'm afraid Rodney didn't like my coming, " Ralph remarked. 

"No. But he'll soon get over that, " she replied. The detachmentexpressed by her voice puzzled Ralph, and he would have been glad if shehad explained her meaning further. But he was not going to press herfor explanations. Each moment was to be, as far as he could make it, complete in itself, owing nothing of its happiness to explanations, borrowing neither bright nor dark tints from the future. 

"The bears seem happy, " he remarked. "But we must buy them a bag ofsomething. There's the place to buy buns. Let's go and get them. "They walked to the counter piled with little paper bags, and eachsimultaneously produced a shilling and pressed it upon the young lady, who did not know whether to oblige the lady or the gentleman, butdecided, from conventional reasons, that it was the part of thegentleman to pay. 

"I wish to pay, " said Ralph peremptorily, refusing the coin whichKatharine tendered. "I have a reason for what I do, " he added, seeingher smile at his tone of decision. 

"I believe you have a reason for everything, " she agreed, breaking thebun into parts and tossing them down the bears' throats, "but I can'tbelieve it's a good one this time. What is your reason?"

He refused to tell her. He could not explain to her that he was offeringup consciously all his happiness to her, and wished, absurdly enough, topour every possession he had upon the blazing pyre, even his silver andgold. He wished to keep this distance between them--the distance whichseparates the devotee from the image in the shrine. 

Circumstances conspired to make this easier than it would have been, hadthey been seated in a drawing-room, for example, with a tea-tray betweenthem. He saw her against a background of pale grottos and sleek hides;camels slanted their heavy-ridded eyes at her, giraffes fastidiouslyobserved her from their melancholy eminence, and the pink-lined trunksof elephants cautiously abstracted buns from her outstretched hands. Then there were the hothouses. He saw her bending over pythons coiledupon the sand, or considering the brown rock breaking the stagnant waterof the alligators' pool, or searching some minute section of tropicalforest for the golden eye of a lizard or the indrawn movement of thegreen frogs' flanks. In particular, he saw her outlined against the deepgreen waters, in which squadrons of silvery fish wheeled incessantly, or ogled her for a moment, pressing their distorted mouths against theglass, quivering their tails straight out behind them. Again, there wasthe insect house, where she lifted the blinds of the little cages, andmarveled at the purple circles marked upon the rich tussore wings ofsome lately emerged and semi-conscious butterfly, or at caterpillarsimmobile like the knobbed twigs of a pale-skinned tree, or at slim greensnakes stabbing the glass wall again and again with their flickeringcleft tongues. The heat of the air, and the bloom of heavy flowers, which swam in water or rose stiffly from great red jars, togetherwith the display of curious patterns and fantastic shapes, produced anatmosphere in which human beings tended to look pale and to fall silent. 

Opening the door of a house which rang with the mocking and profoundlyunhappy laughter of monkeys, they discovered William and Cassandra. William appeared to be tempting some small reluctant animal to descendfrom an upper perch to partake of half an apple. Cassandra was readingout, in her high-pitched tones, an account of this creature's secludeddisposition and nocturnal habits. She saw Katharine and exclaimed:

"Here you are! Do prevent William from torturing this unfortunateaye-aye. "

"We thought we'd lost you, " said William. He looked from one to theother, and seemed to take stock of Denham's unfashionable appearance. Heseemed to wish to find some outlet for malevolence, but, failing one, he remained silent. The glance, the slight quiver of the upper lip, werenot lost upon Katharine. 

"William isn't kind to animals, " she remarked. "He doesn't know whatthey like and what they don't like. "

"I take it you're well versed in these matters, Denham, " said Rodney, withdrawing his hand with the apple. 

"It's mainly a question of knowing how to stroke them, " Denham replied. 

"Which is the way to the Reptile House?" Cassandra asked him, not froma genuine desire to visit the reptiles, but in obedience to her new-bornfeminine susceptibility, which urged her to charm and conciliate theother sex. Denham began to give her directions, and Katharine andWilliam moved on together. 

"I hope you've had a pleasant afternoon, " William remarked. 

"I like Ralph Denham, " she replied. 

"Ca se voit, " William returned, with superficial urbanity. 

Many retorts were obvious, but wishing, on the whole, for peace, Katharine merely inquired:

"Are you coming back to tea?"

"Cassandra and I thought of having tea at a little shop in PortlandPlace, " he replied. "I don't know whether you and Denham would care tojoin us. "

"I'll ask him, " she replied, turning her head to look for him. But heand Cassandra were absorbed in the aye-aye once more. 

William and Katharine watched them for a moment, and each lookedcuriously at the object of the other's preference. But resting his eyeupon Cassandra, to whose elegance the dressmakers had now done justice, William said sharply:

"If you come, I hope you won't do your best to make me ridiculous. "

"If that's what you're afraid of I certainly shan't come, " Katharinereplied. 

They were professedly looking into the enormous central cage of monkeys, and being thoroughly annoyed by William, she compared him to a wretchedmisanthropical ape, huddled in a scrap of old shawl at the end ofa pole, darting peevish glances of suspicion and distrust at hiscompanions. Her tolerance was deserting her. The events of the past weekhad worn it thin. She was in one of those moods, perhaps not uncommonwith either sex, when the other becomes very clearly distinguished, and of contemptible baseness, so that the necessity of association isdegrading, and the tie, which at such moments is always extremely close, drags like a halter round the neck. William's exacting demands and hisjealousy had pulled her down into some horrible swamp of her naturewhere the primeval struggle between man and woman still rages. 

"You seem to delight in hurting me, " William persisted. "Why did you saythat just now about my behavior to animals?" As he spoke he rattledhis stick against the bars of the cage, which gave his words anaccompaniment peculiarly exasperating to Katharine's nerves. 

"Because it's true. You never see what any one feels, " she said. "Youthink of no one but yourself. "

"That is not true, " said William. By his determined rattling he hadnow collected the animated attention of some half-dozen apes. Eitherto propitiate them, or to show his consideration for their feelings, heproceeded to offer them the apple which he held. 

The sight, unfortunately, was so comically apt in its illustration ofthe picture in her mind, the ruse was so transparent, that Katharine wasseized with laughter. She laughed uncontrollably. William flushed red. No display of anger could have hurt his feelings more profoundly. It wasnot only that she was laughing at him; the detachment of the sound washorrible. 

"I don't know what you're laughing at, " he muttered, and, turning, found that the other couple had rejoined them. As if the matter had beenprivately agreed upon, the couples separated once more, Katharine andDenham passing out of the house without more than a perfunctory glanceround them. Denham obeyed what seemed to be Katharine's wish in thusmaking haste. Some change had come over her. He connected it with herlaughter, and her few words in private with Rodney; he felt that she hadbecome unfriendly to him. She talked, but her remarks were indifferent, and when he spoke her attention seemed to wander. This change ofmood was at first extremely disagreeable to him; but soon he found itsalutary. The pale drizzling atmosphere of the day affected him, also. The charm, the insidious magic in which he had luxuriated, were suddenlygone; his feeling had become one of friendly respect, and to his greatpleasure he found himself thinking spontaneously of the relief offinding himself alone in his room that night. In his surprise at thesuddenness of the change, and at the extent of his freedom, he bethoughthim of a daring plan, by which the ghost of Katharine could be moreeffectually exorcised than by mere abstinence. He would ask her to comehome with him to tea. He would force her through the mill of familylife; he would place her in a light unsparing and revealing. His familywould find nothing to admire in her, and she, he felt certain, woulddespise them all, and this, too, would help him. He felt himselfbecoming more and more merciless towards her. By such courageousmeasures any one, he thought, could end the absurd passions which werethe cause of so much pain and waste. He could foresee a time when hisexperiences, his discovery, and his triumph were made available foryounger brothers who found themselves in the same predicament. He lookedat his watch, and remarked that the gardens would soon be closed. 

"Anyhow, " he added, "I think we've seen enough for one afternoon. Wherehave the others got to?" He looked over his shoulder, and, seeing notrace of them, remarked at once:

"We'd better be independent of them. The best plan will be for you tocome back to tea with me. "

"Why shouldn't you come with me?" she asked. 

"Because we're next door to Highgate here, " he replied promptly. 

She assented, having very little notion whether Highgate was next doorto Regent's Park or not. She was only glad to put off her return tothe family tea-table in Chelsea for an hour or two. They proceeded withdogged determination through the winding roads of Regent's Park, andthe Sunday-stricken streets of the neighborhood, in the direction of theTube station. Ignorant of the way, she resigned herself entirely to him, and found his silence a convenient cover beneath which to continue heranger with Rodney. 

When they stepped out of the train into the still grayer gloom ofHighgate, she wondered, for the first time, where he was taking her. Had he a family, or did he live alone in rooms? On the whole she wasinclined to believe that he was the only son of an aged, and possiblyinvalid, mother. She sketched lightly, upon the blank vista down whichthey walked, the little white house and the tremulous old lady risingfrom behind her tea-table to greet her with faltering words about "myson's friends, " and was on the point of asking Ralph to tell her whatshe might expect, when he jerked open one of the infinite number ofidentical wooden doors, and led her up a tiled path to a porch in theAlpine style of architecture. As they listened to the shaking of thebell in the basement, she could summon no vision to replace the one sorudely destroyed. 

"I must warn you to expect a family party, " said Ralph. "They're mostlyin on Sundays. We can go to my room afterwards. "

"Have you many brothers and sisters?" she asked, without concealing herdismay. 

"Six or seven, " he replied grimly, as the door opened. 

While Ralph took off his coat, she had time to notice the ferns andphotographs and draperies, and to hear a hum, or rather a babble, ofvoices talking each other down, from the sound of them. The rigidityof extreme shyness came over her. She kept as far behind Denham as shecould, and walked stiffly after him into a room blazing with unshadedlights, which fell upon a number of people, of different ages, sitting round a large dining-room table untidily strewn with food, andunflinchingly lit up by incandescent gas. Ralph walked straight to thefar end of the table. 

"Mother, this is Miss Hilbery, " he said. 

A large elderly lady, bent over an unsatisfactory spirit-lamp, looked upwith a little frown, and observed:

"I beg your pardon. I thought you were one of my own girls. Dorothy, "she continued on the same breath, to catch the servant before she leftthe room, "we shall want some more methylated spirits--unless the lampitself is out of order. If one of you could invent a good spirit-lamp--"she sighed, looking generally down the table, and then began seekingamong the china before her for two clean cups for the new-comers. 

The unsparing light revealed more ugliness than Katharine had seen inone room for a very long time. It was the ugliness of enormous foldsof brown material, looped and festooned, of plush curtains, from whichdepended balls and fringes, partially concealing bookshelves swollenwith black school-texts. Her eye was arrested by crossed scabbards offretted wood upon the dull green wall, and whereever there was a highflat eminence, some fern waved from a pot of crinkled china, or abronze horse reared so high that the stump of a tree had to sustain hisforequarters. The waters of family life seemed to rise and close overher head, and she munched in silence. 

At length Mrs. Denham looked up from her teacups and remarked:

"You see, Miss Hilbery, my children all come in at different hours andwant different things. (The tray should go up if you've done, Johnnie. ) My boy Charles is in bed with a cold. What else can youexpect?--standing in the wet playing football. We did try drawing-roomtea, but it didn't do. "

A boy of sixteen, who appeared to be Johnnie, grumbled derisively bothat the notion of drawing-room tea and at the necessity of carrying atray up to his brother. But he took himself off, being enjoined by hismother to mind what he was doing, and shut the door after him. 

"It's much nicer like this, " said Katharine, applying herself withdetermination to the dissection of her cake; they had given her toolarge a slice. She knew that Mrs. Denham suspected her of criticalcomparisons. She knew that she was making poor progress with her cake. Mrs. Denham had looked at her sufficiently often to make it clear toKatharine that she was asking who this young woman was, and why Ralphhad brought her to tea with them. There was an obvious reason, whichMrs. Denham had probably reached by this time. Outwardly, she wasbehaving with rather rusty and laborious civility. She was makingconversation about the amenities of Highgate, its development andsituation. 

"When I first married, " she said, "Highgate was quite separate fromLondon, Miss Hilbery, and this house, though you wouldn't believe it, had a view of apple orchards. That was before the Middletons built theirhouse in front of us. "

"It must be a great advantage to live at the top of a hill, " saidKatharine. Mrs. Denham agreed effusively, as if her opinion ofKatharine's sense had risen. 

"Yes, indeed, we find it very healthy, " she said, and she went on, as people who live in the suburbs so often do, to prove that it washealthier, more convenient, and less spoilt than any suburb roundLondon. She spoke with such emphasis that it was quite obvious that sheexpressed unpopular views, and that her children disagreed with her. 

"The ceiling's fallen down in the pantry again, " said Hester, a girl ofeighteen, abruptly. 

"The whole house will be down one of these days, " James muttered. 

"Nonsense, " said Mrs. Denham. "It's only a little bit of plaster--Idon't see how any house could be expected to stand the wear and tearyou give it. " Here some family joke exploded, which Katharine could notfollow. Even Mrs. Denham laughed against her will. 

"Miss Hilbery's thinking us all so rude, " she added reprovingly. MissHilbery smiled and shook her head, and was conscious that a great manyeyes rested upon her, for a moment, as if they would find pleasurein discussing her when she was gone. Owing, perhaps, to this criticalglance, Katharine decided that Ralph Denham's family was commonplace, unshapely, lacking in charm, and fitly expressed by the hideous natureof their furniture and decorations. She glanced along a mantelpieceranged with bronze chariots, silver vases, and china ornaments that wereeither facetious or eccentric. 

She did not apply her judgment consciously to Ralph, but when she lookedat him, a moment later, she rated him lower than at any other time oftheir acquaintanceship. 

He had made no effort to tide over the discomforts of her introduction, and now, engaged in argument with his brother, apparently forgot herpresence. She must have counted upon his support more than she realized, for this indifference, emphasized, as it was, by the insignificantcommonplace of his surroundings, awoke her, not only to that ugliness, but to her own folly. She thought of one scene after another in a fewseconds, with that shudder which is almost a blush. She had believedhim when he spoke of friendship. She had believed in a spirituallight burning steadily and steadfastly behind the erratic disorderand incoherence of life. The light was now gone out, suddenly, as ifa sponge had blotted it. The litter of the table and the tedious butexacting conversation of Mrs. Denham remained: they struck, indeed, upona mind bereft of all defences, and, keenly conscious of the degradationwhich is the result of strife whether victorious or not, she thoughtgloomily of her loneliness, of life's futility, of the barren prose ofreality, of William Rodney, of her mother, and the unfinished book. 

Her answers to Mrs. Denham were perfunctory to the verge of rudeness, and to Ralph, who watched her narrowly, she seemed further away than wascompatible with her physical closeness. He glanced at her, and groundout further steps in his argument, determined that no folly shouldremain when this experience was over. Next moment, a silence, sudden andcomplete, descended upon them all. The silence of all these people roundthe untidy table was enormous and hideous; something horrible seemedabout to burst from it, but they endured it obstinately. A second laterthe door opened and there was a stir of relief; cries of "Hullo, Joan! There's nothing left for you to eat, " broke up the oppressiveconcentration of so many eyes upon the table-cloth, and set the watersof family life dashing in brisk little waves again. It was obvious thatJoan had some mysterious and beneficent power upon her family. She wentup to Katharine as if she had heard of her, and was very glad to see herat last. She explained that she had been visiting an uncle who was ill, and that had kept her. No, she hadn't had any tea, but a slice of breadwould do. Some one handed up a hot cake, which had been keeping warm inthe fender; she sat down by her mother's side, Mrs. Denham's anxietiesseemed to relax, and every one began eating and drinking, as if tea hadbegun over again. Hester voluntarily explained to Katharine that she wasreading to pass some examination, because she wanted more than anythingin the whole world to go to Newnham. 

"Now, just let me hear you decline 'amo'--I love, " Johnnie demanded. 

"No, Johnnie, no Greek at meal-times, " said Joan, overhearing himinstantly. "She's up at all hours of the night over her books, MissHilbery, and I'm sure that's not the way to pass examinations, " she wenton, smiling at Katharine, with the worried humorous smile of the eldersister whose younger brothers and sisters have become almost likechildren of her own. 

"Joan, you don't really think that 'amo' is Greek?" Ralph

asked. 

"Did I say Greek? Well, never mind. No dead languages at tea-time. Mydear boy, don't trouble to make me any toast--"

"Or if you do, surely there's the toasting-fork somewhere?" said Mrs. Denham, still cherishing the belief that the bread-knife could bespoilt. "Do one of you ring and ask for one, " she said, without anyconviction that she would be obeyed. "But is Ann coming to be with UncleJoseph?" she continued. "If so, surely they had better send Amy tous--" and in the mysterious delight of learning further details of thesearrangements, and suggesting more sensible plans of her own, which, fromthe aggrieved way in which she spoke, she did not seem to expect any oneto adopt, Mrs. Denham completely forgot the presence of a well-dressedvisitor, who had to be informed about the amenities of Highgate. As soonas Joan had taken her seat, an argument had sprung up on either side ofKatharine, as to whether the Salvation Army has any right to play hymnsat street corners on Sunday mornings, thereby making it impossible forJames to have his sleep out, and tampering with the rights of individualliberty. 

"You see, James likes to lie in bed and sleep like a hog, " said Johnnie, explaining himself to Katharine, whereupon James fired up and, makingher his goal, also exclaimed:

"Because Sundays are my one chance in the week of having my sleep out. Johnnie messes with stinking chemicals in the pantry--"

They appealed to her, and she forgot her cake and began to laugh andtalk and argue with sudden animation. The large family seemed to herso warm and various that she forgot to censure them for their taste inpottery. But the personal question between James and Johnnie merged intosome argument already, apparently, debated, so that the parts hadbeen distributed among the family, in which Ralph took the lead; andKatharine found herself opposed to him and the champion of Johnnie'scause, who, it appeared, always lost his head and got excited inargument with Ralph. 

"Yes, yes, that's what I mean. She's got it right, " he exclaimed, afterKatharine had restated his case, and made it more precise. The debatewas left almost solely to Katharine and Ralph. They looked into eachother's eyes fixedly, like wrestlers trying to see what movement iscoming next, and while Ralph spoke, Katharine bit her lower lip, and wasalways ready with her next point as soon as he had done. They were verywell matched, and held the opposite views. 

But at the most exciting stage of the argument, for no reason thatKatharine could see, all chairs were pushed back, and one after anotherthe Denham family got up and went out of the door, as if a bell hadsummoned them. She was not used to the clockwork regulations of a largefamily. She hesitated in what she was saying, and rose. Mrs. Denham andJoan had drawn together and stood by the fireplace, slightly raisingtheir skirts above their ankles, and discussing something which hadan air of being very serious and very private. They appeared to haveforgotten her presence among them. Ralph stood holding the door open forher. 

"Won't you come up to my room?" he said. And Katharine, glancing back atJoan, who smiled at her in a preoccupied way, followed Ralph upstairs. She was thinking of their argument, and when, after the long climb, heopened his door, she began at once. 

"The question is, then, at what point is it right for the individual toassert his will against the will of the State. "

For some time they continued the argument, and then the intervalsbetween one statement and the next became longer and longer, and theyspoke more speculatively and less pugnaciously, and at last fell silent. Katharine went over the argument in her mind, remembering how, now andthen, it had been set conspicuously on the right course by some remarkoffered either by James or by Johnnie. 

"Your brothers are very clever, " she said. "I suppose you're in thehabit of arguing?"

"James and Johnnie will go on like that for hours, " Ralph replied. "Sowill Hester, if you start her upon Elizabethan dramatists. "

"And the little girl with the pigtail?"

"Molly? She's only ten. But they're always arguing among themselves. "

He was immensely pleased by Katharine's praise of his brothers andsisters. He would have liked to go on telling her about them, but hechecked himself. 

"I see that it must be difficult to leave them, " Katharine continued. His deep pride in his family was more evident to him, at that moment, than ever before, and the idea of living alone in a cottage wasridiculous. All that brotherhood and sisterhood, and a common childhoodin a common past mean, all the stability, the unambitious comradeship, and tacit understanding of family life at its best, came to his mind, and he thought of them as a company, of which he was the leader, boundon a difficult, dreary, but glorious voyage. And it was Katharine whohad opened his eyes to this, he thought. 

A little dry chirp from the corner of the room now roused her attention. 

"My tame rook, " he explained briefly. "A cat had bitten one of itslegs. " She looked at the rook, and her eyes went from one object toanother. 

"You sit here and read?" she said, her eyes resting upon his books. Hesaid that he was in the habit of working there at night. 

"The great advantage of Highgate is the view over London. At night theview from my window is splendid. " He was extremely anxious that sheshould appreciate his view, and she rose to see what was to be seen. It was already dark enough for the turbulent haze to be yellow with thelight of street lamps, and she tried to determine the quarters of thecity beneath her. The sight of her gazing from his window gave him apeculiar satisfaction. When she turned, at length, he was still sittingmotionless in his chair. 

"It must be late, " she said. "I must be going. " She settled upon thearm of the chair irresolutely, thinking that she had no wish to go home. William would be there, and he would find some way of making thingsunpleasant for her, and the memory of their quarrel came back to her. She had noticed Ralph's coldness, too. She looked at him, and from hisfixed stare she thought that he must be working out some theory, someargument. He had thought, perhaps, of some fresh point in his position, as to the bounds of personal liberty. She waited, silently, thinkingabout liberty. 

"You've won again, " he said at last, without moving. 

"I've won?" she repeated, thinking of the argument. 

"I wish to God I hadn't asked you here, " he burst out. 

"What do you mean?"

"When you're here, it's different--I'm happy. You've only to walk tothe window--you've only to talk about liberty. When I saw you down thereamong them all--" He stopped short. 

"You thought how ordinary I was. "

"I tried to think so. But I thought you more wonderful than ever. "

An immense relief, and a reluctance to enjoy that relief, conflicted inher heart. 

She slid down into the chair. 

"I thought you disliked me, " she said. 

"God knows I tried, " he replied. "I've done my best to see you as youare, without any of this damned romantic nonsense. That was why I askedyou here, and it's increased my folly. When you're gone I shall lookout of that window and think of you. I shall waste the whole eveningthinking of you. I shall waste my whole life, I believe. "

He spoke with such vehemence that her relief disappeared; she frowned;and her tone changed to one almost of severity. 

"This is what I foretold. We shall gain nothing but unhappiness. Look atme, Ralph. " He looked at her. "I assure you that I'm far more ordinarythan I appear. Beauty means nothing whatever. In fact, the mostbeautiful women are generally the most stupid. I'm not that, but I'm amatter-of-fact, prosaic, rather ordinary character; I order the dinner, I pay the bills, I do the accounts, I wind up the clock, and I neverlook at a book. "

"You forget--" he began, but she would not let him speak. 

"You come and see me among flowers and pictures, and think memysterious, romantic, and all the rest of it. Being yourself veryinexperienced and very emotional, you go home and invent a story aboutme, and now you can't separate me from the person you've imagined me tobe. You call that, I suppose, being in love; as a matter of fact it'sbeing in delusion. All romantic people are the same, " she added. "Mymother spends her life in making stories about the people she's fond of. But I won't have you do it about me, if I can help it. "

"You can't help it, " he said. 

"I warn you it's the source of all evil. "

"And of all good, " he added. 

"You'll find out that I'm not what you think me. "

"Perhaps. But I shall gain more than I lose. "

"If such gain's worth having. "

They were silent for a space. 

"That may be what we have to face, " he said. "There may be nothing else. Nothing but what we imagine. "

"The reason of our loneliness, " she mused, and they were silent for atime. 

"When are you to be married?" he asked abruptly, with a change of tone. 

"Not till September, I think. It's been put off. "

"You won't be lonely then, " he said. "According to what people say, marriage is a very queer business. They say it's different from anythingelse. It may be true. I've known one or two cases where it seems to betrue. " He hoped that she would go on with the subject. But she madeno reply. He had done his best to master himself, and his voice wassufficiently indifferent, but her silence tormented him. She would neverspeak to him of Rodney of her own accord, and her reserve left a wholecontinent of her soul in darkness. 

"It may be put off even longer than that, " she said, as if by anafterthought. "Some one in the office is ill, and William has to takehis place. We may put it off for some time in fact. "

"That's rather hard on him, isn't it?" Ralph asked. 

"He has his work, " she replied. "He has lots of things that interesthim.... I know I've been to that place, " she broke off, pointing toa photograph. "But I can't remember where it is--oh, of course it'sOxford. Now, what about your cottage?"

"I'm not going to take it. "

"How you change your mind!" she smiled. 

"It's not that, " he said impatiently. "It's that I want to be where Ican see you. "

"Our compact is going to hold in spite of all I've said?" she asked. 

"For ever, so far as I'm concerned, " he replied. 

"You're going to go on dreaming and imagining and making up storiesabout me as you walk along the street, and pretending that we're ridingin a forest, or landing on an island--"

"No. I shall think of you ordering dinner, paying bills, doing theaccounts, showing old ladies the relics--"

"That's better, " she said. "You can think of me to-morrow morninglooking up dates in the 'Dictionary of National Biography. '"

"And forgetting your purse, " Ralph added. 

At this she smiled, but in another moment her smile faded, eitherbecause of his words or of the way in which he spoke them. She wascapable of forgetting things. He saw that. But what more did he see? Washe not looking at something she had never shown to anybody? Was it notsomething so profound that the notion of his seeing it almost shockedher? Her smile faded, and for a moment she seemed upon the point ofspeaking, but looking at him in silence, with a look that seemed to askwhat she could not put into words, she turned and bade him good night. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

Like a strain of music, the effect of Katharine's presence slowly diedfrom the room in which Ralph sat alone. The music had ceased in therapture of its melody. He strained to catch the faintest lingeringechoes; for a moment the memory lulled him into peace; but soon itfailed, and he paced the room so hungry for the sound to come again thathe was conscious of no other desire left in life. She had gone withoutspeaking; abruptly a chasm had been cut in his course, down which thetide of his being plunged in disorder; fell upon rocks; flung itself todestruction. The distress had an effect of physical ruin and disaster. He trembled; he was white; he felt exhausted, as if by a great physicaleffort. He sank at last into a chair standing opposite her empty one, and marked, mechanically, with his eye upon the clock, how she wentfarther and farther from him, was home now, and now, doubtless, againwith Rodney. But it was long before he could realize these facts; theimmense desire for her presence churned his senses into foam, intofroth, into a haze of emotion that removed all facts from his grasp, andgave him a strange sense of distance, even from the material shapes ofwall and window by which he was surrounded. The prospect of the future, now that the strength of his passion was revealed to him, appalled him. 

The marriage would take place in September, she had said; that allowedhim, then, six full months in which to undergo these terrible extremesof emotion. Six months of torture, and after that the silence of thegrave, the isolation of the insane, the exile of the damned; at best, alife from which the chief good was knowingly and for ever excluded. Animpartial judge might have assured him that his chief hope of recoverylay in this mystic temper, which identified a living woman with muchthat no human beings long possess in the eyes of each other; she wouldpass, and the desire for her vanish, but his belief in what she stoodfor, detached from her, would remain. This line of thought offered, perhaps, some respite, and possessed of a brain that had its stationconsiderably above the tumult of the senses, he tried to reduce thevague and wandering incoherency of his emotions to order. The sense ofself-preservation was strong in him, and Katharine herself had strangelyrevived it by convincing him that his family deserved and needed all hisstrength. She was right, and for their sake, if not for his own, thispassion, which could bear no fruit, must be cut off, uprooted, shownto be as visionary and baseless as she had maintained. The best way ofachieving this was not to run away from her, but to face her, and havingsteeped himself in her qualities, to convince his reason that they were, as she assured him, not those that he imagined. She was a practicalwoman, a domestic wife for an inferior poet, endowed with romanticbeauty by some freak of unintelligent Nature. No doubt her beauty itselfwould not stand examination. He had the means of settling this point atleast. He possessed a book of photographs from the Greek statues; thehead of a goddess, if the lower part were concealed, had often given himthe ecstasy of being in Katharine's presence. He took it down from theshelf and found the picture. To this he added a note from her, biddinghim meet her at the Zoo. He had a flower which he had picked at Kew toteach her botany. Such were his relics. He placed them before him, andset himself to visualize her so clearly that no deception or delusionwas possible. In a second he could see her, with the sun slanting acrossher dress, coming towards him down the green walk at Kew. He made hersit upon the seat beside him. He heard her voice, so low and yet sodecided in its tone; she spoke reasonably of indifferent matters. Hecould see her faults, and analyze her virtues. His pulse became quieter, and his brain increased in clarity. This time she could not escape him. The illusion of her presence became more and more complete. They seemedto pass in and out of each other's minds, questioning and answering. Theutmost fullness of communion seemed to be theirs. Thus united, he felthimself raised to an eminence, exalted, and filled with a power ofachievement such as he had never known in singleness. Once more he toldover conscientiously her faults, both of face and character; they wereclearly known to him; but they merged themselves in the flawless unionthat was born of their association. They surveyed life to its uttermostlimits. How deep it was when looked at from this height! How sublime!How the commonest things moved him almost to tears! Thus, he forgotthe inevitable limitations; he forgot her absence, he thought it of noaccount whether she married him or another; nothing mattered, savethat she should exist, and that he should love her. Some words of thesereflections were uttered aloud, and it happened that among them werethe words, "I love her. " It was the first time that he had used the word"love" to describe his feeling; madness, romance, hallucination--he hadcalled it by these names before; but having, apparently by accident, stumbled upon the word "love, " he repeated it again and again with asense of revelation. 

"But I'm in love with you!" he exclaimed, with something like dismay. Heleant against the window-sill, looking over the city as she had looked. Everything had become miraculously different and completely distinct. His feelings were justified and needed no further explanation. But hemust impart them to some one, because his discovery was so importantthat it concerned other people too. Shutting the book of Greekphotographs, and hiding his relics, he ran downstairs, snatched hiscoat, and passed out of doors. 

The lamps were being lit, but the streets were dark enough and emptyenough to let him walk his fastest, and to talk aloud as he walked. Hehad no doubt where he was going. He was going to find Mary Datchet. Thedesire to share what he felt, with some one who understood it, was soimperious that he did not question it. He was soon in her street. Heran up the stairs leading to her flat two steps at a time, and it nevercrossed his mind that she might not be at home. As he rang her bell, heseemed to himself to be announcing the presence of something wonderfulthat was separate from himself, and gave him power and authority overall other people. Mary came to the door after a moment's pause. He wasperfectly silent, and in the dusk his face looked completely white. Hefollowed her into her room. 

"Do you know each other?" she said, to his extreme surprise, for he hadcounted on finding her alone. A young man rose, and said that he knewRalph by sight. 

"We were just going through some papers, " said Mary. "Mr. Basnett hasto help me, because I don't know much about my work yet. It's the newsociety, " she explained. "I'm the secretary. I'm no longer at RussellSquare. "

The voice in which she gave this information was so constrained as tosound almost harsh. 

"What are your aims?" said Ralph. He looked neither at Mary nor at Mr. Basnett. Mr. Basnett thought he had seldom seen a more disagreeableor formidable man than this friend of Mary's, this sarcastic-looking, white-faced Mr. Denham, who seemed to demand, as if by right, an accountof their proposals, and to criticize them before he had heard them. Nevertheless, he explained his projects as clearly as he could, and knewthat he wished Mr. Denham to think well of them. 

"I see, " said Ralph, when he had done. "D'you know, Mary, " he suddenlyremarked, "I believe I'm in for a cold. Have you any quinine?" Thelook which he cast at her frightened her; it expressed mutely, perhapswithout his own consciousness, something deep, wild, and passionate. Sheleft the room at once. Her heart beat fast at the knowledge of Ralph'spresence; but it beat with pain, and with an extraordinary fear. Shestood listening for a moment to the voices in the next room. 

"Of course, I agree with you, " she heard Ralph say, in this strangevoice, to Mr. Basnett. "But there's more that might be done. Have youseen Judson, for instance? You should make a point of getting him. "

Mary returned with the quinine. 

"Judson's address?" Mr. Basnett inquired, pulling out his notebook andpreparing to write. For twenty minutes, perhaps, he wrote down names, addresses, and other suggestions that Ralph dictated to him. Then, whenRalph fell silent, Mr. Basnett felt that his presence was not desired, and thanking Ralph for his help, with a sense that he was very young andignorant compared with him, he said good-bye. 

"Mary, " said Ralph, directly Mr. Basnett had shut the door and they werealone together. "Mary, " he repeated. But the old difficulty of speakingto Mary without reserve prevented him from continuing. His desire toproclaim his love for Katharine was still strong in him, but he hadfelt, directly he saw Mary, that he could not share it with her. Thefeeling increased as he sat talking to Mr. Basnett. And yet all the timehe was thinking of Katharine, and marveling at his love. The tone inwhich he spoke Mary's name was harsh. 

"What is it, Ralph?" she asked, startled by his tone. She looked at himanxiously, and her little frown showed that she was trying painfullyto understand him, and was puzzled. He could feel her groping for hismeaning, and he was annoyed with her, and thought how he had alwaysfound her slow, painstaking, and clumsy. He had behaved badly to her, too, which made his irritation the more acute. Without waiting for himto answer, she rose as if his answer were indifferent to her, and beganto put in order some papers that Mr. Basnett had left on the table. Shehummed a scrap of a tune under her breath, and moved about the room asif she were occupied in making things tidy, and had no other concern. 

"You'll stay and dine?" she said casually, returning to her seat. 

"No, " Ralph replied. She did not press him further. They sat side byside without speaking, and Mary reached her hand for her work basket, and took out her sewing and threaded a needle. 

"That's a clever young man, " Ralph observed, referring to Mr. Basnett. 

"I'm glad you thought so. It's tremendously interesting work, andconsidering everything, I think we've done very well. But I'm inclinedto agree with you; we ought to try to be more conciliatory. We'reabsurdly strict. It's difficult to see that there may be sense in whatone's opponents say, though they are one's opponents. Horace Basnettis certainly too uncompromising. I mustn't forget to see that he writesthat letter to Judson. You're too busy, I suppose, to come on to ourcommittee?" She spoke in the most impersonal manner. 

"I may be out of town, " Ralph replied, with equal distance of manner. 

"Our executive meets every week, of course, " she observed. "But some ofour members don't come more than once a month. Members of Parliament arethe worst; it was a mistake, I think, to ask them. "

She went on sewing in silence. 

"You've not taken your quinine, " she said, looking up and seeing thetabloids upon the mantelpiece. 

"I don't want it, " said Ralph shortly. 

"Well, you know best, " she replied tranquilly. 

"Mary, I'm a brute!" he exclaimed. "Here I come and waste your time, anddo nothing but make myself disagreeable. "

"A cold coming on does make one feel wretched, " she replied. 

"I've not got a cold. That was a lie. There's nothing the matter withme. I'm mad, I suppose. I ought to have had the decency to keep away. But I wanted to see you--I wanted to tell you--I'm in love, Mary. " Hespoke the word, but, as he spoke it, it seemed robbed of substance. 

"In love, are you?" she said quietly. "I'm glad, Ralph. "

"I suppose I'm in love. Anyhow, I'm out of my mind. I can't think, Ican't work, I don't care a hang for anything in the world. Good Heavens, Mary! I'm in torment! One moment I'm happy; next I'm miserable. I hateher for half an hour; then I'd give my whole life to be with her for tenminutes; all the time I don't know what I feel, or why I feel it; it'sinsanity, and yet it's perfectly reasonable. Can you make any sense ofit? Can you see what's happened? I'm raving, I know; don't listen, Mary;go on with your work. "

He rose and began, as usual, to pace up and down the room. He knew thatwhat he had just said bore very little resemblance to what he felt, forMary's presence acted upon him like a very strong magnet, drawing fromhim certain expressions which were not those he made use of when hespoke to himself, nor did they represent his deepest feelings. He felta little contempt for himself at having spoken thus; but somehow he hadbeen forced into speech. 

"Do sit down, " said Mary suddenly. "You make me so--" She spoke withunusual irritability, and Ralph, noticing it with surprise, sat down atonce. 

"You haven't told me her name--you'd rather not, I suppose?"

"Her name? Katharine Hilbery. "

"But she's engaged--"

"To Rodney. They're to be married in September. "

"I see, " said Mary. But in truth the calm of his manner, now that he wassitting down once more, wrapt her in the presence of something which shefelt to be so strong, so mysterious, so incalculable, that she scarcelydared to attempt to intercept it by any word or question that she wasable to frame. She looked at Ralph blankly, with a kind of awe in herface, her lips slightly parted, and her brows raised. He was apparentlyquite unconscious of her gaze. Then, as if she could look no longer, sheleant back in her chair, and half closed her eyes. The distance betweenthem hurt her terribly; one thing after another came into her mind, tempting her to assail Ralph with questions, to force him to confidein her, and to enjoy once more his intimacy. But she rejected everyimpulse, for she could not speak without doing violence to some reservewhich had grown between them, putting them a little far from each other, so that he seemed to her dignified and remote, like a person she nolonger knew well. 

"Is there anything that I could do for you?" she asked gently, and evenwith courtesy, at length. 

"You could see her--no, that's not what I want; you mustn't bother aboutme, Mary. " He, too, spoke very gently. 

"I'm afraid no third person can do anything to help, " she added. 

"No, " he shook his head. "Katharine was saying to-day how lonely weare. " She saw the effort with which he spoke Katharine's name, andbelieved that he forced himself to make amends now for his concealmentin the past. At any rate, she was conscious of no anger against him; butrather of a deep pity for one condemned to suffer as she had suffered. But in the case of Katharine it was different; she was indignant withKatharine. 

"There's always work, " she said, a little aggressively. 

Ralph moved directly. 

"Do you want to be working now?" he asked. 

"No, no. It's Sunday, " she replied. "I was thinking of Katharine. Shedoesn't understand about work. She's never had to. She doesn't know whatwork is. I've only found out myself quite lately. But it's the thingthat saves one--I'm sure of that. "

"There are other things, aren't there?" he hesitated. 

"Nothing that one can count upon, " she returned. "After all, otherpeople--" she stopped, but forced herself to go on. "Where should I benow if I hadn't got to go to my office every day? Thousands of peoplewould tell you the same thing--thousands of women. I tell you, work isthe only thing that saved me, Ralph. " He set his mouth, as if her wordsrained blows on him; he looked as if he had made up his mind to bearanything she might say, in silence. He had deserved it, and there wouldbe relief in having to bear it. But she broke off, and rose as if tofetch something from the next room. Before she reached the door sheturned back, and stood facing him, self-possessed, and yet defiant andformidable in her composure. 

"It's all turned out splendidly for me, " she said. "It will for you, too. I'm sure of that. Because, after all, Katharine is worth it. "

"Mary--!" he exclaimed. But her head was turned away, and he could notsay what he wished to say. "Mary, you're splendid, " he concluded. Shefaced him as he spoke, and gave him her hand. She had suffered andrelinquished, she had seen her future turned from one of infinitepromise to one of barrenness, and yet, somehow, over what she scarcelyknew, and with what results she could hardly foretell, she hadconquered. With Ralph's eyes upon her, smiling straight back at himserenely and proudly, she knew, for the first time, that she hadconquered. She let him kiss her hand. 

The streets were empty enough on Sunday night, and if the Sabbath, and the domestic amusements proper to the Sabbath, had not kept peopleindoors, a high strong wind might very probably have done so. RalphDenham was aware of a tumult in the street much in accordance with hisown sensations. The gusts, sweeping along the Strand, seemed at the sametime to blow a clear space across the sky in which stars appeared, andfor a short time the quicks-peeding silver moon riding through clouds, as if they were waves of water surging round her and over her. Theyswamped her, but she emerged; they broke over her and covered her again;she issued forth indomitable. In the country fields all the wreckage ofwinter was being dispersed; the dead leaves, the withered bracken, thedry and discolored grass, but no bud would be broken, nor would the newstalks that showed above the earth take any harm, and perhaps to-morrowa line of blue or yellow would show through a slit in their green. Butthe whirl of the atmosphere alone was in Denham's mood, and what ofstar or blossom appeared was only as a light gleaming for a second uponheaped waves fast following each other. He had not been able to speak toMary, though for a moment he had come near enough to be tantalized bya wonderful possibility of understanding. But the desire to communicatesomething of the very greatest importance possessed him completely; hestill wished to bestow this gift upon some other human being; he soughttheir company. More by instinct than by conscious choice, he took thedirection which led to Rodney's rooms. He knocked loudly upon his door;but no one answered. He rang the bell. It took him some time to acceptthe fact that Rodney was out. When he could no longer pretend that thesound of the wind in the old building was the sound of some one risingfrom his chair, he ran downstairs again, as if his goal had been alteredand only just revealed to him. He walked in the direction of Chelsea. 

But physical fatigue, for he had not dined and had tramped both far andfast, made him sit for a moment upon a seat on the Embankment. Oneof the regular occupants of those seats, an elderly man who had drunkhimself, probably, out of work and lodging, drifted up, begged a match, and sat down beside him. It was a windy night, he said; times were hard;some long story of bad luck and injustice followed, told so often thatthe man seemed to be talking to himself, or, perhaps, the neglect ofhis audience had long made any attempt to catch their attention seemscarcely worth while. When he began to speak Ralph had a wild desire totalk to him; to question him; to make him understand. He did, in fact, interrupt him at one point; but it was useless. The ancient story offailure, ill-luck, undeserved disaster, went down the wind, disconnectedsyllables flying past Ralph's ears with a queer alternation of loudnessand faintness as if, at certain moments, the man's memory of hiswrongs revived and then flagged, dying down at last into a grumble ofresignation, which seemed to represent a final lapse into the accustomeddespair. The unhappy voice afflicted Ralph, but it also angered him. Andwhen the elderly man refused to listen and mumbled on, an odd image cameto his mind of a lighthouse besieged by the flying bodies of lost birds, who were dashed senseless, by the gale, against the glass. He had astrange sensation that he was both lighthouse and bird; he was steadfastand brilliant; and at the same time he was whirled, with all otherthings, senseless against the glass. He got up, left his tribute ofsilver, and pressed on, with the wind against him. The image of thelighthouse and the storm full of birds persisted, taking the place ofmore definite thoughts, as he walked past the Houses of Parliament anddown Grosvenor Road, by the side of the river. In his state of physicalfatigue, details merged themselves in the vaster prospect, of whichthe flying gloom and the intermittent lights of lamp-posts and privatehouses were the outward token, but he never lost his sense of walkingin the direction of Katharine's house. He took it for granted thatsomething would then happen, and, as he walked on, his mind became moreand more full of pleasure and expectancy. Within a certain radius of herhouse the streets came under the influence of her presence. Eachhouse had an individuality known to Ralph, because of the tremendousindividuality of the house in which she lived. For some yards beforereaching the Hilberys' door he walked in a trance of pleasure, butwhen he reached it, and pushed the gate of the little garden open, hehesitated. He did not know what to do next. There was no hurry, however, for the outside of the house held pleasure enough to last him some timelonger. He crossed the road, and leant against the balustrade of theEmbankment, fixing his eyes upon the house. 

Lights burnt in the three long windows of the drawing-room. The spaceof the room behind became, in Ralph's vision, the center of the dark, flying wilderness of the world; the justification for the welter ofconfusion surrounding it; the steady light which cast its beams, likethose of a lighthouse, with searching composure over the tracklesswaste. In this little sanctuary were gathered together several differentpeople, but their identity was dissolved in a general glory of somethingthat might, perhaps, be called civilization; at any rate, alldryness, all safety, all that stood up above the surge and preserveda consciousness of its own, was centered in the drawing-room of theHilberys. Its purpose was beneficent; and yet so far above his level asto have something austere about it, a light that cast itself out and yetkept itself aloof. Then he began, in his mind, to distinguish differentindividuals within, consciously refusing as yet to attack the figure ofKatharine. His thoughts lingered over Mrs. Hilbery and Cassandra; andthen he turned to Rodney and Mr. Hilbery. Physically, he saw them bathedin that steady flow of yellow light which filled the long oblongs of thewindows; in their movements they were beautiful; and in their speech hefigured a reserve of meaning, unspoken, but understood. At length, afterall this half-conscious selection and arrangement, he allowed himselfto approach the figure of Katharine herself; and instantly the scenewas flooded with excitement. He did not see her in the body; he seemedcuriously to see her as a shape of light, the light itself; he seemed, simplified and exhausted as he was, to be like one of those lost birdsfascinated by the lighthouse and held to the glass by the splendor ofthe blaze. 

These thoughts drove him to tramp a beat up and down the pavement beforethe Hilberys' gate. He did not trouble himself to make any plans for thefuture. Something of an unknown kind would decide both the coming yearand the coming hour. Now and again, in his vigil, he sought the light inthe long windows, or glanced at the ray which gilded a few leaves anda few blades of grass in the little garden. For a long time the lightburnt without changing. He had just reached the limit of his beat andwas turning, when the front door opened, and the aspect of the house wasentirely changed. A black figure came down the little pathway and pausedat the gate. Denham understood instantly that it was Rodney. Withouthesitation, and conscious only of a great friendliness for any onecoming from that lighted room, he walked straight up to him and stoppedhim. In the flurry of the wind Rodney was taken aback, and for themoment tried to press on, muttering something, as if he suspected ademand upon his charity. 

"Goodness, Denham, what are you doing here?" he exclaimed, recognizinghim. 

Ralph mumbled something about being on his way home. They walked ontogether, though Rodney walked quick enough to make it plain that he hadno wish for company. 

He was very unhappy. That afternoon Cassandra had repulsed him; hehad tried to explain to her the difficulties of the situation, andto suggest the nature of his feelings for her without saying anythingdefinite or anything offensive to her. But he had lost his head; underthe goad of Katharine's ridicule he had said too much, and Cassandra, superb in her dignity and severity, had refused to hear another word, and threatened an immediate return to her home. His agitation, after anevening spent between the two women, was extreme. Moreover, he could nothelp suspecting that Ralph was wandering near the Hilberys' house, atthis hour, for reasons connected with Katharine. There was probably someunderstanding between them--not that anything of the kind matteredto him now. He was convinced that he had never cared for any one saveCassandra, and Katharine's future was no concern of his. Aloud, he said, shortly, that he was very tired and wished to find a cab. But on Sundaynight, on the Embankment, cabs were hard to come by, and Rodney foundhimself constrained to walk some distance, at any rate, in Denham'scompany. Denham maintained his silence. Rodney's irritation lapsed. Hefound the silence oddly suggestive of the good masculine qualities whichhe much respected, and had at this moment great reason to need. Afterthe mystery, difficulty, and uncertainty of dealing with the other sex, intercourse with one's own is apt to have a composing and even ennoblinginfluence, since plain speaking is possible and subterfuges of no avail. Rodney, too, was much in need of a confidant; Katharine, despite herpromises of help, had failed him at the critical moment; she hadgone off with Denham; she was, perhaps, tormenting Denham as she hadtormented him. How grave and stable he seemed, speaking little, andwalking firmly, compared with what Rodney knew of his own torments andindecisions! He began to cast about for some way of telling the story ofhis relations with Katharine and Cassandra that would not lower him inDenham's eyes. It then occurred to him that, perhaps, Katharine herselfhad confided in Denham; they had something in common; it was likely thatthey had discussed him that very afternoon. The desire to discoverwhat they had said of him now came uppermost in his mind. He recalledKatharine's laugh; he remembered that she had gone, laughing, to walkwith Denham. 

"Did you stay long after we'd left?" he asked abruptly. 

"No. We went back to my house. "

This seemed to confirm Rodney's belief that he had been discussed. Heturned over the unpalatable idea for a while, in silence. 

"Women are incomprehensible creatures, Denham!" he then exclaimed. 

"Um, " said Denham, who seemed to himself possessed of completeunderstanding, not merely of women, but of the entire universe. Hecould read Rodney, too, like a book. He knew that he was unhappy, and hepitied him, and wished to help him. 

"You say something and they--fly into a passion. Or for no reason atall, they laugh. I take it that no amount of education will--" Theremainder of the sentence was lost in the high wind, against which theyhad to struggle; but Denham understood that he referred to Katharine'slaughter, and that the memory of it was still hurting him. In comparisonwith Rodney, Denham felt himself very secure; he saw Rodney as one ofthe lost birds dashed senseless against the glass; one of the flyingbodies of which the air was full. But he and Katharine were alonetogether, aloft, splendid, and luminous with a twofold radiance. Hepitied the unstable creature beside him; he felt a desire to protecthim, exposed without the knowledge which made his own way so direct. They were united as the adventurous are united, though one reaches thegoal and the other perishes by the way. 

"You couldn't laugh at some one you cared for. "

This sentence, apparently addressed to no other human being, reachedDenham's ears. The wind seemed to muffle it and fly away with itdirectly. Had Rodney spoken those words?

"You love her. " Was that his own voice, which seemed to sound in the airseveral yards in front of him?

"I've suffered tortures, Denham, tortures!"

"Yes, yes, I know that. "

"She's laughed at me. "

"Never--to me. "

The wind blew a space between the words--blew them so far away that theyseemed unspoken. 

"How I've loved her!"

This was certainly spoken by the man at Denham's side. The voice had allthe marks of Rodney's character, and recalled, with; strange vividness, his personal appearance. Denham could see him against the blankbuildings and towers of the horizon. He saw him dignified, exalted, andtragic, as he might have appeared thinking of Katharine alone in hisrooms at night. 

"I am in love with Katharine myself. That is why I am here to-night. "

Ralph spoke distinctly and deliberately, as if Rodney's confession hadmade this statement necessary. 

Rodney exclaimed something inarticulate. 

"Ah, I've always known it, " he cried, "I've known it from the first. You'll marry her!"

The cry had a note of despair in it. Again the wind intercepted theirwords. They said no more. At length they drew up beneath a lamp-post, simultaneously. 

"My God, Denham, what fools we both are!" Rodney exclaimed. They lookedat each other, queerly, in the light of the lamp. Fools! They seemed toconfess to each other the extreme depths of their folly. For the moment, under the lamp-post, they seemed to be aware of some common knowledgewhich did away with the possibility of rivalry, and made them feelmore sympathy for each other than for any one else in the world. Giving simultaneously a little nod, as if in confirmation of thisunderstanding, they parted without speaking again. 

CHAPTER XXIX

Between twelve and one that Sunday night Katharine lay in bed, notasleep, but in that twilight region where a detached and humorous viewof our own lot is possible; or if we must be serious, our seriousness istempered by the swift oncome of slumber and oblivion. She saw the formsof Ralph, William, Cassandra, and herself, as if they were all equallyunsubstantial, and, in putting off reality, had gained a kind of dignitywhich rested upon each impartially. Thus rid of any uncomfortable warmthof partisanship or load of obligation, she was dropping off to sleepwhen a light tap sounded upon her door. A moment later Cassandra stoodbeside her, holding a candle and speaking in the low tones proper to thetime of night. 

"Are you awake, Katharine?"

"Yes, I'm awake. What is it?"

She roused herself, sat up, and asked what in Heaven's name Cassandrawas doing?

"I couldn't sleep, and I thought I'd come and speak to you--only for amoment, though. I'm going home to-morrow. "

"Home? Why, what has happened?"

"Something happened to-day which makes it impossible for me to stayhere. "

Cassandra spoke formally, almost solemnly; the announcement was clearlyprepared and marked a crisis of the utmost gravity. She continued whatseemed to be part of a set speech. 

"I have decided to tell you the whole truth, Katharine. William allowedhimself to behave in a way which made me extremely uncomfortableto-day. "

Katharine seemed to waken completely, and at once to be in control ofherself. 

"At the Zoo?" she asked. 

"No, on the way home. When we had tea. "

As if foreseeing that the interview might be long, and the night chilly, Katharine advised Cassandra to wrap herself in a quilt. Cassandra did sowith unbroken solemnity. 

"There's a train at eleven, " she said. "I shall tell Aunt Maggie thatI have to go suddenly.... I shall make Violet's visit an excuse. But, after thinking it over, I don't see how I can go without telling you thetruth. "

She was careful to abstain from looking in Katharine's direction. Therewas a slight pause. 

"But I don't see the least reason why you should go, " said Katharineeventually. Her voice sounded so astonishingly equable that Cassandraglanced at her. It was impossible to suppose that she was eitherindignant or surprised; she seemed, on the contrary, sitting up in bed, with her arms clasped round her knees and a little frown on her brow, tobe thinking closely upon a matter of indifference to her. 

"Because I can't allow any man to behave to me in that way, " Cassandrareplied, and she added, "particularly when I know that he is engaged tosome one else. "

"But you like him, don't you?" Katharine inquired. 

"That's got nothing to do with it, " Cassandra exclaimed indignantly. "Iconsider his conduct, under the circumstances, most disgraceful. "

This was the last of the sentences of her premeditated speech; andhaving spoken it she was left unprovided with any more to say in thatparticular style. When Katharine remarked:

"I should say it had everything to do with it, " Cassandra'sself-possession deserted her. 

"I don't understand you in the least, Katharine. How can you behave asyou behave? Ever since I came here I've been amazed by you!"

"You've enjoyed yourself, haven't you?" Katharine asked. 

"Yes, I have, " Cassandra admitted. 

"Anyhow, my behavior hasn't spoiled your visit. "

"No, " Cassandra allowed once more. She was completely at a loss. In herforecast of the interview she had taken it for granted that Katharine, after an outburst of incredulity, would agree that Cassandra must returnhome as soon as possible. But Katharine, on the contrary, accepted herstatement at once, seemed neither shocked nor surprised, and merelylooked rather more thoughtful than usual. From being a mature womancharged with an important mission, Cassandra shrunk to the stature of aninexperienced child. 

"Do you think I've been very foolish about it?" she asked. 

Katharine made no answer, but still sat deliberating silently, and acertain feeling of alarm took possession of Cassandra. Perhaps herwords had struck far deeper than she had thought, into depths beyondher reach, as so much of Katharine was beyond her reach. She thoughtsuddenly that she had been playing with very dangerous tools. 

Looking at her at length, Katharine asked slowly, as if she found thequestion very difficult to ask. 

"But do you care for William?"

She marked the agitation and bewilderment of the girl's expression, andhow she looked away from her. 

"Do you mean, am I in love with him?" Cassandra asked, breathingquickly, and nervously moving her hands. 

"Yes, in love with him, " Katharine repeated. 

"How can I love the man you're engaged to marry?" Cassandra burst out. 

"He may be in love with you. "

"I don't think you've any right to say such things, Katharine, "Cassandra exclaimed. "Why do you say them? Don't you mind in the leasthow William behaves to other women? If I were engaged, I couldn't bearit!"

"We're not engaged, " said Katharine, after a pause. 

"Katharine!" Cassandra cried. 

"No, we're not engaged, " Katharine repeated. "But no one knows it butourselves. "

"But why--I don't understand--you're not engaged!" Cassandra said again. "Oh, that explains it! You're not in love with him! You don't want tomarry him!"

"We aren't in love with each other any longer, " said Katharine, as ifdisposing of something for ever and ever. 

"How queer, how strange, how unlike other people you are, Katharine, "Cassandra said, her whole body and voice seeming to fall and collapsetogether, and no trace of anger or excitement remaining, but only adreamy quietude. 

"You're not in love with him?"

"But I love him, " said Katharine. 

Cassandra remained bowed, as if by the weight of the revelation, forsome little while longer. Nor did Katharine speak. Her attitude wasthat of some one who wishes to be concealed as much as possible fromobservation. She sighed profoundly; she was absolutely silent, andapparently overcome by her thoughts. 

"D'you know what time it is?" she said at length, and shook her pillow, as if making ready for sleep. 

Cassandra rose obediently, and once more took up her candle. Perhaps thewhite dressing-gown, and the loosened hair, and something unseeing inthe expression of the eyes gave her a likeness to a woman walking in hersleep. Katharine, at least, thought so. 

"There's no reason why I should go home, then?" Cassandra said, pausing. "Unless you want me to go, Katharine? What DO you want me to do?"

For the first time their eyes met. 

"You wanted us to fall in love, " Cassandra exclaimed, as if she read thecertainty there. But as she looked she saw a sight that surprised her. The tears rose slowly in Katharine's eyes and stood there, brimmingbut contained--the tears of some profound emotion, happiness, grief, renunciation; an emotion so complex in its nature that to express it wasimpossible, and Cassandra, bending her head and receiving the tears uponher cheek, accepted them in silence as the consecration of her love. 

"Please, miss, " said the maid, about eleven o'clock on the followingmorning, "Mrs. Milvain is in the kitchen. "

A long wicker basket of flowers and branches had arrived from thecountry, and Katharine, kneeling upon the floor of the drawing-room, was sorting them while Cassandra watched her from an arm-chair, andabsent-mindedly made spasmodic offers of help which were not accepted. The maid's message had a curious effect upon Katharine. 

She rose, walked to the window, and, the maid being gone, saidemphatically and even tragically:

"You know what that means. "

Cassandra had understood nothing. 

"Aunt Celia is in the kitchen, " Katharine repeated. 

"Why in the kitchen?" Cassandra asked, not unnaturally. 

"Probably because she's discovered something, " Katharine replied. Cassandra's thoughts flew to the subject of her preoccupation. 

"About us?" she inquired. 

"Heaven knows, " Katharine replied. "I shan't let her stay in thekitchen, though. I shall bring her up here. "

The sternness with which this was said suggested that to bring AuntCelia upstairs was, for some reason, a disciplinary measure. 

"For goodness' sake, Katharine, " Cassandra exclaimed, jumping from herchair and showing signs of agitation, "don't be rash. Don't let hersuspect. Remember, nothing's certain--"

Katharine assured her by nodding her head several times, but the mannerin which she left the room was not calculated to inspire completeconfidence in her diplomacy. 

Mrs. Milvain was sitting, or rather perching, upon the edge of a chairin the servants' room. Whether there was any sound reason for her choiceof a subterranean chamber, or whether it corresponded with the spirit ofher quest, Mrs. Milvain invariably came in by the back door and satin the servants' room when she was engaged in confidential familytransactions. The ostensible reason she gave was that neither Mr. NorMrs. Hilbery should be disturbed. But, in truth, Mrs. Milvain dependedeven more than most elderly women of her generation upon the deliciousemotions of intimacy, agony, and secrecy, and the additional thrillprovided by the basement was one not lightly to be forfeited. Sheprotested almost plaintively when Katharine proposed to go upstairs. 

"I've something that I want to say to you in PRIVATE, " she said, hesitating reluctantly upon the threshold of her ambush. 

"The drawing-room is empty--"

"But we might meet your mother upon the stairs. We might disturb yourfather, " Mrs. Milvain objected, taking the precaution to speak in awhisper already. 

But as Katharine's presence was absolutely necessary to the successof the interview, and as Katharine obstinately receded up the kitchenstairs, Mrs. Milvain had no course but to follow her. She glancedfurtively about her as she proceeded upstairs, drew her skirts together, and stepped with circumspection past all doors, whether they were openor shut. 

"Nobody will overhear us?" she murmured, when the comparative sanctuaryof the drawing-room had been reached. "I see that I have interruptedyou, " she added, glancing at the flowers strewn upon the floor. Amoment later she inquired, "Was some one sitting with you?" noticing ahandkerchief that Cassandra had dropped in her flight. 

"Cassandra was helping me to put the flowers in water, " said Katharine, and she spoke so firmly and clearly that Mrs. Milvain glanced nervouslyat the main door and then at the curtain which divided the little roomwith the relics from the drawing-room. 

"Ah, Cassandra is still with you, " she remarked. "And did William sendyou those lovely flowers?"

Katharine sat down opposite her aunt and said neither yes nor no. Shelooked past her, and it might have been thought that she was consideringvery critically the pattern of the curtains. Another advantage ofthe basement, from Mrs. Milvain's point of view, was that it made itnecessary to sit very close together, and the light was dim comparedwith that which now poured through three windows upon Katharine andthe basket of flowers, and gave even the slight angular figure of Mrs. Milvain herself a halo of gold. 

"They're from Stogdon House, " said Katharine abruptly, with a littlejerk of her head. 

Mrs. Milvain felt that it would be easier to tell her niece whatshe wished to say if they were actually in physical contact, for thespiritual distance between them was formidable. Katharine, however, madeno overtures, and Mrs. Milvain, who was possessed of rash but heroiccourage, plunged without preface:

"People are talking about you, Katharine. That is why I have come thismorning. You forgive me for saying what I'd much rather not say? What Isay is only for your own sake, my child. "

"There's nothing to forgive yet, Aunt Celia, " said Katharine, withapparent good humor. 

"People are saying that William goes everywhere with you and Cassandra, and that he is always paying her attentions. At the Markhams' dance hesat out five dances with her. At the Zoo they were seen alone together. They left together. They never came back here till seven in the evening. But that is not all. They say his manner is very marked--he is quitedifferent when she is there. "

Mrs. Milvain, whose words had run themselves together, and whose voicehad raised its tone almost to one of protest, here ceased, and lookedintently at Katharine, as if to judge the effect of her communication. Aslight rigidity had passed over Katharine's face. Her lips were pressedtogether; her eyes were contracted, and they were still fixed upon thecurtain. These superficial changes covered an extreme inner loathingsuch as might follow the display of some hideous or indecent spectacle. The indecent spectacle was her own action beheld for the first time fromthe outside; her aunt's words made her realize how infinitely repulsivethe body of life is without its soul. 

"Well?" she said at length. 

Mrs. Milvain made a gesture as if to bring her closer, but it was notreturned. 

"We all know how good you are--how unselfish--how you sacrifice yourselfto others. But you've been too unselfish, Katharine. You have madeCassandra happy, and she has taken advantage of your goodness. "

"I don't understand, Aunt Celia, " said Katharine. "What has Cassandradone?"

"Cassandra has behaved in a way that I could not have thought possible, "said Mrs. Milvain warmly. "She has been utterly selfish--utterlyheartless. I must speak to her before I go. "

"I don't understand, " Katharine persisted. 

Mrs. Milvain looked at her. Was it possible that Katharine reallydoubted? That there was something that Mrs. Milvain herself did notunderstand? She braced herself, and pronounced the tremendous words:

"Cassandra has stolen William's love. "

Still the words seemed to have curiously little effect. 

"Do you mean, " said Katharine, "that he has fallen in love with her?"

"There are ways of MAKING men fall in love with one, Katharine. "

Katharine remained silent. The silence alarmed Mrs. Milvain, and shebegan hurriedly:

"Nothing would have made me say these things but your own good. I havenot wished to interfere; I have not wished to give you pain. I am auseless old woman. I have no children of my own. I only want to see youhappy, Katharine. "

Again she stretched forth her arms, but they remained empty. 

"You are not going to say these things to Cassandra, " said Katharinesuddenly. "You've said them to me; that's enough. "

Katharine spoke so low and with such restraint that Mrs. Milvain hadto strain to catch her words, and when she heard them she was dazed bythem. 

"I've made you angry! I knew I should!" she exclaimed. She quivered, anda kind of sob shook her; but even to have made Katharine angry was somerelief, and allowed her to feel some of the agreeable sensations ofmartyrdom. 

"Yes, " said Katharine, standing up, "I'm so angry that I don't wantto say anything more. I think you'd better go, Aunt Celia. We don'tunderstand each other. "

At these words Mrs. Milvain looked for a moment terribly apprehensive;she glanced at her niece's face, but read no pity there, whereuponshe folded her hands upon a black velvet bag which she carried in anattitude that was almost one of prayer. Whatever divinity she prayed to, if pray she did, at any rate she recovered her dignity in a singular wayand faced her niece. 

"Married love, " she said slowly and with emphasis upon every word, "isthe most sacred of all loves. The love of husband and wife is the mostholy we know. That is the lesson Mamma's children learnt from her; thatis what they can never forget. I have tried to speak as she would havewished her daughter to speak. You are her grandchild. "

Katharine seemed to judge this defence upon its merits, and then toconvict it of falsity. 

"I don't see that there is any excuse for your behavior, " she said. 

At these words Mrs. Milvain rose and stood for a moment beside herniece. She had never met with such treatment before, and she did notknow with what weapons to break down the terrible wall of resistanceoffered her by one who, by virtue of youth and beauty and sex, shouldhave been all tears and supplications. But Mrs. Milvain herself wasobstinate; upon a matter of this kind she could not admit that she waseither beaten or mistaken. She beheld herself the champion of marriedlove in its purity and supremacy; what her niece stood for she was quiteunable to say, but she was filled with the gravest suspicions. The oldwoman and the young woman stood side by side in unbroken silence. Mrs. Milvain could not make up her mind to withdraw while her principlestrembled in the balance and her curiosity remained unappeased. Sheransacked her mind for some question that should force Katharine toenlighten her, but the supply was limited, the choice difficult, andwhile she hesitated the door opened and William Rodney came in. Hecarried in his hand an enormous and splendid bunch of white and purpleflowers, and, either not seeing Mrs. Milvain, or disregarding her, he advanced straight to Katharine, and presented the flowers with thewords:

"These are for you, Katharine. "

Katharine took them with a glance that Mrs. Milvain did not fail tointercept. But with all her experience, she did not know what to make ofit. She watched anxiously for further illumination. William greeted herwithout obvious sign of guilt, and, explaining that he had a holiday, both he and Katharine seemed to take it for granted that his holidayshould be celebrated with flowers and spent in Cheyne Walk. A pausefollowed; that, too, was natural; and Mrs. Milvain began to feel thatshe laid herself open to a charge of selfishness if she stayed. Themere presence of a young man had altered her disposition curiously, andfilled her with a desire for a scene which should end in an emotionalforgiveness. She would have given much to clasp both nephew and niecein her arms. But she could not flatter herself that any hope of thecustomary exaltation remained. 

"I must go, " she said, and she was conscious of an extreme flatness ofspirit. 

Neither of them said anything to stop her. William politely escorted herdownstairs, and somehow, amongst her protests and embarrassments, Mrs. Milvain forgot to say good-bye to Katharine. She departed, murmuringwords about masses of flowers and a drawing-room always beautiful evenin the depths of winter. 

William came back to Katharine; he found her standing where he had lefther. 

"I've come to be forgiven, " he said. "Our quarrel was perfectly hatefulto me. I've not slept all night. You're not angry with me, are you, Katharine?"

She could not bring herself to answer him until she had rid her mind ofthe impression that her aunt had made on her. It seemed to her that thevery flowers were contaminated, and Cassandra's pocket-handkerchief, forMrs. Milvain had used them for evidence in her investigations. 

"She's been spying upon us, " she said, "following us about London, overhearing what people are saying--"

"Mrs. Milvain?" Rodney exclaimed. "What has she told you?"

His air of open confidence entirely vanished. 

"Oh, people are saying that you're in love with Cassandra, and that youdon't care for me. "

"They have seen us?" he asked. 

"Everything we've done for a fortnight has been seen. "

"I told you that would happen!" he exclaimed. 

He walked to the window in evident perturbation. Katharine was tooindignant to attend to him. She was swept away by the force of her ownanger. Clasping Rodney's flowers, she stood upright and motionless. 

Rodney turned away from the window. 

"It's all been a mistake, " he said. "I blame myself for it. I shouldhave known better. I let you persuade me in a moment of madness. I begyou to forget my insanity, Katharine. "

"She wished even to persecute Cassandra!" Katharine burst out, notlistening to him. "She threatened to speak to her. She's capable ofit--she's capable of anything!"

"Mrs. Milvain is not tactful, I know, but you exaggerate, Katharine. People are talking about us. She was right to tell us. It only confirmsmy own feeling--the position is monstrous. "

At length Katharine realized some part of what he meant. 

"You don't mean that this influences you, William?" she asked inamazement. 

"It does, " he said, flushing. "It's intensely disagreeable to me. Ican't endure that people should gossip about us. And then there's yourcousin--Cassandra--" He paused in embarrassment. 

"I came here this morning, Katharine, " he resumed, with a change ofvoice, "to ask you to forget my folly, my bad temper, my inconceivablebehavior. I came, Katharine, to ask whether we can't return to theposition we were in before this--this season of lunacy. Will you take meback, Katharine, once more and for ever?"

No doubt her beauty, intensified by emotion and enhanced by the flowersof bright color and strange shape which she carried wrought upon Rodney, and had its share in bestowing upon her the old romance. But a lessnoble passion worked in him, too; he was inflamed by jealousy. Histentative offer of affection had been rudely and, as he thought, completely repulsed by Cassandra on the preceding day. Denham'sconfession was in his mind. And ultimately, Katharine's dominion overhim was of the sort that the fevers of the night cannot exorcise. 

"I was as much to blame as you were yesterday, " she said gently, disregarding his question. "I confess, William, the sight of you andCassandra together made me jealous, and I couldn't control myself. Ilaughed at you, I know. "

"You jealous!" William exclaimed. "I assure you, Katharine, you've notthe slightest reason to be jealous. Cassandra dislikes me, so far as shefeels about me at all. I was foolish enough to try to explain the natureof our relationship. I couldn't resist telling her what I supposedmyself to feel for her. She refused to listen, very rightly. But sheleft me in no doubt of her scorn. "

Katharine hesitated. She was confused, agitated, physically tired, andhad already to reckon with the violent feeling of dislike aroused by heraunt which still vibrated through all the rest of her feelings. She sankinto a chair and dropped her flowers upon her lap. 

"She charmed me, " Rodney continued. "I thought I loved her. But that'sa thing of the past. It's all over, Katharine. It was a dream--anhallucination. We were both equally to blame, but no harm's done if youbelieve how truly I care for you. Say you believe me!"

He stood over her, as if in readiness to seize the first sign of herassent. Precisely at that moment, owing, perhaps, to her vicissitudesof feeling, all sense of love left her, as in a moment a mist lifts fromthe earth. And when the mist departed a skeleton world and blanknessalone remained--a terrible prospect for the eyes of the living tobehold. He saw the look of terror in her face, and without understandingits origin, took her hand in his. With the sense of companionshipreturned a desire, like that of a child for shelter, to accept what hehad to offer her--and at that moment it seemed that he offered her theonly thing that could make it tolerable to live. She let him press hislips to her cheek, and leant her head upon his arm. It was the moment ofhis triumph. It was the only moment in which she belonged to him and wasdependent upon his protection. 

"Yes, yes, yes, " he murmured, "you accept me, Katharine. You love me. "

For a moment she remained silent. He then heard her murmur:

"Cassandra loves you more than I do. "

"Cassandra?" he whispered. 

"She loves you, " Katharine repeated. She raised herself and repeated thesentence yet a third time. "She loves you. "

William slowly raised himself. He believed instinctively what Katharinesaid, but what it meant to him he was unable to understand. CouldCassandra love him? Could she have told Katharine that she loved him?The desire to know the truth of this was urgent, unknown though theconsequences might be. The thrill of excitement associated with thethought of Cassandra once more took possession of him. No longer was itthe excitement of anticipation and ignorance; it was the excitementof something greater than a possibility, for now he knew her and hadmeasure of the sympathy between them. But who could give him certainty?Could Katharine, Katharine who had lately lain in his arms, Katharineherself the most admired of women? He looked at her, with doubt, andwith anxiety, but said nothing. 

"Yes, yes, " she said, interpreting his wish for assurance, "it's true. Iknow what she feels for you. "

"She loves me?"

Katharine nodded. 

"Ah, but who knows what I feel? How can I be sure of my feeling myself?Ten minutes ago I asked you to marry me. I still wish it--I don't knowwhat I wish--"

He clenched his hands and turned away. He suddenly faced her anddemanded: "Tell me what you feel for Denham. "

"For Ralph Denham?" she asked. "Yes!" she exclaimed, as if she had foundthe answer to some momentarily perplexing question. "You're jealousof me, William; but you're not in love with me. I'm jealous of you. Therefore, for both our sakes, I say, speak to Cassandra at once. "

He tried to compose himself. He walked up and down the room; he pausedat the window and surveyed the flowers strewn upon the floor. Meanwhilehis desire to have Katharine's assurance confirmed became so insistentthat he could no longer deny the overmastering strength of his feelingfor Cassandra. 

"You're right, " he exclaimed, coming to a standstill and rapping hisknuckles sharply upon a small table carrying one slender vase. "I loveCassandra. "

As he said this, the curtains hanging at the door of the little roomparted, and Cassandra herself stepped forth. 

"I have overheard every word!" she exclaimed. 

A pause succeeded this announcement. Rodney made a step forward andsaid:

"Then you know what I wish to ask you. Give me your answer--"

She put her hands before her face; she turned away and seemed to shrinkfrom both of them. 

"What Katharine said, " she murmured. "But, " she added, raising her headwith a look of fear from the kiss with which he greeted her admission, "how frightfully difficult it all is! Our feelings, I mean--yours andmine and Katharine's. Katharine, tell me, are we doing right?"

"Right--of course we're doing right, " William answered her, "if, after what you've heard, you can marry a man of such incomprehensibleconfusion, such deplorable--"

"Don't, William, " Katharine interposed; "Cassandra has heard us; she canjudge what we are; she knows better than we could tell her. "

But, still holding William's hand, questions and desires welled up inCassandra's heart. Had she done wrong in listening? Why did Aunt Celiablame her? Did Katharine think her right? Above all, did William reallylove her, for ever and ever, better than any one?

"I must be first with him, Katharine!" she exclaimed. "I can't share himeven with you. "

"I shall never ask that, " said Katharine. She moved a little away fromwhere they sat and began half-consciously sorting her flowers. 

"But you've shared with me, " Cassandra said. "Why can't I share withyou? Why am I so mean? I know why it is, " she added. "We understand eachother, William and I. You've never understood each other. You're toodifferent. "

"I've never admired anybody more, " William interposed. 

"It's not that"--Cassandra tried to enlighten him--"it's understanding. "

"Have I never understood you, Katharine? Have I been very selfish?"

"Yes, " Cassandra interposed. "You've asked her for sympathy, and she'snot sympathetic; you've wanted her to be practical, and she's notpractical. You've been selfish; you've been exacting--and so hasKatharine--but it wasn't anybody's fault. "

Katharine had listened to this attempt at analysis with keen attention. Cassandra's words seemed to rub the old blurred image of life andfreshen it so marvelously that it looked new again. She turned toWilliam. 

"It's quite true, " she said. "It was nobody's fault. "

"There are many things that he'll always come to you for, " Cassandracontinued, still reading from her invisible book. "I accept that, Katharine. I shall never dispute it. I want to be generous as you'vebeen generous. But being in love makes it more difficult for me. "

They were silent. At length William broke the silence. 

"One thing I beg of you both, " he said, and the old nervousness ofmanner returned as he glanced at Katharine. "We will never discuss thesematters again. It's not that I'm timid and conventional, as you think, Katharine. It's that it spoils things to discuss them; it unsettlespeople's minds; and now we're all so happy--"

Cassandra ratified this conclusion so far as she was concerned, andWilliam, after receiving the exquisite pleasure of her glance, with itsabsolute affection and trust, looked anxiously at Katharine. 

"Yes, I'm happy, " she assured him. "And I agree. We will never talkabout it again. "

"Oh, Katharine, Katharine!" Cassandra cried, holding out her arms whilethe tears ran down her cheeks. 

CHAPTER XXX

The day was so different from other days to three people in the housethat the common routine of household life--the maid waiting at table, Mrs. Hilbery writing a letter, the clock striking, and the door opening, and all the other signs of long-established civilization appearedsuddenly to have no meaning save as they lulled Mr. And Mrs. Hilberyinto the belief that nothing unusual had taken place. It chanced thatMrs. Hilbery was depressed without visible cause, unless a certaincrudeness verging upon coarseness in the temper of her favoriteElizabethans could be held responsible for the mood. At any rate, shehad shut up "The Duchess of Malfi" with a sigh, and wished to know, soshe told Rodney at dinner, whether there wasn't some young writer witha touch of the great spirit--somebody who made you believe that lifewas BEAUTIFUL? She got little help from Rodney, and after singingher plaintive requiem for the death of poetry by herself, she charmedherself into good spirits again by remembering the existence of Mozart. She begged Cassandra to play to her, and when they went upstairsCassandra opened the piano directly, and did her best to create anatmosphere of unmixed beauty. At the sound of the first notes Katharineand Rodney both felt an enormous sense of relief at the license whichthe music gave them to loosen their hold upon the mechanism of behavior. They lapsed into the depths of thought. Mrs. Hilbery was soon spiritedaway into a perfectly congenial mood, that was half reverie and halfslumber, half delicious melancholy and half pure bliss. Mr. Hilberyalone attended. He was extremely musical, and made Cassandra aware thathe listened to every note. She played her best, and won his approval. Leaning slightly forward in his chair, and turning his little greenstone, he weighed the intention of her phrases approvingly, but stoppedher suddenly to complain of a noise behind him. The window was unhasped. He signed to Rodney, who crossed the room immediately to put the matterright. He stayed a moment longer by the window than was, perhaps, necessary, and having done what was needed, drew his chair a littlecloser than before to Katharine's side. The music went on. Under coverof some exquisite run of melody, he leant towards her and whisperedsomething. She glanced at her father and mother, and a moment later leftthe room, almost unobserved, with Rodney. 

"What is it?" she asked, as soon as the door was shut. 

Rodney made no answer, but led her downstairs into the dining-room onthe ground floor. Even when he had shut the door he said nothing, butwent straight to the window and parted the curtains. He beckoned toKatharine. 

"There he is again, " he said. "Look, there--under the lamp-post. "

Katharine looked. She had no idea what Rodney was talking about. A vaguefeeling of alarm and mystery possessed her. She saw a man standing onthe opposite side of the road facing the house beneath a lamp-post. Asthey looked the figure turned, walked a few steps, and came back againto his old position. It seemed to her that he was looking fixedly ather, and was conscious of her gaze on him. She knew, in a flash, who theman was who was watching them. She drew the curtain abruptly. 

"Denham, " said Rodney. "He was there last night too. " He spoke sternly. His whole manner had become full of authority. Katharine felt almostas if he accused her of some crime. She was pale and uncomfortablyagitated, as much by the strangeness of Rodney's behavior as by thesight of Ralph Denham. 

"If he chooses to come--" she said defiantly. 

"You can't let him wait out there. I shall tell him to come in. " Rodneyspoke with such decision that when he raised his arm Katharine expectedhim to draw the curtain instantly. She caught his hand with a littleexclamation. 

"Wait!" she cried. "I don't allow you. "

"You can't wait, " he replied. "You've gone too far. " His hand remainedupon the curtain. "Why don't you admit, Katharine, " he broke out, looking at her with an expression of contempt as well as of anger, "thatyou love him? Are you going to treat him as you treated me?"

She looked at him, wondering, in spite of all her perplexity, at thespirit that possessed him. 

"I forbid you to draw the curtain, " she said. 

He reflected, and then took his hand away. 

"I've no right to interfere, " he concluded. "I'll leave you. Or, if youlike, we'll go back to the drawing-room. "

"No. I can't go back, " she said, shaking her head. She bent her head inthought. 

"You love him, Katharine, " Rodney said suddenly. His tone had lostsomething of its sternness, and might have been used to urge a child toconfess its fault. She raised her eyes and fixed them upon him. 

"I love him?" she repeated. He nodded. She searched his face, as iffor further confirmation of his words, and, as he remained silent andexpectant, turned away once more and continued her thoughts. He observedher closely, but without stirring, as if he gave her time to make up hermind to fulfil her obvious duty. The strains of Mozart reached them fromthe room above. 

"Now, " she said suddenly, with a sort of desperation, rising from herchair and seeming to command Rodney to fulfil his part. He drew thecurtain instantly, and she made no attempt to stop him. Their eyes atonce sought the same spot beneath the lamp-post. 

"He's not there!" she exclaimed. 

No one was there. William threw the window up and looked out. Thewind rushed into the room, together with the sound of distant wheels, footsteps hurrying along the pavement, and the cries of sirens hootingdown the river. 

"Denham!" William cried. 

"Ralph!" said Katharine, but she spoke scarcely louder than she mighthave spoken to some one in the same room. With their eyes fixed uponthe opposite side of the road, they did not notice a figure close to therailing which divided the garden from the street. But Denham had crossedthe road and was standing there. They were startled by his voice closeat hand. 

"Rodney!"

"There you are! Come in, Denham. " Rodney went to the front door andopened it. "Here he is, " he said, bringing Ralph with him into thedining-room where Katharine stood, with her back to the open window. Their eyes met for a second. Denham looked half dazed by the stronglight, and, buttoned in his overcoat, with his hair ruffled across hisforehead by the wind, he seemed like somebody rescued from an open boatout at sea. William promptly shut the window and drew the curtains. Heacted with a cheerful decision as if he were master of the situation, and knew exactly what he meant to do. 

"You're the first to hear the news, Denham, " he said. "Katharine isn'tgoing to marry me, after all. "

"Where shall I put--" Ralph began vaguely, holding out his hat andglancing about him; he balanced it carefully against a silver bowl thatstood upon the sideboard. He then sat himself down rather heavily atthe head of the oval dinner-table. Rodney stood on one side of him andKatharine on the other. He appeared to be presiding over some meetingfrom which most of the members were absent. Meanwhile, he waited, andhis eyes rested upon the glow of the beautifully polished mahoganytable. 

"William is engaged to Cassandra, " said Katharine briefly. 

At that Denham looked up quickly at Rodney. Rodney's expression changed. He lost his self-possession. He smiled a little nervously, and then hisattention seemed to be caught by a fragment of melody from the floorabove. He seemed for a moment to forget the presence of the others. Heglanced towards the door. 

"I congratulate you, " said Denham. 

"Yes, yes. We're all mad--quite out of our minds, Denham, " he said. "It's partly Katharine's doing--partly mine. " He looked oddly round theroom as if he wished to make sure that the scene in which he playeda part had some real existence. "Quite mad, " he repeated. "EvenKatharine--" His gaze rested upon her finally, as if she, too, hadchanged from his old view of her. He smiled at her as if to encourageher. "Katharine shall explain, " he said, and giving a little nod toDenham, he left the room. 

Katharine sat down at once, and leant her chin upon her hands. So longas Rodney was in the room the proceedings of the evening had seemed tobe in his charge, and had been marked by a certain unreality. Now thatshe was alone with Ralph she felt at once that a constraint had beentaken from them both. She felt that they were alone at the bottom of thehouse, which rose, story upon story, upon the top of them. 

"Why were you waiting out there?" she asked. 

"For the chance of seeing you, " he replied. 

"You would have waited all night if it hadn't been for William. It'swindy too. You must have been cold. What could you see? Nothing but ourwindows. "

"It was worth it. I heard you call me. "

"I called you?" She had called unconsciously. 

"They were engaged this morning, " she told him, after a pause. 

"You're glad?" he asked. 

She bent her head. "Yes, yes, " she sighed. "But you don't know how goodhe is--what he's done for me--" Ralph made a sound of understanding. "You waited there last night too?" she asked. 

"Yes. I can wait, " Denham replied. 

The words seemed to fill the room with an emotion which Katharineconnected with the sound of distant wheels, the footsteps hurrying alongthe pavement, the cries of sirens hooting down the river, the darknessand the wind. She saw the upright figure standing beneath the lamp-post. 

"Waiting in the dark, " she said, glancing at the window, as if he sawwhat she was seeing. "Ah, but it's different--" She broke off. "I'm notthe person you think me. Until you realize that it's impossible--"

Placing her elbows on the table, she slid her ruby ring up and downher finger abstractedly. She frowned at the rows of leather-boundbooks opposite her. Ralph looked keenly at her. Very pale, but sternlyconcentrated upon her meaning, beautiful but so little aware of herselfas to seem remote from him also, there was something distant andabstract about her which exalted him and chilled him at the same time. 

"No, you're right, " he said. "I don't know you. I've never known you. "

"Yet perhaps you know me better than any one else, " she mused. 

Some detached instinct made her aware that she was gazing at a bookwhich belonged by rights to some other part of the house. She walkedover to the shelf, took it down, and returned to her seat, placingthe book on the table between them. Ralph opened it and looked at theportrait of a man with a voluminous white shirt-collar, which formed thefrontispiece. 

"I say I do know you, Katharine, " he affirmed, shutting the book. "It'sonly for moments that I go mad. "

"Do you call two whole nights a moment?"

"I swear to you that now, at this instant, I see you precisely as youare. No one has ever known you as I know you.... Could you have takendown that book just now if I hadn't known you?"

"That's true, " she replied, "but you can't think how I'm divided--howI'm at my ease with you, and how I'm bewildered. The unreality--thedark--the waiting outside in the wind--yes, when you look at me, notseeing me, and I don't see you either.... But I do see, " she went onquickly, changing her position and frowning again, "heaps of things, only not you. "

"Tell me what you see, " he urged. 

But she could not reduce her vision to words, since it was no singleshape colored upon the dark, but rather a general excitement, anatmosphere, which, when she tried to visualize it, took form as a windscouring the flanks of northern hills and flashing light upon cornfieldsand pools. 

"Impossible, " she sighed, laughing at the ridiculous notion of puttingany part of this into words. 

"Try, Katharine, " Ralph urged her. 

"But I can't--I'm talking a sort of nonsense--the sort of nonsense onetalks to oneself. " She was dismayed by the expression of longing anddespair upon his face. "I was thinking about a mountain in the North ofEngland, " she attempted. "It's too silly--I won't go on. "

"We were there together?" he pressed her. 

"No. I was alone. " She seemed to be disappointing the desire of a child. His face fell. 

"You're always alone there?"

"I can't explain. " She could not explain that she was essentiallyalone there. "It's not a mountain in the North of England. It's animagination--a story one tells oneself. You have yours too?"

"You're with me in mine. You're the thing I make up, you see. "

"Oh, I see, " she sighed. "That's why it's so impossible. " She turnedupon him almost fiercely. "You must try to stop it, " she said. 

"I won't, " he replied roughly, "because I--" He stopped. He realizedthat the moment had come to impart that news of the utmost importancewhich he had tried to impart to Mary Datchet, to Rodney upon theEmbankment, to the drunken tramp upon the seat. How should he offer itto Katharine? He looked quickly at her. He saw that she was only halfattentive to him; only a section of her was exposed to him. The sightroused in him such desperation that he had much ado to control hisimpulse to rise and leave the house. Her hand lay loosely curled uponthe table. He seized it and grasped it firmly as if to make sure of herexistence and of his own. "Because I love you, Katharine, " he said. 

Some roundness or warmth essential to that statement was absent fromhis voice, and she had merely to shake her head very slightly for himto drop her hand and turn away in shame at his own impotence. He thoughtthat she had detected his wish to leave her. She had discerned the breakin his resolution, the blankness in the heart of his vision. It was truethat he had been happier out in the street, thinking of her, than nowthat he was in the same room with her. He looked at her with a guiltyexpression on his face. But her look expressed neither disappointmentnor reproach. Her pose was easy, and she seemed to give effect to a moodof quiet speculation by the spinning of her ruby ring upon the polishedtable. Denham forgot his despair in wondering what thoughts now occupiedher. 

"You don't believe me?" he said. His tone was humble, and made her smileat him. 

"As far as I understand you--but what should you advise me to do withthis ring?" she asked, holding it out. 

"I should advise you to let me keep it for you, " he replied, in the sametone of half-humorous gravity. 

"After what you've said, I can hardly trust you--unless you'll unsaywhat you've said?"

"Very well. I'm not in love with you. "

"But I think you ARE in love with me.... As I am with you, " she addedcasually enough. "At least, " she said slipping her ring back to its oldposition, "what other word describes the state we're in?"

She looked at him gravely and inquiringly, as if in search of help. 

"It's when I'm with you that I doubt it, not when I'm alone, " he stated. 

"So I thought, " she replied. 

In order to explain to her his state of mind, Ralph recounted hisexperience with the photograph, the letter, and the flower picked atKew. She listened very seriously. 

"And then you went raving about the streets, " she mused. "Well, it's badenough. But my state is worse than yours, because it hasn't anythingto do with facts. It's an hallucination, pure and simple--anintoxication.... One can be in love with pure reason?" she hazarded. "Because if you're in love with a vision, I believe that that's what I'min love with. "

This conclusion seemed fantastic and profoundly unsatisfactory to Ralph, but after the astonishing variations of his own sentiments during thepast half-hour he could not accuse her of fanciful exaggeration. 

"Rodney seems to know his own mind well enough, " he said almostbitterly. The music, which had ceased, had now begun again, and themelody of Mozart seemed to express the easy and exquisite love of thetwo upstairs. 

"Cassandra never doubted for a moment. But we--" she glanced at him asif to ascertain his position, "we see each other only now and then--"

"Like lights in a storm--"

"In the midst of a hurricane, " she concluded, as the window shookbeneath the pressure of the wind. They listened to the sound in silence. 

Here the door opened with considerable hesitation, and Mrs. Hilbery'shead appeared, at first with an air of caution, but having made surethat she had admitted herself to the dining-room and not to some moreunusual region, she came completely inside and seemed in no way takenaback by the sight she saw. She seemed, as usual, bound on some quest ofher own which was interrupted pleasantly but strangely by running intoone of those queer, unnecessary ceremonies that other people thought fitto indulge in. 

"Please don't let me interrupt you, Mr. --" she was at a loss, as usual, for the name, and Katharine thought that she did not recognize him. "Ihope you've found something nice to read, " she added, pointing to thebook upon the table. "Byron--ah, Byron. I've known people who knew LordByron, " she said. 

Katharine, who had risen in some confusion, could not help smiling atthe thought that her mother found it perfectly natural and desirablethat her daughter should be reading Byron in the dining-room late atnight alone with a strange young man. She blessed a disposition thatwas so convenient, and felt tenderly towards her mother and her mother'seccentricities. But Ralph observed that although Mrs. Hilbery held thebook so close to her eyes she was not reading a word. 

"My dear mother, why aren't you in bed?" Katharine exclaimed, changingastonishingly in the space of a minute to her usual condition ofauthoritative good sense. "Why are you wandering about?"

"I'm sure I should like your poetry better than I like Lord Byron's, "said Mrs. Hilbery, addressing Ralph Denham. 

"Mr. Denham doesn't write poetry; he has written articles for father, for the Review, " Katharine said, as if prompting her memory. 

"Oh dear! How dull!" Mrs. Hilbery exclaimed, with a sudden laugh thatrather puzzled her daughter. 

Ralph found that she had turned upon him a gaze that was at once veryvague and very penetrating. 

"But I'm sure you read poetry at night. I always judge by the expressionof the eyes, " Mrs. Hilbery continued. ("The windows of the soul, " sheadded parenthetically. ) "I don't know much about the law, " she wenton, "though many of my relations were lawyers. Some of them lookedvery handsome, too, in their wigs. But I think I do know a littleabout poetry, " she added. "And all the things that aren't writtendown, but--but--" She waved her hand, as if to indicate the wealth ofunwritten poetry all about them. "The night and the stars, the dawncoming up, the barges swimming past, the sun setting.... Ah dear, " shesighed, "well, the sunset is very lovely too. I sometimes think thatpoetry isn't so much what we write as what we feel, Mr. Denham. "

During this speech of her mother's Katharine had turned away, andRalph felt that Mrs. Hilbery was talking to him apart, with a desireto ascertain something about him which she veiled purposely by thevagueness of her words. He felt curiously encouraged and heartened bythe beam in her eye rather than by her actual words. From the distanceof her age and sex she seemed to be waving to him, hailing him as a shipsinking beneath the horizon might wave its flag of greeting to anothersetting out upon the same voyage. He bent his head, saying nothing, butwith a curious certainty that she had read an answer to her inquiry thatsatisfied her. At any rate, she rambled off into a description of theLaw Courts which turned to a denunciation of English justice, which, according to her, imprisoned poor men who couldn't pay their debts. "Tell me, shall we ever do without it all?" she asked, but at this pointKatharine gently insisted that her mother should go to bed. Looking backfrom half-way up the staircase, Katharine seemed to see Denham's eyeswatching her steadily and intently with an expression that she hadguessed in them when he stood looking at the windows across the road. 

CHAPTER XXXI

The tray which brought Katharine's cup of tea the next morning brought, also, a note from her mother, announcing that it was her intention tocatch an early train to Stratford-on-Avon that very day. 

"Please find out the best way of getting there, " the note ran, "and wireto dear Sir John Burdett to expect me, with my love. I've been dreamingall night of you and Shakespeare, dearest Katharine. "

This was no momentary impulse. Mrs. Hilbery had been dreaming ofShakespeare any time these six months, toying with the idea of anexcursion to what she considered the heart of the civilized world. Tostand six feet above Shakespeare's bones, to see the very stones worn byhis feet, to reflect that the oldest man's oldest mother had very likelyseen Shakespeare's daughter--such thoughts roused an emotion in her, which she expressed at unsuitable moments, and with a passion that wouldnot have been unseemly in a pilgrim to a sacred shrine. The only strangething was that she wished to go by herself. But, naturally enough, she was well provided with friends who lived in the neighborhood ofShakespeare's tomb, and were delighted to welcome her; and she leftlater to catch her train in the best of spirits. There was a man sellingviolets in the street. It was a fine day. She would remember to send Mr. Hilbery the first daffodil she saw. And, as she ran back into the hallto tell Katharine, she felt, she had always felt, that Shakespeare'scommand to leave his bones undisturbed applied only to odiouscuriosity-mongers--not to dear Sir John and herself. Leaving herdaughter to cogitate the theory of Anne Hathaway's sonnets, and theburied manuscripts here referred to, with the implied menace to thesafety of the heart of civilization itself, she briskly shut the doorof her taxi-cab, and was whirled off upon the first stage of herpilgrimage. 

The house was oddly different without her. Katharine found the maidsalready in possession of her room, which they meant to clean thoroughlyduring her absence. To Katharine it seemed as if they had brushed awaysixty years or so with the first flick of their damp dusters. It seemedto her that the work she had tried to do in that room was being sweptinto a very insignificant heap of dust. The china shepherdesses werealready shining from a bath of hot water. The writing-table might havebelonged to a professional man of methodical habits. 

Gathering together a few papers upon which she was at work, Katharineproceeded to her own room with the intention of looking through them, perhaps, in the course of the morning. But she was met on the stairsby Cassandra, who followed her up, but with such intervals between eachstep that Katharine began to feel her purpose dwindling before they hadreached the door. Cassandra leant over the banisters, and looked downupon the Persian rug that lay on the floor of the hall. 

"Doesn't everything look odd this morning?" she inquired. "Are youreally going to spend the morning with those dull old letters, becauseif so--"

The dull old letters, which would have turned the heads of the mostsober of collectors, were laid upon a table, and, after a moment'spause, Cassandra, looking grave all of a sudden, asked Katharine whereshe should find the "History of England" by Lord Macaulay. It wasdownstairs in Mr. Hilbery's study. The cousins descended together insearch of it. They diverged into the drawing-room for the good reasonthat the door was open. The portrait of Richard Alardyce attracted theirattention. 

"I wonder what he was like?" It was a question that Katharine had oftenasked herself lately. 

"Oh, a fraud like the rest of them--at least Henry says so, " Cassandrareplied. "Though I don't believe everything Henry says, " she added alittle defensively. 

Down they went into Mr. Hilbery's study, where they began to look amonghis books. So desultory was this examination that some fifteen minutesfailed to discover the work they were in search of. 

"Must you read Macaulay's History, Cassandra?" Katharine asked, with astretch of her arms. 

"I must, " Cassandra replied briefly. 

"Well, I'm going to leave you to look for it by yourself. "

"Oh, no, Katharine. Please stay and help me. You see--you see--I toldWilliam I'd read a little every day. And I want to tell him that I'vebegun when he comes. "

"When does William come?" Katharine asked, turning to the shelves again. 

"To tea, if that suits you?"

"If it suits me to be out, I suppose you mean. "

"Oh, you're horrid.... Why shouldn't you--?"

"Yes?"

"Why shouldn't you be happy too?"

"I am quite happy, " Katharine replied. 

"I mean as I am. Katharine, " she said impulsively, "do let's be marriedon the same day. "

"To the same man?"

"Oh, no, no. But why shouldn't you marry--some one else?"

"Here's your Macaulay, " said Katharine, turning round with the book inher hand. "I should say you'd better begin to read at once if you meanto be educated by tea-time. "

"Damn Lord Macaulay!" cried Cassandra, slapping the book upon the table. "Would you rather not talk?"

"We've talked enough already, " Katharine replied evasively. 

"I know I shan't be able to settle to Macaulay, " said Cassandra, lookingruefully at the dull red cover of the prescribed volume, which, however, possessed a talismanic property, since William admired it. He hadadvised a little serious reading for the morning hours. 

"Have YOU read Macaulay?" she asked. 

"No. William never tried to educate me. " As she spoke she saw the lightfade from Cassandra's face, as if she had implied some other, moremysterious, relationship. She was stung with compunction. She marveledat her own rashness in having influenced the life of another, as she hadinfluenced Cassandra's life. 

"We weren't serious, " she said quickly. 

"But I'm fearfully serious, " said Cassandra, with a little shudder, and her look showed that she spoke the truth. She turned and glanced atKatharine as she had never glanced at her before. There was fear in herglance, which darted on her and then dropped guiltily. Oh, Katharinehad everything--beauty, mind, character. She could never compete withKatharine; she could never be safe so long as Katharine brooded overher, dominating her, disposing of her. She called her cold, unseeing, unscrupulous, but the only sign she gave outwardly was a curiousone--she reached out her hand and grasped the volume of history. At thatmoment the bell of the telephone rang and Katharine went to answer it. Cassandra, released from observation, dropped her book and clenched herhands. She suffered more fiery torture in those few minutes than she hadsuffered in the whole of her life; she learnt more of her capacities forfeeling. But when Katharine reappeared she was calm, and had gained alook of dignity that was new to her. 

"Was that him?" she asked. 

"It was Ralph Denham, " Katharine replied. 

"I meant Ralph Denham. "

"Why did you mean Ralph Denham? What has William told you aboutRalph Denham?" The accusation that Katharine was calm, callous, andindifferent was not possible in face of her present air of animation. She gave Cassandra no time to frame an answer. "Now, when are you andWilliam going to be married?" she asked. 

Cassandra made no reply for some moments. It was, indeed, a verydifficult question to answer. In conversation the night before, Williamhad indicated to Cassandra that, in his belief, Katharine was becomingengaged to Ralph Denham in the dining-room. Cassandra, in the rosy lightof her own circumstances, had been disposed to think that the mattermust be settled already. But a letter which she had received thatmorning from William, while ardent in its expression of affection, hadconveyed to her obliquely that he would prefer the announcement of theirengagement to coincide with that of Katharine's. This document Cassandranow produced, and read aloud, with considerable excisions and muchhesitation. 

"... A thousand pities--ahem--I fear we shall cause a great deal ofnatural annoyance. If, on the other hand, what I have reason to thinkwill happen, should happen--within reasonable time, and the presentposition is not in any way offensive to you, delay would, in my opinion, serve all our interests better than a premature explanation, which isbound to cause more surprise than is desirable--"

"Very like William, " Katharine exclaimed, having gathered the drift ofthese remarks with a speed that, by itself, disconcerted Cassandra. 

"I quite understand his feelings, " Cassandra replied. "I quite agreewith them. I think it would be much better, if you intend to marry Mr. Denham, that we should wait as William says. "

"But, then, if I don't marry him for months--or, perhaps, not at all?"

Cassandra was silent. The prospect appalled her. Katharine had beentelephoning to Ralph Denham; she looked queer, too; she must be, orabout to become, engaged to him. But if Cassandra could have overheardthe conversation upon the telephone, she would not have felt so certainthat it tended in that direction. It was to this effect:

"I'm Ralph Denham speaking. I'm in my right senses now. "

"How long did you wait outside the house?"

"I went home and wrote you a letter. I tore it up. "

"I shall tear up everything too. "

"I shall come. "

"Yes. Come to-day. "

"I must explain to you--"

"Yes. We must explain--"

A long pause followed. Ralph began a sentence, which he canceled withthe word, "Nothing. " Suddenly, together, at the same moment, they saidgood-bye. And yet, if the telephone had been miraculously connected withsome higher atmosphere pungent with the scent of thyme and the savorof salt, Katharine could hardly have breathed in a keener sense ofexhilaration. She ran downstairs on the crest of it. She was amazed tofind herself already committed by William and Cassandra to marry theowner of the halting voice she had just heard on the telephone. The tendency of her spirit seemed to be in an altogether differentdirection; and of a different nature. She had only to look at Cassandrato see what the love that results in an engagement and marriage means. She considered for a moment, and then said: "If you don't want to tellpeople yourselves, I'll do it for you. I know William has feelings aboutthese matters that make it very difficult for him to do anything. "

"Because he's fearfully sensitive about other people's feelings, " saidCassandra. "The idea that he could upset Aunt Maggie or Uncle Trevorwould make him ill for weeks. "

This interpretation of what she was used to call William'sconventionality was new to Katharine. And yet she felt it now to be thetrue one. 

"Yes, you're right, " she said. 

"And then he worships beauty. He wants life to be beautiful inevery part of it. Have you ever noticed how exquisitely he finisheseverything? Look at the address on that envelope. Every letter isperfect. "

Whether this applied also to the sentiments expressed in the letter, Katharine was not so sure; but when William's solicitude was spent uponCassandra it not only failed to irritate her, as it had done when shewas the object of it, but appeared, as Cassandra said, the fruit of hislove of beauty. 

"Yes, " she said, "he loves beauty. "

"I hope we shall have a great many children, " said Cassandra. "He loveschildren. "

This remark made Katharine realize the depths of their intimacy betterthan any other words could have done; she was jealous for one moment;but the next she was humiliated. She had known William for years, andshe had never once guessed that he loved children. She looked at thequeer glow of exaltation in Cassandra's eyes, through which she wasbeholding the true spirit of a human being, and wished that she wouldgo on talking about William for ever. Cassandra was not unwilling togratify her. She talked on. The morning slipped away. Katharine scarcelychanged her position on the edge of her father's writing-table, andCassandra never opened the "History of England. "

And yet it must be confessed that there were vast lapses in theattention which Katharine bestowed upon her cousin. The atmospherewas wonderfully congenial for thoughts of her own. She lost herselfsometimes in such deep reverie that Cassandra, pausing, could look ather for moments unperceived. What could Katharine be thinking about, unless it were Ralph Denham? She was satisfied, by certain randomreplies, that Katharine had wandered a little from the subject ofWilliam's perfections. But Katharine made no sign. She always endedthese pauses by saying something so natural that Cassandra was deludedinto giving fresh examples of her absorbing theme. Then they lunched, and the only sign that Katharine gave of abstraction was to forgetto help the pudding. She looked so like her mother, as she sat thereoblivious of the tapioca, that Cassandra was startled into exclaiming:

"How like Aunt Maggie you look!"

"Nonsense, " said Katharine, with more irritation than the remark seemedto call for. 

In truth, now that her mother was away, Katharine did feel less sensiblethan usual, but as she argued it to herself, there was much less needfor sense. Secretly, she was a little shaken by the evidence which themorning had supplied of her immense capacity for--what could one callit?--rambling over an infinite variety of thoughts that were too foolishto be named. She was, for example, walking down a road in Northumberlandin the August sunset; at the inn she left her companion, who was RalphDenham, and was transported, not so much by her own feet as by someinvisible means, to the top of a high hill. Here the scents, the soundsamong the dry heather-roots, the grass-blades pressed upon the palm ofher hand, were all so perceptible that she could experience each oneseparately. After this her mind made excursions into the dark of theair, or settled upon the surface of the sea, which could be discoveredover there, or with equal unreason it returned to its couch of brackenbeneath the stars of midnight, and visited the snow valleys of the moon. These fancies would have been in no way strange, since the walls ofevery mind are decorated with some such tracery, but she found herselfsuddenly pursuing such thoughts with an extreme ardor, which becamea desire to change her actual condition for something matching theconditions of her dream. Then she started; then she awoke to the factthat Cassandra was looking at her in amazement. 

Cassandra would have liked to feel certain that, when Katharine made noreply at all or one wide of the mark, she was making up her mind to getmarried at once, but it was difficult, if this were so, to account forsome remarks that Katharine let fall about the future. She recurredseveral times to the summer, as if she meant to spend that season insolitary wandering. She seemed to have a plan in her mind which requiredBradshaws and the names of inns. 

Cassandra was driven finally, by her own unrest, to put on her clothesand wander out along the streets of Chelsea, on the pretence thatshe must buy something. But, in her ignorance of the way, she becamepanic-stricken at the thought of being late, and no sooner had she foundthe shop she wanted, than she fled back again in order to be at homewhen William came. He came, indeed, five minutes after she had sat downby the tea-table, and she had the happiness of receiving him alone. Hisgreeting put her doubts of his affection at rest, but the first questionhe asked was:

"Has Katharine spoken to you?"

"Yes. But she says she's not engaged. She doesn't seem to think she'sever going to be engaged. "

William frowned, and looked annoyed. 

"They telephoned this morning, and she behaves very oddly. She forgetsto help the pudding, " Cassandra added by way of cheering him. 

"My dear child, after what I saw and heard last night, it's not aquestion of guessing or suspecting. Either she's engaged to him--or--"

He left his sentence unfinished, for at this point Katharine herselfappeared. With his recollections of the scene the night before, he wastoo self-conscious even to look at her, and it was not until she toldhim of her mother's visit to Stratford-on-Avon that he raised his eyes. It was clear that he was greatly relieved. He looked round him now, asif he felt at his ease, and Cassandra exclaimed:

"Don't you think everything looks quite different?"

"You've moved the sofa?" he asked. 

"No. Nothing's been touched, " said Katharine. "Everything's exactly thesame. " But as she said this, with a decision which seemed to make itimply that more than the sofa was unchanged, she held out a cupinto which she had forgotten to pour any tea. Being told of herforgetfulness, she frowned with annoyance, and said that Cassandra wasdemoralizing her. The glance she cast upon them, and the resolute way inwhich she plunged them into speech, made William and Cassandra feellike children who had been caught prying. They followed her obediently, making conversation. Any one coming in might have judged themacquaintances met, perhaps, for the third time. If that were so, onemust have concluded that the hostess suddenly bethought her of anengagement pressing for fulfilment. First Katharine looked at her watch, and then she asked William to tell her the right time. When told that itwas ten minutes to five she rose at once, and said:

"Then I'm afraid I must go. "

She left the room, holding her unfinished bread and butter in her hand. William glanced at Cassandra. 

"Well, she IS queer!" Cassandra exclaimed. 

William looked perturbed. He knew more of Katharine than Cassandradid, but even he could not tell--. In a second Katharine was back againdressed in outdoor things, still holding her bread and butter in herbare hand. 

"If I'm late, don't wait for me, " she said. "I shall have dined, " and sosaying, she left them. 

"But she can't--" William exclaimed, as the door shut, "not without anygloves and bread and butter in her hand!" They ran to the window, andsaw her walking rapidly along the street towards the City. Then shevanished. 

"She must have gone to meet Mr. Denham, " Cassandra exclaimed. 

"Goodness knows!" William interjected. 

The incident impressed them both as having something queer and ominousabout it out of all proportion to its surface strangeness. 

"It's the sort of way Aunt Maggie behaves, " said Cassandra, as if inexplanation. 

William shook his head, and paced up and down the room looking extremelyperturbed. 

"This is what I've been foretelling, " he burst out. "Once set theordinary conventions aside--Thank Heaven Mrs. Hilbery is away. Butthere's Mr. Hilbery. How are we to explain it to him? I shall have toleave you. "

"But Uncle Trevor won't be back for hours, William!" Cassandra implored. 

"You never can tell. He may be on his way already. Or suppose Mrs. Milvain--your Aunt Celia--or Mrs. Cosham, or any other of your auntsor uncles should be shown in and find us alone together. You know whatthey're saying about us already. "

Cassandra was equally stricken by the sight of William's agitation, andappalled by the prospect of his desertion. 

"We might hide, " she exclaimed wildly, glancing at the curtain whichseparated the room with the relics. 

"I refuse entirely to get under the table, " said William sarcastically. 

She saw that he was losing his temper with the difficulties of thesituation. Her instinct told her that an appeal to his affection, atthis moment, would be extremely ill-judged. She controlled herself, satdown, poured out a fresh cup of tea, and sipped it quietly. This naturalaction, arguing complete self-mastery, and showing her in one of thosefeminine attitudes which William found adorable, did more than anyargument to compose his agitation. It appealed to his chivalry. Heaccepted a cup. Next she asked for a slice of cake. By the time the cakewas eaten and the tea drunk the personal question had lapsed, and theywere discussing poetry. Insensibly they turned from the question ofdramatic poetry in general, to the particular example which reposedin William's pocket, and when the maid came in to clear away thetea-things, William had asked permission to read a short passage aloud, "unless it bored her?"

Cassandra bent her head in silence, but she showed a little of what shefelt in her eyes, and thus fortified, William felt confident that itwould take more than Mrs. Milvain herself to rout him from his position. He read aloud. 

Meanwhile Katharine walked rapidly along the street. If called upon toexplain her impulsive action in leaving the tea-table, she could havetraced it to no better cause than that William had glanced at Cassandra;Cassandra at William. Yet, because they had glanced, her position wasimpossible. If one forgot to pour out a cup of tea they rushed to theconclusion that she was engaged to Ralph Denham. She knew that in halfan hour or so the door would open, and Ralph Denham would appear. She could not sit there and contemplate seeing him with William's andCassandra's eyes upon them, judging their exact degree of intimacy, sothat they might fix the wedding-day. She promptly decided that shewould meet Ralph out of doors; she still had time to reach Lincoln's InnFields before he left his office. She hailed a cab, and bade it take herto a shop for selling maps which she remembered in Great Queen Street, since she hardly liked to be set down at his door. Arrived at the shop, she bought a large scale map of Norfolk, and thus provided, hurried intoLincoln's Inn Fields, and assured herself of the position of Messrs. Hoper and Grateley's office. The great gas chandeliers were alight inthe office windows. She conceived that he sat at an enormous table ladenwith papers beneath one of them in the front room with the three tallwindows. Having settled his position there, she began walking to and froupon the pavement. Nobody of his build appeared. She scrutinized eachmale figure as it approached and passed her. Each male figure had, nevertheless, a look of him, due, perhaps, to the professional dress, the quick step, the keen glance which they cast upon her as theyhastened home after the day's work. The square itself, with its immensehouses all so fully occupied and stern of aspect, its atmosphere ofindustry and power, as if even the sparrows and the children wereearning their daily bread, as if the sky itself, with its gray andscarlet clouds, reflected the serious intention of the city beneath it, spoke of him. Here was the fit place for their meeting, she thought;here was the fit place for her to walk thinking of him. She couldnot help comparing it with the domestic streets of Chelsea. With thiscomparison in her mind, she extended her range a little, and turned intothe main road. The great torrent of vans and carts was sweepingdown Kingsway; pedestrians were streaming in two currents along thepavements. She stood fascinated at the corner. The deep roar filled herears; the changing tumult had the inexpressible fascination of variedlife pouring ceaselessly with a purpose which, as she looked, seemed toher, somehow, the normal purpose for which life was framed; its completeindifference to the individuals, whom it swallowed up and rolledonwards, filled her with at least a temporary exaltation. The blend ofdaylight and of lamplight made her an invisible spectator, just as itgave the people who passed her a semi-transparent quality, and left thefaces pale ivory ovals in which the eyes alone were dark. They tendedthe enormous rush of the current--the great flow, the deep stream, theunquenchable tide. She stood unobserved and absorbed, glorying openlyin the rapture that had run subterraneously all day. Suddenly shewas clutched, unwilling, from the outside, by the recollection of herpurpose in coming there. She had come to find Ralph Denham. She hastilyturned back into Lincoln's Inn Fields, and looked for her landmark--thelight in the three tall windows. She sought in vain. The faces of thehouses had now merged in the general darkness, and she had difficulty indetermining which she sought. Ralph's three windows gave back on theirghostly glass panels only a reflection of the gray and greenish sky. Sherang the bell, peremptorily, under the painted name of the firm. Aftersome delay she was answered by a caretaker, whose pail and brush ofthemselves told her that the working day was over and the workersgone. Nobody, save perhaps Mr. Grateley himself, was left, she assuredKatharine; every one else had been gone these ten minutes. 

The news woke Katharine completely. Anxiety gained upon her. Shehastened back into Kingsway, looking at people who had miraculouslyregained their solidity. She ran as far as the Tube station, overhaulingclerk after clerk, solicitor after solicitor. Not one of them evenfaintly resembled Ralph Denham. More and more plainly did she see him;and more and more did he seem to her unlike any one else. At the door ofthe station she paused, and tried to collect her thoughts. He had goneto her house. By taking a cab she could be there probably in advance ofhim. But she pictured herself opening the drawing-room door, and Williamand Cassandra looking up, and Ralph's entrance a moment later, and theglances--the insinuations. No; she could not face it. She would writehim a letter and take it at once to his house. She bought paper andpencil at the bookstall, and entered an A. B. C. Shop, where, by orderinga cup of coffee, she secured an empty table, and began at vice to write:

"I came to meet you and I have missed you. I could not face William andCassandra. They want us--" here she paused. "They insist that we areengaged, " she substituted, "and we couldn't talk at all, or explainanything. I want--" Her wants were so vast, now that she was incommunication with Ralph, that the pencil was utterly inadequate toconduct them on to the paper; it seemed as if the whole torrent ofKingsway had to run down her pencil. She gazed intently at a noticehanging on the gold-encrusted wall opposite, "... To say all kinds ofthings, " she added, writing each word with the painstaking of a child. But, when she raised her eyes again to meditate the next sentence, shewas aware of a waitress, whose expression intimated that it was closingtime, and, looking round, Katharine saw herself almost the last personleft in the shop. She took up her letter, paid her bill, and foundherself once more in the street. She would now take a cab to Highgate. But at that moment it flashed upon her that she could not remember theaddress. This check seemed to let fall a barrier across a very powerfulcurrent of desire. She ransacked her memory in desperation, huntingfor the name, first by remembering the look of the house, and then bytrying, in memory, to retrace the words she had written once, at least, upon an envelope. The more she pressed the farther the words receded. Was the house an Orchard Something, on the street a Hill? She gaveit up. Never, since she was a child, had she felt anything like thisblankness and desolation. There rushed in upon her, as if she werewaking from some dream, all the consequences of her inexplicableindolence. She figured Ralph's face as he turned from her door withouta word of explanation, receiving his dismissal as a blow from herself, a callous intimation that she did not wish to see him. She followed hisdeparture from her door; but it was far more easy to see him marchingfar and fast in any direction for any length of time than to conceivethat he would turn back to Highgate. Perhaps he would try once more tosee her in Cheyne Walk? It was proof of the clearness with which she sawhim, that she started forward as this possibility occurred to her, andalmost raised her hand to beckon to a cab. No; he was too proud to comeagain; he rejected the desire and walked on and on, on and on--Ifonly she could read the names of those visionary streets down which hepassed! But her imagination betrayed her at this point, or mocked herwith a sense of their strangeness, darkness, and distance. Indeed, instead of helping herself to any decision, she only filled her mindwith the vast extent of London and the impossibility of finding anysingle figure that wandered off this way and that way, turned to theright and to the left, chose that dingy little back street wherethe children were playing in the road, and so--She roused herselfimpatiently. She walked rapidly along Holborn. Soon she turned andwalked as rapidly in the other direction. This indecision was not merelyodious, but had something that alarmed her about it, as she had beenalarmed slightly once or twice already that day; she felt unable to copewith the strength of her own desires. To a person controlled by habit, there was humiliation as well as alarm in this sudden release of whatappeared to be a very powerful as well as an unreasonable force. Anaching in the muscles of her right hand now showed her that she wascrushing her gloves and the map of Norfolk in a grip sufficient to cracka more solid object. She relaxed her grasp; she looked anxiously at thefaces of the passers-by to see whether their eyes rested on her fora moment longer than was natural, or with any curiosity. But havingsmoothed out her gloves, and done what she could to look as usual, sheforgot spectators, and was once more given up to her desperate desire tofind Ralph Denham. It was a desire now--wild, irrational, unexplained, resembling something felt in childhood. Once more she blamed herselfbitterly for her carelessness. But finding herself opposite the Tubestation, she pulled herself up and took counsel swiftly, as of old. Itflashed upon her that she would go at once to Mary Datchet, and askher to give her Ralph's address. The decision was a relief, not only ingiving her a goal, but in providing her with a rational excuse for herown actions. It gave her a goal certainly, but the fact of having a goalled her to dwell exclusively upon her obsession; so that when she rangthe bell of Mary's flat, she did not for a moment consider how thisdemand would strike Mary. To her extreme annoyance Mary was not at home;a charwoman opened the door. All Katharine could do was to accept theinvitation to wait. She waited for, perhaps, fifteen minutes, andspent them in pacing from one end of the room to the other withoutintermission. When she heard Mary's key in the door she paused in frontof the fireplace, and Mary found her standing upright, looking at onceexpectant and determined, like a person who has come on an errand ofsuch importance that it must be broached without preface. 

Mary exclaimed in surprise. 

"Yes, yes, " Katharine said, brushing these remarks aside, as if theywere in the way. 

"Have you had tea?"

"Oh yes, " she said, thinking that she had had tea hundreds of years ago, somewhere or other. 

Mary paused, took off her gloves, and, finding matches, proceeded tolight the fire. 

Katharine checked her with an impatient movement, and said:

"Don't light the fire for me.... I want to know Ralph Denham's address. "

She was holding a pencil and preparing to write on the envelope. Shewaited with an imperious expression. 

"The Apple Orchard, Mount Ararat Road, Highgate, " Mary said, speakingslowly and rather strangely. 

"Oh, I remember now!" Katharine exclaimed, with irritation at her ownstupidity. "I suppose it wouldn't take twenty minutes to drive there?"She gathered up her purse and gloves and seemed about to go. 

"But you won't find him, " said Mary, pausing with a match in her hand. Katharine, who had already turned towards the door, stopped and lookedat her. 

"Why? Where is he?" she asked. 

"He won't have left his office. "

"But he has left the office, " she replied. "The only question is will hehave reached home yet? He went to see me at Chelsea; I tried to meet himand missed him. He will have found no message to explain. So I must findhim--as soon as possible. "

Mary took in the situation at her leisure. 

"But why not telephone?" she said. 

Katharine immediately dropped all that she was holding; her strainedexpression relaxed, and exclaiming, "Of course! Why didn't I thinkof that!" she seized the telephone receiver and gave her number. Marylooked at her steadily, and then left the room. At length Katharineheard, through all the superimposed weight of London, the mysterioussound of feet in her own house mounting to the little room, where shecould almost see the pictures and the books; she listened with extremeintentness to the preparatory vibrations, and then established heridentity. 

"Has Mr. Denham called?"

"Yes, miss. "

"Did he ask for me?"

"Yes. We said you were out, miss. "

"Did he leave any message?"

"No. He went away. About twenty minutes ago, miss. "

Katharine hung up the receiver. She walked the length of the room insuch acute disappointment that she did not at first perceive Mary'sabsence. Then she called in a harsh and peremptory tone:

"Mary. "

Mary was taking off her outdoor things in the bedroom. She heardKatharine call her. "Yes, " she said, "I shan't be a moment. " But themoment prolonged itself, as if for some reason Mary found satisfactionin making herself not only tidy, but seemly and ornamented. A stage inher life had been accomplished in the last months which left its tracesfor ever upon her bearing. Youth, and the bloom of youth, had receded, leaving the purpose of her face to show itself in the hollower cheeks, the firmer lips, the eyes no longer spontaneously observing at random, but narrowed upon an end which was not near at hand. This woman was nowa serviceable human being, mistress of her own destiny, and thus, bysome combination of ideas, fit to be adorned with the dignity of silverchains and glowing brooches. She came in at her leisure and asked:"Well, did you get an answer?"

"He has left Chelsea already, " Katharine replied. 

"Still, he won't be home yet, " said Mary. 

Katharine was once more irresistibly drawn to gaze upon an imaginary mapof London, to follow the twists and turns of unnamed streets. 

"I'll ring up his home and ask whether he's back. " Mary crossed to thetelephone and, after a series of brief remarks, announced:

"No. His sister says he hasn't come back yet. "

"Ah!" She applied her ear to the telephone once more. "They've had amessage. He won't be back to dinner. "

"Then what is he going to do?"

Very pale, and with her large eyes fixed not so much upon Mary as uponvistas of unresponding blankness, Katharine addressed herself also notso much to Mary as to the unrelenting spirit which now appeared to mockher from every quarter of her survey. 

After waiting a little time Mary remarked indifferently:

"I really don't know. " Slackly lying back in her armchair, she watchedthe little flames beginning to creep among the coals indifferently, asif they, too, were very distant and indifferent. 

Katharine looked at her indignantly and rose. 

"Possibly he may come here, " Mary continued, without altering theabstract tone of her voice. "It would be worth your while to wait ifyou want to see him to-night. " She bent forward and touched the wood, sothat the flames slipped in between the interstices of the coal. 

Katharine reflected. "I'll wait half an hour, " she said. 

Mary rose, went to the table, spread out her papers under thegreen-shaded lamp and, with an action that was becoming a habit, twisted a lock of hair round and round in her fingers. Once she lookedunperceived at her visitor, who never moved, who sat so still, with eyesso intent, that you could almost fancy that she was watching something, some face that never looked up at her. Mary found herself unable togo on writing. She turned her eyes away, but only to be aware of thepresence of what Katharine looked at. There were ghosts in the room, andone, strangely and sadly, was the ghost of herself. The minutes went by. 

"What would be the time now?" said Katharine at last. The half-hour wasnot quite spent. 

"I'm going to get dinner ready, " said Mary, rising from her table. 

"Then I'll go, " said Katharine. 

"Why don't you stay? Where are you going?"

Katharine looked round the room, conveying her uncertainty in herglance. 

"Perhaps I might find him, " she mused. 

"But why should it matter? You'll see him another day. "

Mary spoke, and intended to speak, cruelly enough. 

"I was wrong to come here, " Katharine replied. 

Their eyes met with antagonism, and neither flinched. 

"You had a perfect right to come here, " Mary answered. 

A loud knocking at the door interrupted them. Mary went to open it, andreturning with some note or parcel, Katharine looked away so that Marymight not read her disappointment. 

"Of course you had a right to come, " Mary repeated, laying the note uponthe table. 

"No, " said Katharine. "Except that when one's desperate one has a sortof right. I am desperate. How do I know what's happening to him now? Hemay do anything. He may wander about the streets all night. Anything mayhappen to him. "

She spoke with a self-abandonment that Mary had never seen in her. 

"You know you exaggerate; you're talking nonsense, " she said roughly. 

"Mary, I must talk--I must tell you--"

"You needn't tell me anything, " Mary interrupted her. "Can't I see formyself?"

"No, no, " Katharine exclaimed. "It's not that--"

Her look, passing beyond Mary, beyond the verge of the room and outbeyond any words that came her way, wildly and passionately, convincedMary that she, at any rate, could not follow such a glance to its end. She was baffled; she tried to think herself back again into the heightof her love for Ralph. Pressing her fingers upon her eyelids, shemurmured:

"You forget that I loved him too. I thought I knew him. I DID know him. "

And yet, what had she known? She could not remember it any more. Shepressed her eyeballs until they struck stars and suns into her darkness. She convinced herself that she was stirring among ashes. She desisted. She was astonished at her discovery. She did not love Ralph any more. She looked back dazed into the room, and her eyes rested upon the tablewith its lamp-lit papers. The steady radiance seemed for a second tohave its counterpart within her; she shut her eyes; she opened them andlooked at the lamp again; another love burnt in the place of the oldone, or so, in a momentary glance of amazement, she guessed before therevelation was over and the old surroundings asserted themselves. Sheleant in silence against the mantelpiece. 

"There are different ways of loving, " she murmured, half to herself, atlength. 

Katharine made no reply and seemed unaware of her words. She seemedabsorbed in her own thoughts. 

"Perhaps he's waiting in the street again to-night, " she exclaimed. "I'll go now. I might find him. "

"It's far more likely that he'll come here, " said Mary, and Katharine, after considering for a moment, said:

"I'll wait another half-hour. "

She sank down into her chair again, and took up the same position whichMary had compared to the position of one watching an unseeing face. Shewatched, indeed, not a face, but a procession, not of people, but oflife itself: the good and bad; the meaning; the past, the present, andthe future. All this seemed apparent to her, and she was not ashamedof her extravagance so much as exalted to one of the pinnacles ofexistence, where it behoved the world to do her homage. No one butshe herself knew what it meant to miss Ralph Denham on that particularnight; into this inadequate event crowded feelings that the great crisesof life might have failed to call forth. She had missed him, and knewthe bitterness of all failure; she desired him, and knew the tormentof all passion. It did not matter what trivial accidents led to thisculmination. Nor did she care how extravagant she appeared, nor howopenly she showed her feelings. 

When the dinner was ready Mary told her to come, and she camesubmissively, as if she let Mary direct her movements for her. Theyate and drank together almost in silence, and when Mary told her toeat more, she ate more; when she was told to drink wine, she drank it. Nevertheless, beneath this superficial obedience, Mary knew that she wasfollowing her own thoughts unhindered. She was not inattentive so muchas remote; she looked at once so unseeing and so intent upon some visionof her own that Mary gradually felt more than protective--she becameactually alarmed at the prospect of some collision between Katharineand the forces of the outside world. Directly they had done, Katharineannounced her intention of going. 

"But where are you going to?" Mary asked, desiring vaguely to hinderher. 

"Oh, I'm going home--no, to Highgate perhaps. "

Mary saw that it would be useless to try to stop her. All she could dowas to insist upon coming too, but she met with no opposition; Katharineseemed indifferent to her presence. In a few minutes they were walkingalong the Strand. They walked so rapidly that Mary was deluded intothe belief that Katharine knew where she was going. She herself was notattentive. She was glad of the movement along lamp-lit streets in theopen air. She was fingering, painfully and with fear, yet with strangehope, too, the discovery which she had stumbled upon unexpectedly thatnight. She was free once more at the cost of a gift, the best, perhaps, that she could offer, but she was, thank Heaven, in love no longer. She was tempted to spend the first instalment of her freedom in somedissipation; in the pit of the Coliseum, for example, since they werenow passing the door. Why not go in and celebrate her independence ofthe tyranny of love? Or, perhaps, the top of an omnibus bound for someremote place such as Camberwell, or Sidcup, or the Welsh Harp would suither better. She noticed these names painted on little boards for thefirst time for weeks. Or should she return to her room, and spendthe night working out the details of a very enlightened and ingeniousscheme? Of all possibilities this appealed to her most, and brought tomind the fire, the lamplight, the steady glow which had seemed lit inthe place where a more passionate flame had once burnt. 

Now Katharine stopped, and Mary woke to the fact that instead of havinga goal she had evidently none. She paused at the edge of the crossing, and looked this way and that, and finally made as if in the direction ofHaverstock Hill. 

"Look here--where are you going?" Mary cried, catching her by the hand. "We must take that cab and go home. " She hailed a cab and insisted thatKatharine should get in, while she directed the driver to take them toCheyne Walk. 

Katharine submitted. "Very well, " she said. "We may as well go there asanywhere else. "

A gloom seemed to have fallen on her. She lay back in her corner, silentand apparently exhausted. Mary, in spite of her own preoccupation, wasstruck by her pallor and her attitude of dejection. 

"I'm sure we shall find him, " she said more gently than she had yetspoken. 

"It may be too late, " Katharine replied. Without understanding her, Marybegan to pity her for what she was suffering. 

"Nonsense, " she said, taking her hand and rubbing it. "If we don't findhim there we shall find him somewhere else. "

"But suppose he's walking about the streets--for hours and hours?"

She leant forward and looked out of the window. 

"He may refuse ever to speak to me again, " she said in a low voice, almost to herself. 

The exaggeration was so immense that Mary did not attempt to cope withit, save by keeping hold of Katharine's wrist. She half expected thatKatharine might open the door suddenly and jump out. Perhaps Katharineperceived the purpose with which her hand was held. 

"Don't be frightened, " she said, with a little laugh. "I'm not going tojump out of the cab. It wouldn't do much good after all. "

Upon this, Mary ostentatiously withdrew her hand. 

"I ought to have apologized, " Katharine continued, with an effort, "forbringing you into all this business; I haven't told you half, either. I'm no longer engaged to William Rodney. He is to marry Cassandra Otway. It's all arranged--all perfectly right.... And after he'd waited inthe streets for hours and hours, William made me bring him in. He wasstanding under the lamp-post watching our windows. He was perfectlywhite when he came into the room. William left us alone, and we sat andtalked. It seems ages and ages ago, now. Was it last night? Have Ibeen out long? What's the time?" She sprang forward to catch sight of aclock, as if the exact time had some important bearing on her case. 

"Only half-past eight!" she exclaimed. "Then he may be there still. " Sheleant out of the window and told the cabman to drive faster. 

"But if he's not there, what shall I do? Where could I find him? Thestreets are so crowded. "

"We shall find him, " Mary repeated. 

Mary had no doubt but that somehow or other they would find him. Butsuppose they did find him? She began to think of Ralph with a sort ofstrangeness, in her effort to understand how he could be capable ofsatisfying this extraordinary desire. Once more she thought herself backto her old view of him and could, with an effort, recall the hazewhich surrounded his figure, and the sense of confused, heightenedexhilaration which lay all about his neighborhood, so that for months ata time she had never exactly heard his voice or seen his face--or so itnow seemed to her. The pain of her loss shot through her. Nothing wouldever make up--not success, or happiness, or oblivion. But this pang wasimmediately followed by the assurance that now, at any rate, she knewthe truth; and Katharine, she thought, stealing a look at her, did notknow the truth; yes, Katharine was immensely to be pitied. 

The cab, which had been caught in the traffic, was now liberated andsped on down Sloane Street. Mary was conscious of the tension with whichKatharine marked its progress, as if her mind were fixed upon a point infront of them, and marked, second by second, their approach to it. Shesaid nothing, and in silence Mary began to fix her mind, in sympathyat first, and later in forgetfulness of her companion, upon a pointin front of them. She imagined a point distant as a low star upon thehorizon of the dark. There for her too, for them both, was the goal forwhich they were striving, and the end for the ardors of their spiritswas the same: but where it was, or what it was, or why she feltconvinced that they were united in search of it, as they drove swiftlydown the streets of London side by side, she could not have said. 

"At last, " Katharine breathed, as the cab drew up at the door. Shejumped out and scanned the pavement on either side. Mary, meanwhile, rang the bell. The door opened as Katharine assured herself that no oneof the people within view had any likeness to Ralph. On seeing her, themaid said at once:

"Mr. Denham called again, miss. He has been waiting for you for sometime. "

Katharine vanished from Mary's sight. The door shut between them, andMary walked slowly and thoughtfully up the street alone. 

Katharine turned at once to the dining-room. But with her fingers uponthe handle, she held back. Perhaps she realized that this was a momentwhich would never come again. Perhaps, for a second, it seemed to herthat no reality could equal the imagination she had formed. Perhaps shewas restrained by some vague fear or anticipation, which made her dreadany exchange or interruption. But if these doubts and fears or thissupreme bliss restrained her, it was only for a moment. In anothersecond she had turned the handle and, biting her lip to control herself, she opened the door upon Ralph Denham. An extraordinary clearness ofsight seemed to possess her on beholding him. So little, so single, so separate from all else he appeared, who had been the cause of theseextreme agitations and aspirations. She could have laughed in his face. But, gaining upon this clearness of sight against her will, and to herdislike, was a flood of confusion, of relief, of certainty, of humility, of desire no longer to strive and to discriminate, yielding to which, she let herself sink within his arms and confessed her love. 

CHAPTER XXXII

Nobody asked Katharine any questions next day. If cross-examined shemight have said that nobody spoke to her. She worked a little, wrote alittle, ordered the dinner, and sat, for longer than she knew, withher head on her hand piercing whatever lay before her, whether it wasa letter or a dictionary, as if it were a film upon the deep prospectsthat revealed themselves to her kindling and brooding eyes. She roseonce, and going to the bookcase, took out her father's Greek dictionaryand spread the sacred pages of symbols and figures before her. Shesmoothed the sheets with a mixture of affectionate amusement and hope. Would other eyes look on them with her one day? The thought, longintolerable, was now just bearable. 

She was quite unaware of the anxiety with which her movements werewatched and her expression scanned. Cassandra was careful not to becaught looking at her, and their conversation was so prosaic that wereit not for certain jolts and jerks between the sentences, as if the mindwere kept with difficulty to the rails, Mrs. Milvain herself could havedetected nothing of a suspicious nature in what she overheard. 

William, when he came in late that afternoon and found Cassandra alone, had a very serious piece of news to impart. He had just passed Katharinein the street and she had failed to recognize him. 

"That doesn't matter with me, of course, but suppose it happened withsomebody else? What would they think? They would suspect somethingmerely from her expression. She looked--she looked"--he hesitated--"likesome one walking in her sleep. "

To Cassandra the significant thing was that Katharine had gone outwithout telling her, and she interpreted this to mean that she had goneout to meet Ralph Denham. But to her surprise William drew no comfortfrom this probability. 

"Once throw conventions aside, " he began, "once do the things thatpeople don't do--" and the fact that you are going to meet a young manis no longer proof of anything, except, indeed, that people will talk. 

Cassandra saw, not without a pang of jealousy, that he was extremelysolicitous that people should not talk about Katharine, as if hisinterest in her were still proprietary rather than friendly. As theywere both ignorant of Ralph's visit the night before they had notthat reason to comfort themselves with the thought that matters werehastening to a crisis. These absences of Katharine's, moreover, leftthem exposed to interruptions which almost destroyed their pleasure inbeing alone together. The rainy evening made it impossible to go out;and, indeed, according to William's code, it was considerably moredamning to be seen out of doors than surprised within. They were so muchat the mercy of bells and doors that they could hardly talk of Macaulaywith any conviction, and William preferred to defer the second act ofhis tragedy until another day. 

Under these circumstances Cassandra showed herself at her best. Shesympathized with William's anxieties and did her utmost to share them;but still, to be alone together, to be running risks together, to bepartners in the wonderful conspiracy, was to her so enthralling thatshe was always forgetting discretion, breaking out into exclamations andadmirations which finally made William believe that, although deplorableand upsetting, the situation was not without its sweetness. 

When the door did open, he started, but braved the forthcomingrevelation. It was not Mrs. Milvain, however, but Katharine herself whoentered, closely followed by Ralph Denham. With a set expression whichshowed what an effort she was making, Katharine encountered their eyes, and saying, "We're not going to interrupt you, " she led Denham behindthe curtain which hung in front of the room with the relics. This refugewas none of her willing, but confronted with wet pavements and only somebelated museum or Tube station for shelter, she was forced, for Ralph'ssake, to face the discomforts of her own house. Under the street lampsshe had thought him looking both tired and strained. 

Thus separated, the two couples remained occupied for some time withtheir own affairs. Only the lowest murmurs penetrated from one sectionof the room to the other. At length the maid came in to bring a messagethat Mr. Hilbery would not be home for dinner. It was true that therewas no need that Katharine should be informed, but William began toinquire Cassandra's opinion in such a way as to show that, with orwithout reason, he wished very much to speak to her. 

From motives of her own Cassandra dissuaded him. 

"But don't you think it's a little unsociable?" he hazarded. "Why not dosomething amusing?--go to the play, for instance? Why not ask Katharineand Ralph, eh?" The coupling of their names in this manner causedCassandra's heart to leap with pleasure. 

"Don't you think they must be--?" she began, but William hastily tookher up. 

"Oh, I know nothing about that. I only thought we might amuse ourselves, as your uncle's out. "

He proceeded on his embassy with a mixture of excitement andembarrassment which caused him to turn aside with his hand on thecurtain, and to examine intently for several moments the portrait ofa lady, optimistically said by Mrs. Hilbery to be an early work of SirJoshua Reynolds. Then, with some unnecessary fumbling, he drew aside thecurtain, and with his eyes fixed upon the ground, repeated his messageand suggested that they should all spend the evening at the play. Katharine accepted the suggestion with such cordiality that it wasstrange to find her of no clear mind as to the precise spectacle shewished to see. She left the choice entirely to Ralph and William, who, taking counsel fraternally over an evening paper, found themselvesin agreement as to the merits of a music-hall. This being arranged, everything else followed easily and enthusiastically. Cassandra hadnever been to a music-hall. Katharine instructed her in the peculiardelights of an entertainment where Polar bears follow directly uponladies in full evening dress, and the stage is alternately a garden ofmystery, a milliner's band-box, and a fried-fish shop in the Mile EndRoad. Whatever the exact nature of the program that night, it fulfilledthe highest purposes of dramatic art, so far, at least, as four of theaudience were concerned. 

No doubt the actors and the authors would have been surprised to learnin what shape their efforts reached those particular eyes and ears; butthey could not have denied that the effect as a whole was tremendous. The hall resounded with brass and strings, alternately of enormous pompand majesty, and then of sweetest lamentation. The reds and creamsof the background, the lyres and harps and urns and skulls, theprotuberances of plaster, the fringes of scarlet plush, the sinkingand blazing of innumerable electric lights, could scarcely have beensurpassed for decorative effect by any craftsman of the ancient ormodern world. 

Then there was the audience itself, bare-shouldered, tufted andgarlanded in the stalls, decorous but festal in the balconies, andfrankly fit for daylight and street life in the galleries. But, howeverthey differed when looked at separately, they shared the same huge, lovable nature in the bulk, which murmured and swayed and quivered allthe time the dancing and juggling and love-making went on in front ofit, slowly laughed and reluctantly left off laughing, and applaudedwith a helter-skelter generosity which sometimes became unanimous andoverwhelming. Once William saw Katharine leaning forward and clappingher hands with an abandonment that startled him. Her laugh rang out withthe laughter of the audience. 

For a second he was puzzled, as if this laughter disclosed somethingthat he had never suspected in her. But then Cassandra's face caught hiseye, gazing with astonishment at the buffoon, not laughing, too deeplyintent and surprised to laugh at what she saw, and for some moments hewatched her as if she were a child. 

The performance came to an end, the illusion dying out first here andthen there, as some rose to put on their coats, others stood upright tosalute "God Save the King, " the musicians folded their music and encasedtheir instruments, and the lights sank one by one until the house wasempty, silent, and full of great shadows. Looking back over her shoulderas she followed Ralph through the swing doors, Cassandra marveled to seehow the stage was already entirely without romance. But, she wondered, did they really cover all the seats in brown holland every night?

The success of this entertainment was such that before they separatedanother expedition had been planned for the next day. The next day wasSaturday; therefore both William and Ralph were free to devote the wholeafternoon to an expedition to Greenwich, which Cassandra had never seen, and Katharine confused with Dulwich. On this occasion Ralph was theirguide. He brought them without accident to Greenwich. 

What exigencies of state or fantasies of imagination first gave birth tothe cluster of pleasant places by which London is surrounded is matterof indifference now that they have adapted themselves so admirably tothe needs of people between the ages of twenty and thirty with Saturdayafternoons to spend. Indeed, if ghosts have any interest in theaffections of those who succeed them they must reap their richestharvests when the fine weather comes again and the lovers, thesightseers, and the holiday-makers pour themselves out of trains andomnibuses into their old pleasure-grounds. It is true that they go, forthe most part, unthanked by name, although upon this occasion Williamwas ready to give such discriminating praise as the dead architects andpainters received seldom in the course of the year. They were walking bythe river bank, and Katharine and Ralph, lagging a little behind, caughtfragments of his lecture. Katharine smiled at the sound of his voice;she listened as if she found it a little unfamiliar, intimately thoughshe knew it; she tested it. The note of assurance and happiness wasnew. William was very happy. She learnt every hour what sources ofhis happiness she had neglected. She had never asked him to teachher anything; she had never consented to read Macaulay; she had neverexpressed her belief that his play was second only to the works ofShakespeare. She followed dreamily in their wake, smiling and delightingin the sound which conveyed, she knew, the rapturous and yet not servileassent of Cassandra. 

Then she murmured, "How can Cassandra--" but changed her sentence to theopposite of what she meant to say and ended, "how could she herself havebeen so blind?" But it was unnecessary to follow out such riddles whenthe presence of Ralph supplied her with more interesting problems, whichsomehow became involved with the little boat crossing the river, themajestic and careworn City, and the steamers homecoming with theirtreasury, or starting in search of it, so that infinite leisure wouldbe necessary for the proper disentanglement of one from the other. Hestopped, moreover, and began inquiring of an old boatman as to the tidesand the ships. In thus talking he seemed different, and even lookeddifferent, she thought, against the river, with the steeples and towersfor background. His strangeness, his romance, his power to leave herside and take part in the affairs of men, the possibility that theyshould together hire a boat and cross the river, the speed and wildnessof this enterprise filled her mind and inspired her with such rapture, half of love and half of adventure, that William and Cassandra werestartled from their talk, and Cassandra exclaimed, "She looks as if shewere offering up a sacrifice! Very beautiful, " she added quickly, thoughshe repressed, in deference to William, her own wonder that the sight ofRalph Denham talking to a boatman on the banks of the Thames could moveany one to such an attitude of adoration. 

That afternoon, what with tea and the curiosities of the Thames tunneland the unfamiliarity of the streets, passed so quickly that the onlymethod of prolonging it was to plan another expedition for the followingday. Hampton Court was decided upon, in preference to Hampstead, forthough Cassandra had dreamt as a child of the brigands of Hampstead, shehad now transferred her affections completely and for ever to WilliamIII. Accordingly, they arrived at Hampton Court about lunch-time on afine Sunday morning. Such unity marked their expressions of admirationfor the red-brick building that they might have come there for no otherpurpose than to assure each other that this palace was the stateliestpalace in the world. They walked up and down the Terrace, four abreast, and fancied themselves the owners of the place, and calculated theamount of good to the world produced indubitably by such a tenancy. 

"The only hope for us, " said Katharine, "is that William shall die, andCassandra shall be given rooms as the widow of a distinguished poet. "

"Or--" Cassandra began, but checked herself from the liberty ofenvisaging Katharine as the widow of a distinguished lawyer. Upon this, the third day of junketing, it was tiresome to have to restrain oneselfeven from such innocent excursions of fancy. She dared not questionWilliam; he was inscrutable; he never seemed even to follow the othercouple with curiosity when they separated, as they frequently did, toname a plant, or examine a fresco. Cassandra was constantly studyingtheir backs. She noticed how sometimes the impulse to move came fromKatharine, and sometimes from Ralph; how, sometimes, they walked slow, as if in profound intercourse, and sometimes fast, as if in passionate. When they came together again nothing could be more unconcerned thantheir manner. 

"We have been wondering whether they ever catch a fish... " or, "We mustleave time to visit the Maze. " Then, to puzzle her further, William andRalph filled in all interstices of meal-times or railway journeys withperfectly good-tempered arguments; or they discussed politics, or theytold stories, or they did sums together upon the backs of old envelopesto prove something. She suspected that Katharine was absent-minded, butit was impossible to tell. There were moments when she felt so young andinexperienced that she almost wished herself back with the silkworms atStogdon House, and not embarked upon this bewildering intrigue. 

These moments, however, were only the necessary shadow or chill whichproved the substance of her bliss, and did not damage the radiance whichseemed to rest equally upon the whole party. The fresh air of spring, the sky washed of clouds and already shedding warmth from its blue, seemed the reply vouchsafed by nature to the mood of her chosen spirits. These chosen spirits were to be found also among the deer, dumblybasking, and among the fish, set still in mid-stream, for they were mutesharers in a benignant state not needing any exposition by the tongue. No words that Cassandra could come by expressed the stillness, thebrightness, the air of expectancy which lay upon the orderly beautyof the grass walks and gravel paths down which they went walking fourabreast that Sunday afternoon. Silently the shadows of the trees layacross the broad sunshine; silence wrapt her heart in its folds. Thequivering stillness of the butterfly on the half-opened flower, thesilent grazing of the deer in the sun, were the sights her eye restedupon and received as the images of her own nature laid open to happinessand trembling in its ecstasy. 

But the afternoon wore on, and it became time to leave the gardens. As they drove from Waterloo to Chelsea, Katharine began to have somecompunction about her father, which, together with the opening ofoffices and the need of working in them on Monday, made it difficult toplan another festival for the following day. Mr. Hilbery had taken theirabsence, so far, with paternal benevolence, but they could not trespassupon it indefinitely. Indeed, had they known it, he was alreadysuffering from their absence, and longing for their return. 

He had no dislike of solitude, and Sunday, in particular, was pleasantlyadapted for letter-writing, paying calls, or a visit to his club. He wasleaving the house on some such suitable expedition towards tea-timewhen he found himself stopped on his own doorstep by his sister, Mrs. Milvain. She should, on hearing that no one was at home, have withdrawnsubmissively, but instead she accepted his half-hearted invitation tocome in, and he found himself in the melancholy position of being forcedto order tea for her and sit in the drawing-room while she drank it. Shespeedily made it plain that she was only thus exacting because she hadcome on a matter of business. He was by no means exhilarated at thenews. 

"Katharine is out this afternoon, " he remarked. "Why not come roundlater and discuss it with her--with us both, eh?"

"My dear Trevor, I have particular reasons for wishing to talk to youalone.... Where is Katharine?"

"She's out with her young man, naturally. Cassandra plays the part ofchaperone very usefully. A charming young woman that--a great favoriteof mine. " He turned his stone between his fingers, and conceiveddifferent methods of leading Celia away from her obsession, which, hesupposed, must have reference to the domestic affairs of Cyril as usual. 

"With Cassandra, " Mrs. Milvain repeated significantly. "With Cassandra. "

"Yes, with Cassandra, " Mr. Hilbery agreed urbanely, pleased at thediversion. "I think they said they were going to Hampton Court, and Irather believe they were taking a protege of mine, Ralph Denham, a veryclever fellow, too, to amuse Cassandra. I thought the arrangement verysuitable. " He was prepared to dwell at some length upon this safe topic, and trusted that Katharine would come in before he had done with it. 

"Hampton Court always seems to me an ideal spot for engaged couples. There's the Maze, there's a nice place for having tea--I forget whatthey call it--and then, if the young man knows his business he contrivesto take his lady upon the river. Full of possibilities--full. Cake, Celia?" Mr. Hilbery continued. "I respect my dinner too much, but thatcan't possibly apply to you. You've never observed that feast, so far asI can remember. "

Her brother's affability did not deceive Mrs. Milvain; it slightlysaddened her; she well knew the cause of it. Blind and infatuated asusual!

"Who is this Mr. Denham?" she asked. 

"Ralph Denham?" said Mr. Hilbery, in relief that her mind had taken thisturn. "A very interesting young man. I've a great belief in him. He's anauthority upon our mediaeval institutions, and if he weren't forced toearn his living he would write a book that very much wants writing--"

"He is not well off, then?" Mrs. Milvain interposed. 

"Hasn't a penny, I'm afraid, and a family more or less dependent onhim. "

"A mother and sisters?--His father is dead?"

"Yes, his father died some years ago, " said Mr. Hilbery, who wasprepared to draw upon his imagination, if necessary, to keep Mrs. Milvain supplied with facts about the private history of Ralph Denhamsince, for some inscrutable reason, the subject took her fancy. 

"His father has been dead some time, and this young man had to take hisplace--"

"A legal family?" Mrs. Milvain inquired. "I fancy I've seen the namesomewhere. "

Mr. Hilbery shook his head. "I should be inclined to doubt whether theywere altogether in that walk of life, " he observed. "I fancy that Denhamonce told me that his father was a corn merchant. Perhaps he said astockbroker. He came to grief, anyhow, as stockbrokers have a way ofdoing. I've a great respect for Denham, " he added. The remark soundedto his ears unfortunately conclusive, and he was afraid that therewas nothing more to be said about Denham. He examined the tips of hisfingers carefully. "Cassandra's grown into a very charming young woman, "he started afresh. "Charming to look at, and charming to talk to, thoughher historical knowledge is not altogether profound. Another cup oftea?"

Mrs. Milvain had given her cup a little push, which seemed to indicatesome momentary displeasure. But she did not want any more tea. 

"It is Cassandra that I have come about, " she began. "I am very sorryto say that Cassandra is not at all what you think her, Trevor. She hasimposed upon your and Maggie's goodness. She has behaved in a way thatwould have seemed incredible--in this house of all houses--were it notfor other circumstances that are still more incredible. "

Mr. Hilbery looked taken aback, and was silent for a second. 

"It all sounds very black, " he remarked urbanely, continuing hisexamination of his finger-nails. "But I own I am completely in thedark. "

Mrs. Milvain became rigid, and emitted her message in little shortsentences of extreme intensity. 

"Who has Cassandra gone out with? William Rodney. Who has Katharine goneout with? Ralph Denham. Why are they for ever meeting each other roundstreet corners, and going to music-halls, and taking cabs late atnight? Why will Katharine not tell me the truth when I question her?I understand the reason now. Katharine has entangled herself with thisunknown lawyer; she has seen fit to condone Cassandra's conduct. "

There was another slight pause. 

"Ah, well, Katharine will no doubt have some explanation to give me, "Mr. Hilbery replied imperturbably. "It's a little too complicated forme to take in all at once, I confess--and, if you won't think me rude, Celia, I think I'll be getting along towards Knightsbridge. "

Mrs. Milvain rose at once. 

"She has condoned Cassandra's conduct and entangled herself with RalphDenham, " she repeated. She stood very erect with the dauntless air ofone testifying to the truth regardless of consequences. She knew frompast discussions that the only way to counter her brother's indolenceand indifference was to shoot her statements at him in a compressed formonce finally upon leaving the room. Having spoken thus, she restrainedherself from adding another word, and left the house with the dignity ofone inspired by a great ideal. 

She had certainly framed her remarks in such a way as to prevent herbrother from paying his call in the region of Knightsbridge. He had nofears for Katharine, but there was a suspicion at the back of his mindthat Cassandra might have been, innocently and ignorantly, led into somefoolish situation in one of their unshepherded dissipations. His wifewas an erratic judge of the conventions; he himself was lazy; and withKatharine absorbed, very naturally--Here he recalled, as well as hecould, the exact nature of the charge. "She has condoned Cassandra'sconduct and entangled herself with Ralph Denham. " From which it appearedthat Katharine was NOT absorbed, or which of them was it that hadentangled herself with Ralph Denham? From this maze of absurdity Mr. Hilbery saw no way out until Katharine herself came to his help, so thathe applied himself, very philosophically on the whole, to a book. 

No sooner had he heard the young people come in and go upstairs than hesent a maid to tell Miss Katharine that he wished to speak to her in thestudy. She was slipping furs loosely onto the floor in the drawing-roomin front of the fire. They were all gathered round, reluctant to part. The message from her father surprised Katharine, and the others caughtfrom her look, as she turned to go, a vague sense of apprehension. 

Mr. Hilbery was reassured by the sight of her. He congratulated himself, he prided himself, upon possessing a daughter who had a sense ofresponsibility and an understanding of life profound beyond her years. Moreover, she was looking to-day unusual; he had come to take her beautyfor granted; now he remembered it and was surprised by it. He thoughtinstinctively that he had interrupted some happy hour of hers withRodney, and apologized. 

"I'm sorry to bother you, my dear. I heard you come in, and thought I'dbetter make myself disagreeable at once--as it seems, unfortunately, that fathers are expected to make themselves disagreeable. Now, yourAunt Celia has been to see me; your Aunt Celia has taken it into herhead apparently that you and Cassandra have been--let us say alittle foolish. This going about together--these pleasant littleparties--there's been some kind of misunderstanding. I told her I saw noharm in it, but I should just like to hear from yourself. Has Cassandrabeen left a little too much in the company of Mr. Denham?"

Katharine did not reply at once, and Mr. Hilbery tapped the coalencouragingly with the poker. Then she said, without embarrassment orapology:

"I don't see why I should answer Aunt Celia's questions. I've told heralready that I won't. "

Mr. Hilbery was relieved and secretly amused at the thought of theinterview, although he could not license such irreverence outwardly. 

"Very good. Then you authorize me to tell her that she's been mistaken, and there was nothing but a little fun in it? You've no doubt, Katharine, in your own mind? Cassandra is in our charge, and I don'tintend that people should gossip about her. I suggest that you should bea little more careful in future. Invite me to your next entertainment. "

She did not respond, as he had hoped, with any affectionate or humorousreply. She meditated, pondering something or other, and he reflectedthat even his Katharine did not differ from other women in the capacityto let things be. Or had she something to say?

"Have you a guilty conscience?" he inquired lightly. "Tell me, Katharine, " he said more seriously, struck by something in theexpression of her eyes. 

"I've been meaning to tell you for some time, " she said, "I'm not goingto marry William. "

"You're not going--!" he exclaimed, dropping the poker in his immensesurprise. "Why? When? Explain yourself, Katharine. "

"Oh, some time ago--a week, perhaps more. " Katharine spoke hurriedly andindifferently, as if the matter could no longer concern any one. 

"But may I ask--why have I not been told of this--what do you mean byit?"

"We don't wish to be married--that's all. "

"This is William's wish as well as yours?"

"Oh, yes. We agree perfectly. "

Mr. Hilbery had seldom felt more completely at a loss. He thought thatKatharine was treating the matter with curious unconcern; she scarcelyseemed aware of the gravity of what she was saying; he did notunderstand the position at all. But his desire to smooth everything overcomfortably came to his relief. No doubt there was some quarrel, somewhimsey on the part of William, who, though a good fellow, was a littleexacting sometimes--something that a woman could put right. But thoughhe inclined to take the easiest view of his responsibilities, he caredtoo much for this daughter to let things be. 

"I confess I find great difficulty in following you. I should like tohear William's side of the story, " he said irritably. "I think he oughtto have spoken to me in the first instance. "

"I wouldn't let him, " said Katharine. "I know it must seem to you verystrange, " she added. "But I assure you, if you'd wait a little--untilmother comes back. "

This appeal for delay was much to Mr. Hilbery's liking. But hisconscience would not suffer it. People were talking. He could not endurethat his daughter's conduct should be in any way considered irregular. He wondered whether, in the circumstances, it would be better to wire tohis wife, to send for one of his sisters, to forbid William thehouse, to pack Cassandra off home--for he was vaguely conscious ofresponsibilities in her direction, too. His forehead was becoming moreand more wrinkled by the multiplicity of his anxieties, which he wassorely tempted to ask Katharine to solve for him, when the door openedand William Rodney appeared. This necessitated a complete change, notonly of manner, but of position also. 

"Here's William, " Katharine exclaimed, in a tone of relief. "I've toldfather we're not engaged, " she said to him. "I've explained that Iprevented you from telling him. "

William's manner was marked by the utmost formality. He bowed veryslightly in the direction of Mr. Hilbery, and stood erect, holding onelapel of his coat, and gazing into the center of the fire. He waited forMr. Hilbery to speak. 

Mr. Hilbery also assumed an appearance of formidable dignity. He hadrisen to his feet, and now bent the top part of his body slightlyforward. 

"I should like your account of this affair, Rodney--if Katharine nolonger prevents you from speaking. "

William waited two seconds at least. 

"Our engagement is at an end, " he said, with the utmost stiffness. 

"Has this been arrived at by your joint desire?"

After a perceptible pause William bent his head, and Katharine said, asif by an afterthought:

"Oh, yes. "

Mr. Hilbery swayed to and fro, and moved his lips as if to utter remarkswhich remained unspoken. 

"I can only suggest that you should postpone any decision until theeffect of this misunderstanding has had time to wear off. You have nowknown each other--" he began. 

"There's been no misunderstanding, " Katharine interposed. "Nothing atall. " She moved a few paces across the room, as if she intended toleave them. Her preoccupied naturalness was in strange contrast to herfather's pomposity and to William's military rigidity. He had not onceraised his eyes. Katharine's glance, on the other hand, ranged past thetwo gentlemen, along the books, over the tables, towards the door. She was paying the least possible attention, it seemed, to what washappening. Her father looked at her with a sudden clouding and troublingof his expression. Somehow his faith in her stability and sense wasqueerly shaken. He no longer felt that he could ultimately entrust herwith the whole conduct of her own affairs after a superficial show ofdirecting them. He felt, for the first time in many years, responsiblefor her. 

"Look here, we must get to the bottom of this, " he said, dropping hisformal manner and addressing Rodney as if Katharine were not present. "You've had some difference of opinion, eh? Take my word for it, mostpeople go through this sort of thing when they're engaged. I've seenmore trouble come from long engagements than from any other formof human folly. Take my advice and put the whole matter out of yourminds--both of you. I prescribe a complete abstinence from emotion. Visit some cheerful seaside resort, Rodney. "

He was struck by William's appearance, which seemed to him to indicateprofound feeling resolutely held in check. No doubt, he reflected, Katharine had been very trying, unconsciously trying, and had drivenhim to take up a position which was none of his willing. Mr. Hilberycertainly did not overrate William's sufferings. No minutes in his lifehad hitherto extorted from him such intensity of anguish. He wasnow facing the consequences of his insanity. He must confess himselfentirely and fundamentally other than Mr. Hilbery thought him. Everything was against him. Even the Sunday evening and the fire and thetranquil library scene were against him. Mr. Hilbery's appeal to him asa man of the world was terribly against him. He was no longer a man ofany world that Mr. Hilbery cared to recognize. But some power compelledhim, as it had compelled him to come downstairs, to make his stand hereand now, alone and unhelped by any one, without prospect of reward. Hefumbled with various phrases; and then jerked out:

"I love Cassandra. "

Mr. Hilbery's face turned a curious dull purple. He looked at hisdaughter. He nodded his head, as if to convey his silent command to herto leave the room; but either she did not notice it or preferred not toobey. 

"You have the impudence--" Mr. Hilbery began, in a dull, low voicethat he himself had never heard before, when there was a scuffling andexclaiming in the hall, and Cassandra, who appeared to be insistingagainst some dissuasion on the part of another, burst into the room. 

"Uncle Trevor, " she exclaimed, "I insist upon telling you the truth!"She flung herself between Rodney and her uncle, as if she sought tointercept their blows. As her uncle stood perfectly still, looking verylarge and imposing, and as nobody spoke, she shrank back a little, andlooked first at Katharine and then at Rodney. "You must know the truth, "she said, a little lamely. 

"You have the impudence to tell me this in Katharine's presence?" Mr. Hilbery continued, speaking with complete disregard of Cassandra'sinterruption. 

"I am aware, quite aware--" Rodney's words, which were broken in sense, spoken after a pause, and with his eyes upon the ground, neverthelessexpressed an astonishing amount of resolution. "I am quite aware whatyou must think of me, " he brought out, looking Mr. Hilbery directly inthe eyes for the first time. 

"I could express my views on the subject more fully if we were alone, "Mr. Hilbery returned. 

"But you forget me, " said Katharine. She moved a little towards Rodney, and her movement seemed to testify mutely to her respect for him, andher alliance with him. "I think William has behaved perfectly rightly, and, after all, it is I who am concerned--I and Cassandra. "

Cassandra, too, gave an indescribably slight movement which seemed todraw the three of them into alliance together. Katharine's tone andglance made Mr. Hilbery once more feel completely at a loss, and inaddition, painfully and angrily obsolete; but in spite of an awful innerhollowness he was outwardly composed. 

"Cassandra and Rodney have a perfect right to settle their own affairsaccording to their own wishes; but I see no reason why they should doso either in my room or in my house.... I wish to be quite clear on thispoint, however; you are no longer engaged to Rodney. "

He paused, and his pause seemed to signify that he was extremelythankful for his daughter's deliverance. 

Cassandra turned to Katharine, who drew her breath as if to speak andchecked herself; Rodney, too, seemed to await some movement on herpart; her father glanced at her as if he half anticipated some furtherrevelation. She remained perfectly silent. In the silence they hearddistinctly steps descending the staircase, and Katharine went straightto the door. 

"Wait, " Mr. Hilbery commanded. "I wish to speak to you--alone, " headded. 

She paused, holding the door ajar. 

"I'll come back, " she said, and as she spoke she opened the door andwent out. They could hear her immediately speak to some one outside, though the words were inaudible. 

Mr. Hilbery was left confronting the guilty couple, who remainedstanding as if they did not accept their dismissal, and thedisappearance of Katharine had brought some change into the situation. So, in his secret heart, Mr. Hilbery felt that it had, for he could notexplain his daughter's behavior to his own satisfaction. 

"Uncle Trevor, " Cassandra exclaimed impulsively, "don't be angry, please. I couldn't help it; I do beg you to forgive me. "

Her uncle still refused to acknowledge her identity, and still talkedover her head as if she did not exist. 

"I suppose you have communicated with the Otways, " he said to Rodneygrimly. 

"Uncle Trevor, we wanted to tell you, " Cassandra replied for him. "Wewaited--" she looked appealingly at Rodney, who shook his head ever soslightly. 

"Yes? What were you waiting for?" her uncle asked sharply, looking ather at last. 

The words died on her lips. It was apparent that she was straining herears as if to catch some sound outside the room that would come to herhelp. He received no answer. He listened, too. 

"This is a most unpleasant business for all parties, " he concluded, sinking into his chair again, hunching his shoulders and regarding theflames. He seemed to speak to himself, and Rodney and Cassandra lookedat him in silence. 

"Why don't you sit down?" he said suddenly. He spoke gruffly, but theforce of his anger was evidently spent, or some preoccupation had turnedhis mood to other regions. While Cassandra accepted his invitation, Rodney remained standing. 

"I think Cassandra can explain matters better in my absence, " he said, and left the room, Mr. Hilbery giving his assent by a slight nod of thehead. 

Meanwhile, in the dining-room next door, Denham and Katharine wereonce more seated at the mahogany table. They seemed to be continuing aconversation broken off in the middle, as if each remembered the precisepoint at which they had been interrupted, and was eager to go on asquickly as possible. Katharine, having interposed a short account of theinterview with her father, Denham made no comment, but said:

"Anyhow, there's no reason why we shouldn't see each other. "

"Or stay together. It's only marriage that's out of the question, "Katharine replied. 

"But if I find myself coming to want you more and more?"

"If our lapses come more and more often?"

He sighed impatiently, and said nothing for a moment. 

"But at least, " he renewed, "we've established the fact that my lapsesare still in some odd way connected with you; yours have nothing to dowith me. Katharine, " he added, his assumption of reason broken up byhis agitation, "I assure you that we are in love--what other peoplecall love. Remember that night. We had no doubts whatever then. We wereabsolutely happy for half an hour. You had no lapse until the day after;I had no lapse until yesterday morning. We've been happy at intervalsall day until I--went off my head, and you, quite naturally, werebored. "

"Ah, " she exclaimed, as if the subject chafed her, "I can't make youunderstand. It's not boredom--I'm never bored. Reality--reality, " sheejaculated, tapping her finger upon the table as if to emphasize andperhaps explain her isolated utterance of this word. "I cease to be realto you. It's the faces in a storm again--the vision in a hurricane. Wecome together for a moment and we part. It's my fault, too. I'm as badas you are--worse, perhaps. "

They were trying to explain, not for the first time, as their wearygestures and frequent interruptions showed, what in their commonlanguage they had christened their "lapses"; a constant source ofdistress to them, in the past few days, and the immediate reason whyRalph was on his way to leave the house when Katharine, listeninganxiously, heard him and prevented him. What was the cause of theselapses? Either because Katharine looked more beautiful, or more strange, because she wore something different, or said something unexpected, Ralph's sense of her romance welled up and overcame him either intosilence or into inarticulate expressions, which Katharine, withunintentional but invariable perversity, interrupted or contradictedwith some severity or assertion of prosaic fact. Then the visiondisappeared, and Ralph expressed vehemently in his turn the convictionthat he only loved her shadow and cared nothing for her reality. If thelapse was on her side it took the form of gradual detachment until shebecame completely absorbed in her own thoughts, which carried heraway with such intensity that she sharply resented any recall to hercompanion's side. It was useless to assert that these trances werealways originated by Ralph himself, however little in their later stagesthey had to do with him. The fact remained that she had no need of himand was very loath to be reminded of him. How, then, could they be inlove? The fragmentary nature of their relationship was but too apparent. 

Thus they sat depressed to silence at the dining-room table, obliviousof everything, while Rodney paced the drawing-room overhead in suchagitation and exaltation of mind as he had never conceived possible, and Cassandra remained alone with her uncle. Ralph, at length, rose andwalked gloomily to the window. He pressed close to the pane. Outsidewere truth and freedom and the immensity only to be apprehended bythe mind in loneliness, and never communicated to another. What worsesacrilege was there than to attempt to violate what he perceived byseeking to impart it? Some movement behind him made him reflect thatKatharine had the power, if she chose, to be in person what he dreamedof her spirit. He turned sharply to implore her help, when again he wasstruck cold by her look of distance, her expression of intentness uponsome far object. As if conscious of his look upon her she rose and cameto him, standing close by his side, and looking with him out into thedusky atmosphere. Their physical closeness was to him a bitter enoughcomment upon the distance between their minds. Yet distant as shewas, her presence by his side transformed the world. He saw himselfperforming wonderful deeds of courage; saving the drowning, rescuing theforlorn. Impatient with this form of egotism, he could not shake offthe conviction that somehow life was wonderful, romantic, a masterworth serving so long as she stood there. He had no wish that she shouldspeak; he did not look at her or touch her; she was apparently deep inher own thoughts and oblivious of his presence. 

The door opened without their hearing the sound. Mr. Hilbery lookedround the room, and for a moment failed to discover the two figures inthe window. He started with displeasure when he saw them, and observedthem keenly before he appeared able to make up his mind to say anything. He made a movement finally that warned them of his presence; they turnedinstantly. Without speaking, he beckoned to Katharine to come to him, and, keeping his eyes from the region of the room where Denham stood, he shepherded her in front of him back to the study. When Katharine wasinside the room he shut the study door carefully behind him as if tosecure himself from something that he disliked. 

"Now, Katharine, " he said, taking up his stand in front of the fire, "you will, perhaps, have the kindness to explain--" She remained silent. "What inferences do you expect me to draw?" he said sharply.... "Youtell me that you are not engaged to Rodney; I see you on what appear tobe extremely intimate terms with another--with Ralph Denham. What am Ito conclude? Are you, " he added, as she still said nothing, "engaged toRalph Denham?"

"No, " she replied. 

His sense of relief was great; he had been certain that her answer wouldhave confirmed his suspicions, but that anxiety being set at rest, hewas the more conscious of annoyance with her for her behavior. 

"Then all I can say is that you've very strange ideas of the properway to behave.... People have drawn certain conclusions, nor am Isurprised.... The more I think of it the more inexplicable I find it, "he went on, his anger rising as he spoke. "Why am I left in ignorance ofwhat is going on in my own house? Why am I left to hear of these eventsfor the first time from my sister? Most disagreeable--most upsetting. How I'm to explain to your Uncle Francis--but I wash my hands of it. Cassandra goes tomorrow. I forbid Rodney the house. As for the otheryoung man, the sooner he makes himself scarce the better. After placingthe most implicit trust in you, Katharine--" He broke off, disquietedby the ominous silence with which his words were received, and looked athis daughter with the curious doubt as to her state of mind which he hadfelt before, for the first time, this evening. He perceived once morethat she was not attending to what he said, but was listening, and for amoment he, too, listened for sounds outside the room. His certainty thatthere was some understanding between Denham and Katharine returned, butwith a most unpleasant suspicion that there was something illicit aboutit, as the whole position between the young people seemed to him gravelyillicit. 

"I'll speak to Denham, " he said, on the impulse of his suspicion, movingas if to go. 

"I shall come with you, " Katharine said instantly, starting forward. 

"You will stay here, " said her father. 

"What are you going to say to him?" she asked. 

"I suppose I may say what I like in my own house?" he returned. 

"Then I go, too, " she replied. 

At these words, which seemed to imply a determination to go--to go forever, Mr. Hilbery returned to his position in front of the fire, andbegan swaying slightly from side to side without for the moment makingany remark. 

"I understood you to say that you were not engaged to him, " he said atlength, fixing his eyes upon his daughter. 

"We are not engaged, " she said. 

"It should be a matter of indifference to you, then, whether he comeshere or not--I will not have you listening to other things when I amspeaking to you!" he broke off angrily, perceiving a slight movement onher part to one side. "Answer me frankly, what is your relationship withthis young man?"

"Nothing that I can explain to a third person, " she said obstinately. 

"I will have no more of these equivocations, " he replied. 

"I refuse to explain, " she returned, and as she said it the front doorbanged to. "There!" she exclaimed. "He is gone!" She flashed such a lookof fiery indignation at her father that he lost his self-control for amoment. 

"For God's sake, Katharine, control yourself!" he cried. 

She looked for a moment like a wild animal caged in a civilizeddwelling-place. She glanced over the walls covered with books, as if fora second she had forgotten the position of the door. Then she made as ifto go, but her father laid his hand upon her shoulder. He compelled herto sit down. 

"These emotions have been very upsetting, naturally, " he said. Hismanner had regained all its suavity, and he spoke with a soothingassumption of paternal authority. "You've been placed in a verydifficult position, as I understand from Cassandra. Now let us come toterms; we will leave these agitating questions in peace for the present. Meanwhile, let us try to behave like civilized beings. Let us read SirWalter Scott. What d'you say to 'The Antiquary, ' eh? Or 'The Bride ofLammermoor'?"

He made his own choice, and before his daughter could protest or makeher escape, she found herself being turned by the agency of Sir WalterScott into a civilized human being. 

Yet Mr. Hilbery had grave doubts, as he read, whether the processwas more than skin-deep. Civilization had been very profoundly andunpleasantly overthrown that evening; the extent of the ruin was stillundetermined; he had lost his temper, a physical disaster not to bematched for the space of ten years or so; and his own condition urgentlyrequired soothing and renovating at the hands of the classics. His housewas in a state of revolution; he had a vision of unpleasant encounterson the staircase; his meals would be poisoned for days to come; wasliterature itself a specific against such disagreeables? A note ofhollowness was in his voice as he read. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

Considering that Mr. Hilbery lived in a house which was accuratelynumbered in order with its fellows, and that he filled up forms, paidrent, and had seven more years of tenancy to run, he had an excuse forlaying down laws for the conduct of those who lived in his house, andthis excuse, though profoundly inadequate, he found useful during theinterregnum of civilization with which he now found himself faced. Inobedience to those laws, Rodney disappeared; Cassandra was dispatched tocatch the eleven-thirty on Monday morning; Denham was seen no more; sothat only Katharine, the lawful occupant of the upper rooms, remained, and Mr. Hilbery thought himself competent to see that she did nothingfurther to compromise herself. As he bade her good morning next dayhe was aware that he knew nothing of what she was thinking, but, ashe reflected with some bitterness, even this was an advance upon theignorance of the previous mornings. He went to his study, wrote, toreup, and wrote again a letter to his wife, asking her to come back onaccount of domestic difficulties which he specified at first, but in alater draft more discreetly left unspecified. Even if she started thevery moment that she got it, he reflected, she would not be home tillTuesday night, and he counted lugubriously the number of hours that hewould have to spend in a position of detestable authority alone with hisdaughter. 

What was she doing now, he wondered, as he addressed the envelope to hiswife. He could not control the telephone. He could not play the spy. She might be making any arrangements she chose. Yet the thought did notdisturb him so much as the strange, unpleasant, illicit atmosphere ofthe whole scene with the young people the night before. His sense ofdiscomfort was almost physical. 

Had he known it, Katharine was far enough withdrawn, both physicallyand spiritually, from the telephone. She sat in her room with thedictionaries spreading their wide leaves on the table before her, andall the pages which they had concealed for so many years arranged in apile. She worked with the steady concentration that is produced bythe successful effort to think down some unwelcome thought by means ofanother thought. Having absorbed the unwelcome thought, her mind wenton with additional vigor, derived from the victory; on a sheet of paperlines of figures and symbols frequently and firmly written down markedthe different stages of its progress. And yet it was broad daylight;there were sounds of knocking and sweeping, which proved that livingpeople were at work on the other side of the door, and the door, whichcould be thrown open in a second, was her only protection against theworld. But she had somehow risen to be mistress in her own kingdom, assuming her sovereignty unconsciously. 

Steps approached her unheard. It is true that they were steps thatlingered, divagated, and mounted with the deliberation natural to onepast sixty whose arms, moreover, are full of leaves and blossoms; butthey came on steadily, and soon a tap of laurel boughs against the doorarrested Katharine's pencil as it touched the page. She did not move, however, and sat blank-eyed as if waiting for the interruption to cease. Instead, the door opened. At first, she attached no meaning to themoving mass of green which seemed to enter the room independently of anyhuman agency. Then she recognized parts of her mother's face and personbehind the yellow flowers and soft velvet of the palm-buds. 

"From Shakespeare's tomb!" exclaimed Mrs. Hilbery, dropping the entiremass upon the floor, with a gesture that seemed to indicate an act ofdedication. Then she flung her arms wide and embraced her daughter. 

"Thank God, Katharine!" she exclaimed. "Thank God!" she repeated. 

"You've come back?" said Katharine, very vaguely, standing up to receivethe embrace. 

Although she recognized her mother's presence, she was very far fromtaking part in the scene, and yet felt it to be amazingly appropriatethat her mother should be there, thanking God emphatically forunknown blessings, and strewing the floor with flowers and leaves fromShakespeare's tomb. 

"Nothing else matters in the world!" Mrs. Hilbery continued. "Namesaren't everything; it's what we feel that's everything. I didn't wantsilly, kind, interfering letters. I didn't want your father to tell me. I knew it from the first. I prayed that it might be so. "

"You knew it?" Katharine repeated her mother's words softly and vaguely, looking past her. "How did you know it?" She began, like a child, tofinger a tassel hanging from her mother's cloak. 

"The first evening you told me, Katharine. Oh, and thousands oftimes--dinner-parties--talking about books--the way he came into theroom--your voice when you spoke of him. "

Katharine seemed to consider each of these proofs separately. Then shesaid gravely:

"I'm not going to marry William. And then there's Cassandra--"

"Yes, there's Cassandra, " said Mrs. Hilbery. "I own I was a littlegrudging at first, but, after all, she plays the piano so beautifully. Do tell me, Katharine, " she asked impulsively, "where did you go thatevening she played Mozart, and you thought I was asleep?"

Katharine recollected with difficulty. 

"To Mary Datchet's, " she remembered. 

"Ah!" said Mrs. Hilbery, with a slight note of disappointment in hervoice. "I had my little romance--my little speculation. " She looked ather daughter. Katharine faltered beneath that innocent and penetratinggaze; she flushed, turned away, and then looked up with very brighteyes. 

"I'm not in love with Ralph Denham, " she said. 

"Don't marry unless you're in love!" said Mrs. Hilbery very quickly. "But, " she added, glancing momentarily at her daughter, "aren't theredifferent ways, Katharine--different--?"

"We want to meet as often as we like, but to be free, " Katharinecontinued. 

"To meet here, to meet in his house, to meet in the street. " Mrs. Hilbery ran over these phrases as if she were trying chords that didnot quite satisfy her ear. It was plain that she had her sources ofinformation, and, indeed, her bag was stuffed with what she called "kindletters" from the pen of her sister-in-law. 

"Yes. Or to stay away in the country, " Katharine concluded. 

Mrs. Hilbery paused, looked unhappy, and sought inspiration from thewindow. 

"What a comfort he was in that shop--how he took me and found the ruinsat once--how SAFE I felt with him--"

"Safe? Oh, no, he's fearfully rash--he's always taking risks. He wantsto throw up his profession and live in a little cottage and write books, though he hasn't a penny of his own, and there are any number of sistersand brothers dependent on him. "

"Ah, he has a mother?" Mrs. Hilbery inquired. 

"Yes. Rather a fine-looking old lady, with white hair. " Katharine beganto describe her visit, and soon Mrs. Hilbery elicited the facts that notonly was the house of excruciating ugliness, which Ralph bore withoutcomplaint, but that it was evident that every one depended on him, and he had a room at the top of the house, with a wonderful view overLondon, and a rook. 

"A wretched old bird in a corner, with half its feathers out, " she said, with a tenderness in her voice that seemed to commiserate the sufferingsof humanity while resting assured in the capacity of Ralph Denham toalleviate them, so that Mrs. Hilbery could not help exclaiming:

"But, Katharine, you ARE in love!" at which Katharine flushed, lookedstartled, as if she had said something that she ought not to have said, and shook her head. 

Hastily Mrs. Hilbery asked for further details of this extraordinaryhouse, and interposed a few speculations about the meeting between Keatsand Coleridge in a lane, which tided over the discomfort of the moment, and drew Katharine on to further descriptions and indiscretions. Intruth, she found an extraordinary pleasure in being thus free to talk tosome one who was equally wise and equally benignant, the mother of herearliest childhood, whose silence seemed to answer questions that werenever asked. Mrs. Hilbery listened without making any remark for aconsiderable time. She seemed to draw her conclusions rather by lookingat her daughter than by listening to her, and, if cross-examined, shewould probably have given a highly inaccurate version of Ralph Denham'slife-history except that he was penniless, fatherless, and lived atHighgate--all of which was much in his favor. But by means of thesefurtive glances she had assured herself that Katharine was in a statewhich gave her, alternately, the most exquisite pleasure and the mostprofound alarm. 

She could not help ejaculating at last:

"It's all done in five minutes at a Registry Office nowadays, if youthink the Church service a little florid--which it is, though there arenoble things in it. "

"But we don't want to be married, " Katharine replied emphatically, andadded, "Why, after all, isn't it perfectly possible to live togetherwithout being married?"

Again Mrs. Hilbery looked discomposed, and, in her trouble, took up thesheets which were lying upon the table, and began turning them over thisway and that, and muttering to herself as she glanced:

"A plus B minus C equals 'x y z'. It's so dreadfully ugly, Katharine. That's what I feel--so dreadfully ugly. "

Katharine took the sheets from her mother's hand and began shufflingthem absent-mindedly together, for her fixed gaze seemed to show thather thoughts were intent upon some other matter. 

"Well, I don't know about ugliness, " she said at length. 

"But he doesn't ask it of you?" Mrs. Hilbery exclaimed. "Not that graveyoung man with the steady brown eyes?"

"He doesn't ask anything--we neither of us ask anything. "

"If I could help you, Katharine, by the memory of what I felt--"

"Yes, tell me what you felt. "

Mrs. Hilbery, her eyes growing blank, peered down the enormously longcorridor of days at the far end of which the little figures of herselfand her husband appeared fantastically attired, clasping hands upon amoonlit beach, with roses swinging in the dusk. 

"We were in a little boat going out to a ship at night, " she began. "Thesun had set and the moon was rising over our heads. There were lovelysilver lights upon the waves and three green lights upon the steamer inthe middle of the bay. Your father's head looked so grand against themast. It was life, it was death. The great sea was round us. It was thevoyage for ever and ever. "

The ancient fairy-tale fell roundly and harmoniously upon Katharine'sears. Yes, there was the enormous space of the sea; there were the threegreen lights upon the steamer; the cloaked figures climbed up on deck. And so, voyaging over the green and purple waters, past the cliffs andthe sandy lagoons and through pools crowded with the masts of shipsand the steeples of churches--here they were. The river seemed to havebrought them and deposited them here at this precise point. She lookedadmiringly at her mother, that ancient voyager. 

"Who knows, " exclaimed Mrs. Hilbery, continuing her reveries, "where weare bound for, or why, or who has sent us, or what we shall find--whoknows anything, except that love is our faith--love--" she crooned, andthe soft sound beating through the dim words was heard by her daughteras the breaking of waves solemnly in order upon the vast shore that shegazed upon. She would have been content for her mother to repeat thatword almost indefinitely--a soothing word when uttered by another, ariveting together of the shattered fragments of the world. But Mrs. Hilbery, instead of repeating the word love, said pleadingly:

"And you won't think those ugly thoughts again, will you, Katharine?" atwhich words the ship which Katharine had been considering seemed to putinto harbor and have done with its seafaring. Yet she was in great need, if not exactly of sympathy, of some form of advice, or, at least, of theopportunity of setting forth her problems before a third person so as torenew them in her own eyes. 

"But then, " she said, ignoring the difficult problem of ugliness, "youknew you were in love; but we're different. It seems, " she continued, frowning a little as she tried to fix the difficult feeling, "as ifsomething came to an end suddenly--gave out--faded--an illusion--asif when we think we're in love we make it up--we imagine what doesn'texist. That's why it's impossible that we should ever marry. Always tobe finding the other an illusion, and going off and forgetting aboutthem, never to be certain that you cared, or that he wasn't caring forsome one not you at all, the horror of changing from one state to theother, being happy one moment and miserable the next--that's the reasonwhy we can't possibly marry. At the same time, " she continued, "we can'tlive without each other, because--" Mrs. Hilbery waited patiently forthe sentence to be completed, but Katharine fell silent and fingered hersheet of figures. 

"We have to have faith in our vision, " Mrs. Hilbery resumed, glancingat the figures, which distressed her vaguely, and had some connection inher mind with the household accounts, "otherwise, as you say--" Shecast a lightning glance into the depths of disillusionment which were, perhaps, not altogether unknown to her. 

"Believe me, Katharine, it's the same for every one--for me, too--foryour father, " she said earnestly, and sighed. They looked together intothe abyss and, as the elder of the two, she recovered herself first andasked:

"But where is Ralph? Why isn't he here to see me?"

Katharine's expression changed instantly. 

"Because he's not allowed to come here, " she replied bitterly. 

Mrs. Hilbery brushed this aside. 

"Would there be time to send for him before luncheon?" she asked. 

Katharine looked at her as if, indeed, she were some magician. Oncemore she felt that instead of being a grown woman, used to advise andcommand, she was only a foot or two raised above the long grass and thelittle flowers and entirely dependent upon the figure of indefinite sizewhose head went up into the sky, whose hand was in hers, for guidance. 

"I'm not happy without him, " she said simply. 

Mrs. Hilbery nodded her head in a manner which indicated completeunderstanding, and the immediate conception of certain plans for thefuture. She swept up her flowers, breathed in their sweetness, and, humming a little song about a miller's daughter, left the room. 

The case upon which Ralph Denham was engaged that afternoon was notapparently receiving his full attention, and yet the affairs of the lateJohn Leake of Dublin were sufficiently confused to need all the carethat a solicitor could bestow upon them, if the widow Leake and the fiveLeake children of tender age were to receive any pittance at all. Butthe appeal to Ralph's humanity had little chance of being heard to-day;he was no longer a model of concentration. The partition so carefullyerected between the different sections of his life had been broken down, with the result that though his eyes were fixed upon the last Will andTestament, he saw through the page a certain drawing-room in CheyneWalk. 

He tried every device that had proved effective in the past for keepingup the partitions of the mind, until he could decently go home; but alittle to his alarm he found himself assailed so persistently, as iffrom outside, by Katharine, that he launched forth desperately into animaginary interview with her. She obliterated a bookcase full of lawreports, and the corners and lines of the room underwent a curioussoftening of outline like that which sometimes makes a room unfamiliarat the moment of waking from sleep. By degrees, a pulse or stress beganto beat at regular intervals in his mind, heaping his thoughts intowaves to which words fitted themselves, and without much consciousnessof what he was doing, he began to write on a sheet of draft paper whathad the appearance of a poem lacking several words in each line. Notmany lines had been set down, however, before he threw away his pen asviolently as if that were responsible for his misdeeds, and tore thepaper into many separate pieces. This was a sign that Katharinehad asserted herself and put to him a remark that could not be metpoetically. Her remark was entirely destructive of poetry, since it wasto the effect that poetry had nothing whatever to do with her; allher friends spent their lives in making up phrases, she said; all hisfeeling was an illusion, and next moment, as if to taunt him with hisimpotence, she had sunk into one of those dreamy states which took noaccount whatever of his existence. Ralph was roused by his passionateattempts to attract her attention to the fact that he was standingin the middle of his little private room in Lincoln's Inn Fields at aconsiderable distance from Chelsea. The physical distance increased hisdesperation. He began pacing in circles until the process sickened him, and then took a sheet of paper for the composition of a letter which, hevowed before he began it, should be sent that same evening. 

It was a difficult matter to put into words; poetry would have done itbetter justice, but he must abstain from poetry. In an infinite numberof half-obliterated scratches he tried to convey to her the possibilitythat although human beings are woefully ill-adapted for communication, still, such communion is the best we know; moreover, they make itpossible for each to have access to another world independent ofpersonal affairs, a world of law, of philosophy, or more strangely aworld such as he had had a glimpse of the other evening when togetherthey seemed to be sharing something, creating something, an ideal--avision flung out in advance of our actual circumstances. If this goldenrim were quenched, if life were no longer circled by an illusion (butwas it an illusion after all?), then it would be too dismal an affairto carry to an end; so he wrote with a sudden spurt of conviction whichmade clear way for a space and left at least one sentence standingwhole. Making every allowance for other desires, on the whole thisconclusion appeared to him to justify their relationship. But theconclusion was mystical; it plunged him into thought. The difficultywith which even this amount was written, the inadequacy of the words, and the need of writing under them and over them others which, afterall, did no better, led him to leave off before he was at all satisfiedwith his production, and unable to resist the conviction that suchrambling would never be fit for Katharine's eye. He felt himself morecut off from her than ever. In idleness, and because he could do nothingfurther with words, he began to draw little figures in the blank spaces, heads meant to resemble her head, blots fringed with flames meant torepresent--perhaps the entire universe. From this occupation he wasroused by the message that a lady wished to speak to him. He hadscarcely time to run his hands through his hair in order to look as muchlike a solicitor as possible, and to cram his papers into his pocket, already overcome with shame that another eye should behold them, when herealized that his preparations were needless. The lady was Mrs. Hilbery. 

"I hope you're not disposing of somebody's fortune in a hurry, " sheremarked, gazing at the documents on his table, "or cutting off anentail at one blow, because I want to ask you to do me a favor. AndAnderson won't keep his horse waiting. (Anderson is a perfect tyrant, but he drove my dear father to the Abbey the day they buried him. ) Imade bold to come to you, Mr. Denham, not exactly in search of legalassistance (though I don't know who I'd rather come to, if I were introuble), but in order to ask your help in settling some tiresomelittle domestic affairs that have arisen in my absence. I've been toStratford-on-Avon (I must tell you all about that one of these days), and there I got a letter from my sister-in-law, a dear kind goose wholikes interfering with other people's children because she's got none ofher own. (We're dreadfully afraid that she's going to lose the sight ofone of her eyes, and I always feel that our physical ailments are so aptto turn into mental ailments. I think Matthew Arnold says something ofthe same kind about Lord Byron. ) But that's neither here nor there. "

The effect of these parentheses, whether they were introduced for thatpurpose or represented a natural instinct on Mrs. Hilbery's part toembellish the bareness of her discourse, gave Ralph time to perceivethat she possessed all the facts of their situation and was come, somehow, in the capacity of ambassador. 

"I didn't come here to talk about Lord Byron, " Mrs. Hilbery continued, with a little laugh, "though I know that both you and Katharine, unlikeother young people of your generation, still find him worth reading. "She paused. "I'm so glad you've made Katharine read poetry, Mr. Denham!"she exclaimed, "and feel poetry, and look poetry! She can't talk it yet, but she will--oh, she will!"

Ralph, whose hand was grasped and whose tongue almost refused toarticulate, somehow contrived to say that there were moments when hefelt hopeless, utterly hopeless, though he gave no reason for thisstatement on his part. 

"But you care for her?" Mrs. Hilbery inquired. 

"Good God!" he exclaimed, with a vehemence which admitted of noquestion. 

"It's the Church of England service you both object to?" Mrs. Hilberyinquired innocently. 

"I don't care a damn what service it is, " Ralph replied. 

"You would marry her in Westminster Abbey if the worst came to theworst?" Mrs. Hilbery inquired. 

"I would marry her in St. Paul's Cathedral, " Ralph replied. His doubtsupon this point, which were always roused by Katharine's presence, hadvanished completely, and his strongest wish in the world was to be withher immediately, since every second he was away from her he imagined herslipping farther and farther from him into one of those states of mindin which he was unrepresented. He wished to dominate her, to possessher. 

"Thank God!" exclaimed Mrs. Hilbery. She thanked Him for a variety ofblessings: for the conviction with which the young man spoke; and notleast for the prospect that on her daughter's wedding-day the noblecadences, the stately periods, the ancient eloquence of the marriageservice would resound over the heads of a distinguished congregationgathered together near the very spot where her father lay quiescentwith the other poets of England. The tears filled her eyes; but sheremembered simultaneously that her carriage was waiting, and with dimeyes she walked to the door. Denham followed her downstairs. 

It was a strange drive. For Denham it was without exception the mostunpleasant he had ever taken. His only wish was to go as straightlyand quickly as possible to Cheyne Walk; but it soon appeared thatMrs. Hilbery either ignored or thought fit to baffle this desire byinterposing various errands of her own. She stopped the carriage atpost-offices, and coffee-shops, and shops of inscrutable dignity wherethe aged attendants had to be greeted as old friends; and, catchingsight of the dome of St. Paul's above the irregular spires of LudgateHill, she pulled the cord impulsively, and gave directions that Andersonshould drive them there. But Anderson had reasons of his own fordiscouraging afternoon worship, and kept his horse's nose obstinatelytowards the west. After some minutes, Mrs. Hilbery realized thesituation, and accepted it good-humoredly, apologizing to Ralph for hisdisappointment. 

"Never mind, " she said, "we'll go to St. Paul's another day, and it mayturn out, though I can't promise that it WILL, that he'll take us pastWestminster Abbey, which would be even better. "

Ralph was scarcely aware of what she went on to say. Her mind and bodyboth seemed to have floated into another region of quick-sailingclouds rapidly passing across each other and enveloping everything ina vaporous indistinctness. Meanwhile he remained conscious of his ownconcentrated desire, his impotence to bring about anything he wished, and his increasing agony of impatience. 

Suddenly Mrs. Hilbery pulled the cord with such decision that evenAnderson had to listen to the order which she leant out of the windowto give him. The carriage pulled up abruptly in the middle of Whitehallbefore a large building dedicated to one of our Government offices. Ina second Mrs. Hilbery was mounting the steps, and Ralph was left in tooacute an irritation by this further delay even to speculate what errandtook her now to the Board of Education. He was about to jump from thecarriage and take a cab, when Mrs. Hilbery reappeared talking geniallyto a figure who remained hidden behind her. 

"There's plenty of room for us all, " she was saying. "Plenty of room. Wecould find space for FOUR of you, William, " she added, opening the door, and Ralph found that Rodney had now joined their company. The two menglanced at each other. If distress, shame, discomfort in its most acuteform were ever visible upon a human face, Ralph could read them allexpressed beyond the eloquence of words upon the face of his unfortunatecompanion. But Mrs. Hilbery was either completely unseeing or determinedto appear so. She went on talking; she talked, it seemed to boththe young men, to some one outside, up in the air. She talked aboutShakespeare, she apostrophized the human race, she proclaimed thevirtues of divine poetry, she began to recite verses which broke downin the middle. The great advantage of her discourse was that it wasself-supporting. It nourished itself until Cheyne Walk was reached uponhalf a dozen grunts and murmurs. 

"Now, " she said, alighting briskly at her door, "here we are!"

There was something airy and ironical in her voice and expression as sheturned upon the doorstep and looked at them, which filled both Rodneyand Denham with the same misgivings at having trusted their fortunes tosuch an ambassador; and Rodney actually hesitated upon the threshold andmurmured to Denham:

"You go in, Denham. I... " He was turning tail, but the door opening andthe familiar look of the house asserting its charm, he bolted in on thewake of the others, and the door shut upon his escape. Mrs. Hilbery ledthe way upstairs. She took them to the drawing-room. The fire burntas usual, the little tables were laid with china and silver. There wasnobody there. 

"Ah, " she said, "Katharine's not here. She must be upstairs in her room. You have something to say to her, I know, Mr. Denham. You can find yourway?" she vaguely indicated the ceiling with a gesture of her hand. Shehad become suddenly serious and composed, mistress in her own house. The gesture with which she dismissed him had a dignity that Ralph neverforgot. She seemed to make him free with a wave of her hand to all thatshe possessed. He left the room. 

The Hilberys' house was tall, possessing many stories and passages withclosed doors, all, once he had passed the drawing-room floor, unknown toRalph. He mounted as high as he could and knocked at the first door hecame to. 

"May I come in?" he asked. 

A voice from within answered "Yes. "

He was conscious of a large window, full of light, of a bare table, andof a long looking-glass. Katharine had risen, and was standing with somewhite papers in her hand, which slowly fluttered to the ground asshe saw her visitor. The explanation was a short one. The sounds wereinarticulate; no one could have understood the meaning save themselves. As if the forces of the world were all at work to tear them asunder theysat, clasping hands, near enough to be taken even by the malicious eyeof Time himself for a united couple, an indivisible unit. 

"Don't move, don't go, " she begged of him, when he stooped to gather thepapers she had let fall. But he took them in his hands and, giving herby a sudden impulse his own unfinished dissertation, with its mysticalconclusion, they read each other's compositions in silence. 

Katharine read his sheets to an end; Ralph followed her figures as faras his mathematics would let him. They came to the end of their tasks atabout the same moment, and sat for a time in silence. 

"Those were the papers you left on the seat at Kew, " said Ralph atlength. "You folded them so quickly that I couldn't see what they were. "

She blushed very deeply; but as she did not move or attempt to hide herface she had the appearance of some one disarmed of all defences, orRalph likened her to a wild bird just settling with wings trembling tofold themselves within reach of his hand. The moment of exposure hadbeen exquisitely painful--the light shed startlingly vivid. She hadnow to get used to the fact that some one shared her loneliness. Thebewilderment was half shame and half the prelude to profound rejoicing. Nor was she unconscious that on the surface the whole thing must appearof the utmost absurdity. She looked to see whether Ralph smiled, butfound his gaze fixed on her with such gravity that she turned to thebelief that she had committed no sacrilege but enriched herself, perhapsimmeasurably, perhaps eternally. She hardly dared steep herself in theinfinite bliss. But his glance seemed to ask for some assurance uponanother point of vital interest to him. It beseeched her mutely to tellhim whether what she had read upon his confused sheet had any meaning ortruth to her. She bent her head once more to the papers she held. 

"I like your little dot with the flames round it, " she saidmeditatively. 

Ralph nearly tore the page from her hand in shame and despair when hesaw her actually contemplating the idiotic symbol of his most confusedand emotional moments. 

He was convinced that it could mean nothing to another, although somehowto him it conveyed not only Katharine herself but all those states ofmind which had clustered round her since he first saw her pouringout tea on a Sunday afternoon. It represented by its circumference ofsmudges surrounding a central blot all that encircling glow which forhim surrounded, inexplicably, so many of the objects of life, softeningtheir sharp outline, so that he could see certain streets, books, andsituations wearing a halo almost perceptible to the physical eye. Didshe smile? Did she put the paper down wearily, condemning it not onlyfor its inadequacy but for its falsity? Was she going to protest oncemore that he only loved the vision of her? But it did not occur to herthat this diagram had anything to do with her. She said simply, and inthe same tone of reflection:

"Yes, the world looks something like that to me too. "

He received her assurance with profound joy. Quietly and steadily thererose up behind the whole aspect of life that soft edge of fire whichgave its red tint to the atmosphere and crowded the scene with shadowsso deep and dark that one could fancy pushing farther into theirdensity and still farther, exploring indefinitely. Whether there was anycorrespondence between the two prospects now opening before themthey shared the same sense of the impending future, vast, mysterious, infinitely stored with undeveloped shapes which each would unwrap forthe other to behold; but for the present the prospect of the future wasenough to fill them with silent adoration. At any rate, their furtherattempts to communicate articulately were interrupted by a knock onthe door, and the entrance of a maid who, with a due sense of mystery, announced that a lady wished to see Miss Hilbery, but refused to allowher name to be given. 

When Katharine rose, with a profound sigh, to resume her duties, Ralphwent with her, and neither of them formulated any guess, on their waydownstairs, as to who this anonymous lady might prove to be. Perhaps thefantastic notion that she was a little black hunchback provided with asteel knife, which she would plunge into Katharine's heart, appearedto Ralph more probable than another, and he pushed first into thedining-room to avert the blow. Then he exclaimed "Cassandra!" with suchheartiness at the sight of Cassandra Otway standing by the dining-roomtable that she put her finger to her lips and begged him to be quiet. 

"Nobody must know I'm here, " she explained in a sepulchral whisper. "Imissed my train. I have been wandering about London all day. I can bearit no longer. Katharine, what am I to do?"

Katharine pushed forward a chair; Ralph hastily found wine and poured itout for her. If not actually fainting, she was very near it. 

"William's upstairs, " said Ralph, as soon as she appeared to berecovered. "I'll go and ask him to come down to you. " His own happinesshad given him a confidence that every one else was bound to be happytoo. But Cassandra had her uncle's commands and anger too vividly in hermind to dare any such defiance. She became agitated and said that shemust leave the house at once. She was not in a condition to go, had theyknown where to send her. Katharine's common sense, which had been inabeyance for the past week or two, still failed her, and she couldonly ask, "But where's your luggage?" in the vague belief that to takelodgings depended entirely upon a sufficiency of luggage. Cassandra'sreply, "I've lost my luggage, " in no way helped her to a conclusion. 

"You've lost your luggage, " she repeated. Her eyes rested upon Ralph, with an expression which seemed better fitted to accompany a profoundthanksgiving for his existence or some vow of eternal devotion than aquestion about luggage. Cassandra perceived the look, and saw that itwas returned; her eyes filled with tears. She faltered in what she wassaying. She began bravely again to discuss the question of lodging whenKatharine, who seemed to have communicated silently with Ralph, andobtained his permission, took her ruby ring from her finger andgiving it to Cassandra, said: "I believe it will fit you without anyalteration. "

These words would not have been enough to convince Cassandra of what shevery much wished to believe had not Ralph taken the bare hand in his anddemanded:

"Why don't you tell us you're glad?" Cassandra was so glad that thetears ran down her cheeks. The certainty of Katharine's engagement notonly relieved her of a thousand vague fears and self-reproaches, butentirely quenched that spirit of criticism which had lately impairedher belief in Katharine. Her old faith came back to her. She seemed tobehold her with that curious intensity which she had lost; as a beingwho walks just beyond our sphere, so that life in their presence is aheightened process, illuminating not only ourselves but a considerablestretch of the surrounding world. Next moment she contrasted her own lotwith theirs and gave back the ring. 

"I won't take that unless William gives it me himself, " she said. "Keepit for me, Katharine. "

"I assure you everything's perfectly all right, " said Ralph. "Let metell William--"

He was about, in spite of Cassandra's protest, to reach the door, whenMrs. Hilbery, either warned by the parlor-maid or conscious with herusual prescience of the need for her intervention, opened the door andsmilingly surveyed them. 

"My dear Cassandra!" she exclaimed. "How delightful to see you backagain! What a coincidence!" she observed, in a general way. "William isupstairs. The kettle boils over. Where's Katharine, I say? I go to look, and I find Cassandra!" She seemed to have proved something to her ownsatisfaction, although nobody felt certain what thing precisely it was. 

"I find Cassandra, " she repeated. 

"She missed her train, " Katharine interposed, seeing that Cassandra wasunable to speak. 

"Life, " began Mrs. Hilbery, drawing inspiration from the portraits onthe wall apparently, "consists in missing trains and in finding--" Butshe pulled herself up and remarked that the kettle must have boiledcompletely over everything. 

To Katharine's agitated mind it appeared that this kettle was anenormous kettle, capable of deluging the house in its incessant showersof steam, the enraged representative of all those household duties whichshe had neglected. She ran hastily up to the drawing-room, and the restfollowed her, for Mrs. Hilbery put her arm round Cassandra and drew herupstairs. They found Rodney observing the kettle with uneasiness butwith such absence of mind that Katharine's catastrophe was in a fairway to be fulfilled. In putting the matter straight no greetingswere exchanged, but Rodney and Cassandra chose seats as far apart aspossible, and sat down with an air of people making a very temporarylodgment. Either Mrs. Hilbery was impervious to their discomfort, or chose to ignore it, or thought it high time that the subject waschanged, for she did nothing but talk about Shakespeare's tomb. 

"So much earth and so much water and that sublime spirit brooding overit all, " she mused, and went on to sing her strange, half-earthly songof dawns and sunsets, of great poets, and the unchanged spirit of nobleloving which they had taught, so that nothing changes, and one age islinked with another, and no one dies, and we all meet in spirit, untilshe appeared oblivious of any one in the room. But suddenly her remarksseemed to contract the enormously wide circle in which they were soaringand to alight, airily and temporarily, upon matters of more immediatemoment. 

"Katharine and Ralph, " she said, as if to try the sound. "William andCassandra. "

"I feel myself in an entirely false position, " said William desperately, thrusting himself into this breach in her reflections. "I've no right tobe sitting here. Mr. Hilbery told me yesterday to leave the house. I'dno intention of coming back again. I shall now--"

"I feel the same too, " Cassandra interrupted. "After what Uncle Trevorsaid to me last night--"

"I have put you into a most odious position, " Rodney went on, risingfrom his seat, in which movement he was imitated simultaneously byCassandra. "Until I have your father's consent I have no right tospeak to you--let alone in this house, where my conduct"--he lookedat Katharine, stammered, and fell silent--"where my conduct has beenreprehensible and inexcusable in the extreme, " he forced himselfto continue. "I have explained everything to your mother. She is sogenerous as to try and make me believe that I have done no harm--youhave convinced her that my behavior, selfish and weak as it was--selfishand weak--" he repeated, like a speaker who has lost his notes. 

Two emotions seemed to be struggling in Katharine; one the desire tolaugh at the ridiculous spectacle of William making her a formalspeech across the tea-table, the other a desire to weep at the sight ofsomething childlike and honest in him which touched her inexpressibly. To every one's surprise she rose, stretched out her hand, and said:

"You've nothing to reproach yourself with--you've been always--" buthere her voice died away, and the tears forced themselves into her eyes, and ran down her cheeks, while William, equally moved, seized her handand pressed it to his lips. No one perceived that the drawing-room doorhad opened itself sufficiently to admit at least half the person ofMr. Hilbery, or saw him gaze at the scene round the tea-table with anexpression of the utmost disgust and expostulation. He withdrew unseen. He paused outside on the landing trying to recover his self-control andto decide what course he might with most dignity pursue. It wasobvious to him that his wife had entirely confused the meaning of hisinstructions. She had plunged them all into the most odious confusion. He waited a moment, and then, with much preliminary rattling of thehandle, opened the door a second time. They had all regained theirplaces; some incident of an absurd nature had now set them laughingand looking under the table, so that his entrance passed momentarilyunperceived. Katharine, with flushed cheeks, raised her head and said:

"Well, that's my last attempt at the dramatic. "

"It's astonishing what a distance they roll, " said Ralph, stooping toturn up the corner of the hearthrug. 

"Don't trouble--don't bother. We shall find it--" Mrs. Hilbery began, and then saw her husband and exclaimed: "Oh, Trevor, we're looking forCassandra's engagement-ring!"

Mr. Hilbery looked instinctively at the carpet. Remarkably enough, thering had rolled to the very point where he stood. He saw the rubiestouching the tip of his boot. Such is the force of habit that he couldnot refrain from stooping, with an absurd little thrill of pleasure atbeing the one to find what others were looking for, and, picking thering up, he presented it, with a bow that was courtly in the extreme, toCassandra. Whether the making of a bow released automatically feelingsof complaisance and urbanity, Mr. Hilbery found his resentmentcompletely washed away during the second in which he bent andstraightened himself. Cassandra dared to offer her cheek and receivedhis embrace. He nodded with some degree of stiffness to Rodney andDenham, who had both risen upon seeing him, and now altogether satdown. Mrs. Hilbery seemed to have been waiting for the entrance of herhusband, and for this precise moment in order to put to him a questionwhich, from the ardor with which she announced it, had evidently beenpressing for utterance for some time past. 

"Oh, Trevor, please tell me, what was the date of the first performanceof 'Hamlet'?"

In order to answer her Mr. Hilbery had to have recourse to the exactscholarship of William Rodney, and before he had given his excellentauthorities for believing as he believed, Rodney felt himself admittedonce more to the society of the civilized and sanctioned by theauthority of no less a person than Shakespeare himself. The power ofliterature, which had temporarily deserted Mr. Hilbery, now came back tohim, pouring over the raw ugliness of human affairs its soothingbalm, and providing a form into which such passions as he had felt sopainfully the night before could be molded so that they fell roundlyfrom the tongue in shapely phrases, hurting nobody. He was sufficientlysure of his command of language at length to look at Katharine and againat Denham. All this talk about Shakespeare had acted as a soporific, orrather as an incantation upon Katharine. She leaned back in her chair atthe head of the tea-table, perfectly silent, looking vaguely pastthem all, receiving the most generalized ideas of human heads againstpictures, against yellow-tinted walls, against curtains of deep crimsonvelvet. Denham, to whom he turned next, shared her immobility under hisgaze. But beneath his restraint and calm it was possible to detect aresolution, a will, set now with unalterable tenacity, which made suchturns of speech as Mr. Hilbery had at command appear oddly irrelevant. At any rate, he said nothing. He respected the young man; he was a veryable young man; he was likely to get his own way. He could, he thought, looking at his still and very dignified head, understand Katharine'spreference, and, as he thought this, he was surprised by a pang of acutejealousy. She might have married Rodney without causing him a twinge. This man she loved. Or what was the state of affairs between them? Anextraordinary confusion of emotion was beginning to get the better ofhim, when Mrs. Hilbery, who had been conscious of a sudden pause in theconversation, and had looked wistfully at her daughter once or twice, remarked:

"Don't stay if you want to go, Katharine. There's the little room overthere. Perhaps you and Ralph--"

"We're engaged, " said Katharine, waking with a start, and lookingstraight at her father. He was taken aback by the directness of thestatement; he exclaimed as if an unexpected blow had struck him. Had heloved her to see her swept away by this torrent, to have her taken fromhim by this uncontrollable force, to stand by helpless, ignored? Oh, howhe loved her! How he loved her! He nodded very curtly to Denham. 

"I gathered something of the kind last night, " he said. "I hope you'lldeserve her. " But he never looked at his daughter, and strode out of theroom, leaving in the minds of the women a sense, half of awe, half ofamusement, at the extravagant, inconsiderate, uncivilized male, outragedsomehow and gone bellowing to his lair with a roar which still sometimesreverberates in the most polished of drawing-rooms. Then Katharine, looking at the shut door, looked down again, to hide her tears. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

The lamps were lit; their luster reflected itself in the polished wood;good wine was passed round the dinner-table; before the meal was faradvanced civilization had triumphed, and Mr. Hilbery presided overa feast which came to wear more and more surely an aspect, cheerful, dignified, promising well for the future. To judge from the expressionin Katharine's eyes it promised something--but he checked the approachsentimentality. He poured out wine; he bade Denham help himself. 

They went upstairs and he saw Katharine and Denham abstractthemselves directly Cassandra had asked whether she might not play himsomething--some Mozart? some Beethoven? She sat down to the piano; thedoor closed softly behind them. His eyes rested on the closed door forsome seconds unwaveringly, but, by degrees, the look of expectation diedout of them, and, with a sigh, he listened to the music. 

Katharine and Ralph were agreed with scarcely a word of discussion asto what they wished to do, and in a moment she joined him in the halldressed for walking. The night was still and moonlit, fit for walking, though any night would have seemed so to them, desiring more thananything movement, freedom from scrutiny, silence, and the open air. 

"At last!" she breathed, as the front door shut. She told him how shehad waited, fidgeted, thought he was never coming, listened for thesound of doors, half expected to see him again under the lamp-post, looking at the house. They turned and looked at the serene front withits gold-rimmed windows, to him the shrine of so much adoration. Inspite of her laugh and the little pressure of mockery on his arm, hewould not resign his belief, but with her hand resting there, her voicequickened and mysteriously moving in his ears, he had not time--they hadnot the same inclination--other objects drew his attention. 

How they came to find themselves walking down a street with many lamps, corners radiant with light, and a steady succession of motor-omnibusesplying both ways along it, they could neither of them tell; nor accountfor the impulse which led them suddenly to select one of these wayfarersand mount to the very front seat. After curving through streets ofcomparative darkness, so narrow that shadows on the blinds were pressedwithin a few feet of their faces, they came to one of those great knotsof activity where the lights, having drawn close together, thin outagain and take their separate ways. They were borne on until they sawthe spires of the city churches pale and flat against the sky. 

"Are you cold?" he asked, as they stopped by Temple Bar. 

"Yes, I am rather, " she replied, becoming conscious that the splendidrace of lights drawn past her eyes by the superb curving and swerving ofthe monster on which she sat was at an end. They had followed some suchcourse in their thoughts too; they had been borne on, victors in theforefront of some triumphal car, spectators of a pageant enactedfor them, masters of life. But standing on the pavement alone, thisexaltation left them; they were glad to be alone together. Ralph stoodstill for a moment to light his pipe beneath a lamp. 

She looked at his face isolated in the little circle of light. 

"Oh, that cottage, " she said. "We must take it and go there. "

"And leave all this?" he inquired. 

"As you like, " she replied. She thought, looking at the sky aboveChancery Lane, how the roof was the same everywhere; how she was nowsecure of all that this lofty blue and its steadfast lights meant toher; reality, was it, figures, love, truth?

"I've something on my mind, " said Ralph abruptly. "I mean I've beenthinking of Mary Datchet. We're very near her rooms now. Would you mindif we went there?"

She had turned before she answered him. She had no wish to see any oneto-night; it seemed to her that the immense riddle was answered; theproblem had been solved; she held in her hands for one brief moment theglobe which we spend our lives in trying to shape, round, whole, and entire from the confusion of chaos. To see Mary was to risk thedestruction of this globe. 

"Did you treat her badly?" she asked rather mechanically, walking on. 

"I could defend myself, " he said, almost defiantly. "But what's the use, if one feels a thing? I won't be with her a minute, " he said. "I'll justtell her--"

"Of course, you must tell her, " said Katharine, and now felt anxiousfor him to do what appeared to be necessary if he, too, were to hold hisglobe for a moment round, whole, and entire. 

"I wish--I wish--" she sighed, for melancholy came over her and obscuredat least a section of her clear vision. The globe swam before her as ifobscured by tears. 

"I regret nothing, " said Ralph firmly. She leant towards him almost asif she could thus see what he saw. She thought how obscure he still wasto her, save only that more and more constantly he appeared to her afire burning through its smoke, a source of life. 

"Go on, " she said. "You regret nothing--"

"Nothing--nothing, " he repeated. 

"What a fire!" she thought to herself. She thought of him blazingsplendidly in the night, yet so obscure that to hold his arm, as sheheld it, was only to touch the opaque substance surrounding the flamethat roared upwards. 

"Why nothing?" she asked hurriedly, in order that he might say more andso make more splendid, more red, more darkly intertwined with smoke thisflame rushing upwards. 

"What are you thinking of, Katharine?" he asked suspiciously, noticingher tone of dreaminess and the inapt words. 

"I was thinking of you--yes, I swear it. Always of you, but you takesuch strange shapes in my mind. You've destroyed my loneliness. Am I totell you how I see you? No, tell me--tell me from the beginning. "

Beginning with spasmodic words, he went on to speak more and morefluently, more and more passionately, feeling her leaning towards him, listening with wonder like a child, with gratitude like a woman. Sheinterrupted him gravely now and then. 

"But it was foolish to stand outside and look at the windows. SupposeWilliam hadn't seen you. Would you have gone to bed?"

He capped her reproof with wonderment that a woman of her age could havestood in Kingsway looking at the traffic until she forgot. 

"But it was then I first knew I loved you!" she exclaimed. 

"Tell me from the beginning, " he begged her. 

"No, I'm a person who can't tell things, " she pleaded. "I shall saysomething ridiculous--something about flames--fires. No, I can't tellyou. "

But he persuaded her into a broken statement, beautiful to him, chargedwith extreme excitement as she spoke of the dark red fire, and the smoketwined round it, making him feel that he had stepped over the thresholdinto the faintly lit vastness of another mind, stirring with shapes, so large, so dim, unveiling themselves only in flashes, and moving awayagain into the darkness, engulfed by it. They had walked by this timeto the street in which Mary lived, and being engrossed by what they saidand partly saw, passed her staircase without looking up. At this timeof night there was no traffic and scarcely any foot-passengers, so thatthey could pace slowly without interruption, arm-in-arm, raising theirhands now and then to draw something upon the vast blue curtain of thesky. 

They brought themselves by these means, acting on a mood of profoundhappiness, to a state of clear-sightedness where the lifting of a fingerhad effect, and one word spoke more than a sentence. They lapsed gentlyinto silence, traveling the dark paths of thought side by side towardssomething discerned in the distance which gradually possessed them both. They were victors, masters of life, but at the same time absorbed in theflame, giving their life to increase its brightness, to testify to theirfaith. Thus they had walked, perhaps, twice or three times up and downMary Datchet's street before the recurrence of a light burning behind athin, yellow blind caused them to stop without exactly knowing why theydid so. It burned itself into their minds. 

"That is the light in Mary's room, " said Ralph. "She must be at home. "He pointed across the street. Katharine's eyes rested there too. 

"Is she alone, working at this time of night? What is she working at?"she wondered. "Why should we interrupt her?" she asked passionately. "What have we got to give her? She's happy too, " she added. "She hasher work. " Her voice shook slightly, and the light swam like an ocean ofgold behind her tears. 

"You don't want me to go to her?" Ralph asked. 

"Go, if you like; tell her what you like, " she replied. 

He crossed the road immediately, and went up the steps into Mary'shouse. Katharine stood where he left her, looking at the window andexpecting soon to see a shadow move across it; but she saw nothing; theblinds conveyed nothing; the light was not moved. It signaled to heracross the dark street; it was a sign of triumph shining there forever, not to be extinguished this side of the grave. She brandished herhappiness as if in salute; she dipped it as if in reverence. "How theyburn!" she thought, and all the darkness of London seemed set withfires, roaring upwards; but her eyes came back to Mary's window andrested there satisfied. She had waited some time before a figuredetached itself from the doorway and came across the road, slowly andreluctantly, to where she stood. 

"I didn't go in--I couldn't bring myself, " he broke off. He had stoodoutside Mary's door unable to bring himself to knock; if she had comeout she would have found him there, the tears running down his cheeks, unable to speak. 

They stood for some moments, looking at the illuminated blinds, anexpression to them both of something impersonal and serene in the spiritof the woman within, working out her plans far into the night--her plansfor the good of a world that none of them were ever to know. Then theirminds jumped on and other little figures came by in procession, headed, in Ralph's view, by the figure of Sally Seal. 

"Do you remember Sally Seal?" he asked. Katharine bent her head. 

"Your mother and Mary?" he went on. "Rodney and Cassandra? Old Joan upat Highgate?" He stopped in his enumeration, not finding it possible tolink them together in any way that should explain the queer combinationwhich he could perceive in them, as he thought of them. They appeared tohim to be more than individuals; to be made up of many different thingsin cohesion; he had a vision of an orderly world. 

"It's all so easy--it's all so simple, " Katherine quoted, rememberingsome words of Sally Seal's, and wishing Ralph to understand that shefollowed the track of his thought. She felt him trying to piece togetherin a laborious and elementary fashion fragments of belief, unsolderedand separate, lacking the unity of phrases fashioned by the oldbelievers. Together they groped in this difficult region, where theunfinished, the unfulfilled, the unwritten, the unreturned, cametogether in their ghostly way and wore the semblance of the complete andthe satisfactory. The future emerged more splendid than ever from thisconstruction of the present. Books were to be written, and since booksmust be written in rooms, and rooms must have hangings, and outsidethe windows there must be land, and an horizon to that land, and treesperhaps, and a hill, they sketched a habitation for themselves upon theoutline of great offices in the Strand and continued to make an accountof the future upon the omnibus which took them towards Chelsea; andstill, for both of them, it swam miraculously in the golden light of alarge steady lamp. 

As the night was far advanced they had the whole of the seats on thetop of the omnibus to choose from, and the roads, save for an occasionalcouple, wearing even at midnight, an air of sheltering their words fromthe public, were deserted. No longer did the shadow of a man sing tothe shadow of a piano. A few lights in bedroom windows burnt but wereextinguished one by one as the omnibus passed them. 

They dismounted and walked down to the river. She felt his arm stiffenbeneath her hand, and knew by this token that they had entered theenchanted region. She might speak to him, but with that strange tremorin his voice, those eyes blindly adoring, whom did he answer? Whatwoman did he see? And where was she walking, and who was her companion?Moments, fragments, a second of vision, and then the flying waters, the winds dissipating and dissolving; then, too, the recollection fromchaos, the return of security, the earth firm, superb and brilliant inthe sun. From the heart of his darkness he spoke his thanksgiving;from a region as far, as hidden, she answered him. On a June night thenightingales sing, they answer each other across the plain; they areheard under the window among the trees in the garden. Pausing, theylooked down into the river which bore its dark tide of waters, endlesslymoving, beneath them. They turned and found themselves opposite thehouse. Quietly they surveyed the friendly place, burning its lampseither in expectation of them or because Rodney was still there talkingto Cassandra. Katharine pushed the door half open and stood upon thethreshold. The light lay in soft golden grains upon the deep obscurityof the hushed and sleeping household. For a moment they waited, andthen loosed their hands. "Good night, " he breathed. "Good night, " shemurmured back to him.